"How is it?" I ask.
"Liam said something to his assistant today," he says.
"Oh?"
"He asked her to bring him coffee as sweet as his smile," he says. "Of course, she said, 'black then.'"
I can't help but smile. Liam is even more ridiculous than Remy.
"This is… almost as sweet as you. And as sour as me," he says.
"Sour isn't the word I'd use," I say.
"Tart?"
I shake my head.
"Bitter?"
"Strong."
His pupils dilate.
"Intoxicating." I take a long sip. Mmm. Fresh grapefruit, high-end gin, some delicious orange liqueur. Tart and sweet and strong. "Completely intoxicating."
He kisses me softly this time. It's quick, a second maybe, but my knees still threaten to crumble.
"Do you get used to drinking and eating like this?" I take another sip. "It's overwhelming."
"You're asking the wrong person, Danielle," Mr. Fitzgerald says. "Mr. Pierce has always had money."
"You too," Adam says. "But I spent my college years rebelling. I drank my share of cheap vodka."
"Really?" I ask.
Adam nods.
"Did you wear jeans too?"
"I did."
"I can't imagine that."
"It was a long time ago."
"Were you really a dweeb in school?"
His eyes flit to Mr. Fitzgerald. "A dweeb in a boarding school uniform."
"I've seen pictures, I know, but I still can't believe it." I slide my arm around his waist.
He stiffens for a moment, then he leans into the pose.
"You've always been sure of yourself," I say.
"In photos," he says.
"And handsome." I run my finger over his chin. I shouldn't do this. I know better. But I can't stop myself. "More every day."
His eyes flit to Fitzgerald again.
The asshole is watching like Adam is an animal at the circus.
Fuck him.
Maybe this is too much for Adam. But I'm not letting that asshole think Adam's scars make him a freakshow.
I cup his cheek the way he cupped mine.
He stiffens again. But, this time, when I kiss him, he kisses back.
Softly at first.
Then harder.
My lips part for his tongue.
That perfect, deep kiss. Claiming my mouth, my body, my heart.
This time, my knees go weak when he pulls back.
He catches me. Holds me close.
Mr. Fitzgerald tries to interrupt. "Another round?"
"If you'd like one, angel. Liam will be here in fifteen."
"Okay." I stare back into his eyes. This is fake. For the benefit of the asshole behind us.
I need to believe that.
But my heart still screams love him, love him, love him.
Chapter Nineteen
Adam
Danielle's fingers curl into my neck. Her dark eyes fill with affection.
Desire.
Love.
Or something close. I've never been in love. I've been intimate with women, cared for them, wanted the best for them.
I had other concerns. School, work, family. At least, that's what I told myself.
Who has time for love?
Who has space?
Then dad died and—
There wasn't room in my heart for anyone or anything. I had other concerns. I still have other concerns.
Then Danielle's lips brush my neck and I forget every one.
I barely remember why I'm here.
Or the asshole standing behind me.
What the fuck is he doing here?
Why am I thinking when I could take her home?
I need to see her come again. I need to taste her, touch her, fuck her.
"Adam." She whispers my name like it's our secret. Her fingers skim my chin. My jawline. The scar running across my cheek.
My head turns. A reflex. I can handle it when she's kissing me, but not now.
I try to lean into the gesture. I press my lips to her neck.
She lets out a soft groan.
It's not appropriate for the restaurant, but at the moment I don't give a fuck.
"Your drinks, sir," the bartender interrupts.
The asshole Fitzgerald tries to pay, but I cut him off. "You got the first round."
He nods of course. Looks to Danielle as she brings her drink to her lips. "I never pegged you for a gin drinker."
"No." She takes another sip. Lets out a soft sigh. "What did you think I drank?"
"Wine." His eyes flit to her lips. "Red. Something rich."
"I did drink red at our showings." She leans closer. "It's always wine and cheese. Sometimes grapes if you're lucky."
"Grapes and wine?" I ask.
"Redundant, I know," she says. "Some galleries serve cheap stuff. But we went all out. I spent the entire day gathering supplies. The best red wine under twenty dollars a bottle."
"Is there good wine under twenty dollars a bottle?" I ask.
She laughs. "For some of us, that's an expensive bottle. And the cheese. From a specialty shop. Extra aged. Fancy crackers. Fig jam. Raspberries. Really, whatever I could justify serving. I got to take home the extra."
"You were allowed?"
She motions sorta. "My boss would have been mad if he caught me. But they'd go to waste otherwise."
"You're always enterprising," I say.
She beams. "Thank you."
"What was your favorite?" I ask.
"The figs and goat cheese," Fitzgerald answers. "You were always eating that."
She looks at him funny. Surprised he remembers.
As far as she knows, he was a regular customer, period. Yes, he probably attended quite a few showings. Maybe even with his wife.