“Okay, Nick,” she says softly. “Lead the way.”
Chapter 7
Nick leaves his BMW disregarded at the curb outside Vendange as we begin walking.
I’d been mentally commending myself for holding my ground and refusing to make the mistake of being alone with him, but even amid the rush and bustle of Manhattan and its constantly moving sea of humanity, the only thing I’m truly aware of is him.
My senses stir as we walk side by side on the concrete, our arms not quite brushing against each other as clusters of pedestrians ebb and flow around us. I know the scent and the feel and the taste of every inch of his perfectly honed body, no matter how desperately I want to pretend I don’t.
He smells amazing. Spicy and warm, intoxicatingly masculine, something that can’t be bought or manufactured, but is his alone. Everyth
ing female in me wants to lean in to that scent, to carry it on my skin like a brand. Especially when I watch other women glance at him in open interest as we pass them on the street.
“How’s Tasha doing?”
The casual question catches me off guard. I know Nick’s got an agenda for this conversation, and the fact that he’s starting it with small talk only makes my nerves jangle even more than they were already.
“She’s fine.” I keep Tasha’s baby news to myself, even though it takes some effort not to share it with Nick. Calling him a stranger back at the curb was easier than treating him like one when he’s walking so close to me I can focus on little else. “Tasha’s doing great. She’s amazing. I’m so proud of everything she’s done with Vendange.”
Nick grunts in acknowledgment. “The new owner couldn’t be more pleased, either. And the bastard ought to be. He got the restaurant for a song and it’s nearly doubled in business in the past several months.”
Thinking about how quickly he’d divested himself of the business—along with me—I can’t help the bite in my reply. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Nick. I know how you love to win.”
He shrugs. “Yeah, well. I’ll get over it.”
“I’m sure you will. I’m sure you’ve already moved on to bigger and better things. You’re pretty good at that.”
The look he swivels on me is penetratingly intense. “Is that what you think?”
“It’s what I know, Nick.”
“Do you.” It’s not a question, more a challenge. But just because his dinner date last night was a client doesn’t mean there haven’t been other women. With Nick’s considerable appetite when it comes to sex, I don’t doubt that he’s got a string of available women at his beck and call in a moment’s notice. “And what about you, Avery? Has moving on without me been easy for you?”
“It sure as hell should be. I was taught by a master.” I give him a pointed glance. “No pun intended.”
His brow quirks, sin playing at the edges of his sensual mouth. But there is no playfulness in the stare that holds steady on me as we near the traffic light at the end of the block. “Are you saying it hasn’t been easy, or that you haven’t moved on? Because either way, I think your smitten Professor Snyder would be dismayed to hear that.”
“This isn’t about Brandon, so you can leave him out of the picture.”
“I don’t think he’s in the picture at all. If he was, you’d have left me high and dry at the curb back there.”
I bark a laugh. “God, you’re arrogant. If I thought you knew how to take no for an answer, I would have left you at the curb.” I shoot him a sidelong glance. “I still should.”
His smile is subtle, more amused than threatened. “This way.”
For the briefest second I feel the heat of his palm hovering at the small of my back as we round the corner off Madison, but Nick doesn’t touch me. His warmth is there and gone so quickly I might have imagined it, leaving me both disappointed and relieved. I fold my arms as we walk for a while in silence, if only to avoid any more inadvertent contact with him. My senses are hyperaware enough as it is. I don’t need any tactile reminders of how good it feels to touch him or feel his touch on me.
We pass shops and boutique hotels and eateries, the sidewalk thickening with pedestrians as we near the corner of broad, busy Fifth Avenue. Waiting at the traffic light, a mother holds the hand of her young daughter and points toward the Public Library across the street with its pair of majestic marble lions flanking the grand entrance. I can’t help but smile at the excitement in the child’s face as Nick and I step past them. He notices my distraction too.
“I trust your mother is in good health and doing well?”
My gaze snaps to him, although it’s not the strangest question he could ask. He knows more about my mom than most people. Things I confided in him when we were together. Things he eventually learned in spite of my efforts to hold on to my mom’s secrets and my own.
And now I have to wonder . . .
“The parole board finally decided to let her go about eight months ago. A new chairman was appointed and Mom’s case got fast-tracked for another review.” Since he doesn’t react with anything more than a slight nod, my suspicions about her abrupt release from prison in Pennsylvania after a decade of little hope are all but confirmed. “You had something to do with it?”
He gives a vague shrug as we continue to walk. “As luck would have it, Beck went to law school with the state’s Attorney General.”