Recluse (Wolfes of Manhattan 2)

“Great. Bring a bottle.” I handed him my menu.

“I’m not sure I can drink more than one glass,” Charlie said.

“So?”

“So…you ordered a whole bottle.”

“I guess that means I’ll drink three glasses, then,” I said.

She sighed. “All right, then. You won’t be driving me home.”

“Charlie, I’m kidding. First, I’d probably be fine to drive after three glasses of wine—”

“And a bourbon,” she added.

“And a bourbon. But I probably won’t drink three glasses of wine. Who cares?”

“Well, I—” She reddened. “You’ve never had to watch money in your life, have you?”

“No, but I don’t think I’m overly pretentious with my purchases.”

“I’m not saying you are.”

“You don’t have to be a billionaire to leave a little wine in a bottle,” he said.

She blushed again. Adorably. “You’re right, I suppose.”

“Let me treat you to a nice dinner. The only meal we’ve shared outside my place so far was the one in Helena.”

“I don’t mean to sound ungrateful.”

“You don’t sound ungrateful. You sound frugal, but you don’t have to be when you’re dining with me. It’s all on me.”

She finally settled down.

Again, I had the desire to talk to her about why I was seeking guided hypnosis.

But should I? Did she deserve to be burdened with that part of me?

I might love her, but I had no idea what her feelings for me were.

“Tell me,” I said, “about you and Blaine Foster.”

“He’s a senior partner at Lacey’s old firm.”

“I know that much. My father was a client of his. You said you were together. I just want to know the extent of it.”

“Just a few months. He wanted to get serious really quickly, and that turned me off. I’m too young, and he’s so much older than I am.”

Shit.

She didn’t want to get serious so quickly.

So much for her possibly returning my feelings.

“Uh-huh,” was all I said.

“He’s a pretty nice guy, but he did things that annoyed me. Treated me like I was beneath him, you know?”

“How so?”

“For one thing, he always ordered my meal for me, even if I didn’t tell him what I wanted yet.”

“Then how did he know what you wanted?”

“That’s my point. He’d just order something he thought I’d like. Most of the time it was something he liked. Like foie gras.”

I laughed at that one. “But you don’t eat liver.”

“That’s what I tried to tell him, but he was convinced I’d love it if I tried it. Even today, when we had lunch, he ordered lasagna for me. I love lasagna, but maybe I wanted something else today, you know?”

“I know.”

I knew more than she was aware. My father had constantly tried to change me into something I wasn’t. An heir to run the business. Thankfully, Reid had turned out to be interested in running it, and he let me go off to “do my sissy art,” as he’d liked to put it.

Do your sissy art.

Get out of here! This has nothing to do with you! Go do your sissy art!

I froze.33CharlieRoy’s gorgeous face went pale.

I stopped chattering about Blaine and how he liked to control me. At least he hadn’t been controlling in the bedroom. Actually, he’d been kind of boring in the bedroom, as if he no longer needed to please a woman because he brought so much else to the table—his position in the community, his money, his power. Not that he was bad in bed—well, his huge cock was great in bed—he just didn’t have do much. He’d hated going down on me, but of course wanted blow jobs all the time, which were difficult, given his girth. In that regard, he was just like every other man on the planet.

I waited a few seconds, hoping he’d get back to normal.

When he didn’t, I said, “Roy?”

He blinked. “Yeah?”

“I think I lost you there for a minute.”

“What? No, I’m fine.”

He hadn’t been fine, but if he wanted to play it that way, I’d go along. Despite our closeness the last few days, I hardly knew the man.

The waiter returned then with our wine. He opened it and poured a tiny portion for Roy to taste. Roy pronounced it fine, so he poured me a glass.

I liked Beaujolais. It was simple. I wanted tonight to be simple. That strange episode Roy had a few minutes ago, though? That had been anything but simple.

After the waiter left again, I regarded him. “What’s going on, Roy?”

“Nothing.”

“Bull.”

“I’m just concerned. About everything. You know. I’m a suspect in my father’s murder, for one.”

I nodded. I hadn’t forgotten. My work so far had all been about that. But this dinner… I sighed. I’d so wanted this dinner to be like the Beaujolais—simple.

But this was Roy Wolfe.

It would never be simple.

“Is there anything you want to talk to me about?”

“My sister.”

I nodded. “What about her?”

“I don’t think— I don’t think she murdered my father.”

“I don’t think so either, though if what Rock says is true—Lacey filled me in—she sure had a motive.”