I sip my wine. There are so many questions I want to ask. “Do you and your ex-wife get along?
When she is not trying to kill you with dinnerware.”
He lets out a strangled laugh. “I forgot you witnessed that.” I haven’t.
His dark brows knit and something that looks a lot like pain flashes across his face. Perhaps I’m not competing with all the women in the online pictures. Perhaps I’m competing with just one. “She burnt me pretty badly.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
His jaw hardens. “No. Let’s enjoy the evening.”
That’s annoying. It’s niggling me. Did he split up with her because he stopped loving her or because she hurt him?
The hand that rests on my thigh starts tracing circles. Tingly shivers course through me.
“Do you feel that? he asks hoarsely. “There’s so much chemistry between us. You drive me wild,
Elly.”
He finds my hand under the table and places it on his thigh. My fingers graze his bulge as he leans forward and pulls my mouth against his.
Garlic alert, garlic alert! I’ve eaten too much garlic with the snails.
But this is nice. Fuck the trainee contract. Fuck the fancy restaurant and the overly attentive waiting staff. I need this. I need him.
“Tristan,” I rasp. “We’re in a restaurant.”
“My restaurant,” he grunts. “No one can see us here.”
I spread my hand over his dick. It’s warm and hard and exactly what I’ve been craving. He groans into my mouth then deepens the kiss. His hand finds my thigh again and slowly traces a line up my leg until it’s under the hem of my dress. I cling to him, my fingers digging into his biceps.
His fingers dance around the same spot just inches below my core.
Damn tease.
My core pulses with months’ worth of sexual frustration. I need this so badly.
I catch a glimpse of my wide eyes and flushed cheeks in the mirror. “This better not be a two-way mirror into the kitchen,” I mutter.
He lets out a deep throaty laugh. “No, sweetheart, it’s just us.”
His fingers continue to skirt over my inner thigh, and I feel myself getting damp. I’m so wound up already, this is embarrassing.
“Tonight, Elly, I’ll give you everything you want. I’ll finish what I started in the elevator. I’ve missed hearing your little moans,” he whispers against my ear.
I stare at him as his words make their way from my brain to other areas of my body. God help me.
***
We find the restraint to calm down and finish every drop of the bottle of champagne and the bottle of 2009 something wine.
Thank God it’s not a school night.
My defences have fallen so low I don’t care if there’s a slot at next week’s all-staff call to explain how the CEO got me all hot and bothered in a French restaurant.
“Will you accompany me back to my house, Elly?” He raises his eyebrows in question.
“Actually, I can’t,” I say reluctantly. “I have to be up at 5 in the morning for a train to Wales. I haven’t even packed yet.”
He frowns. “Can you book a later train?”
“No.” I sigh. “It’s my mum’s birthday. I’ve got a surprise booked. I have to get that train to make it
on time.”
“I’ll get you a car to Wales.” He goes to pick up his phone. “If that’s too slow, I can arrange a chopper.”
My eyebrows shoot up. A chopper?
“No.” I grab his arm. “Don’t be ridiculous!” I tug his hand away from the phone, interlacing my fingers with his. “I’m leaving from my house tomorrow,” I say firmly, more out of principle than desire. He can’t get his way every time, and I need to keep some self-respect. “Maybe we can do this…another time,” I suggest.
He gives me an exasperated look. “Let me get this straight-the only way I can continue seeing you tonight is if I go back to your hippy commune?”
I stifle a giggle at the thought. “I don’t remember dishing out an invite,” I reply cockily.
He won’t do it. There’s no way Tristan Kane is going to spend a night in my house-share. It’s his way or the highway.
“Elly.” He exhales hard, a defeated look crossing his face. “Can I come back to yours, please?” I bite my lip to stop a goofy smile from taking over my face. “I suppose.” “I’ll get the bill and call George,” he says, beckoning to the waiter.
“It’s a few stops on the underground, Princess.” I scoff. “That will be quicker.” Trying it Megan’s way, I pop a shoulder out. That’ll show him who’s boss.
17
Elly
“Are you stockpiling toilet paper in case there’s another pandemic?” He stares at the pile of rolls under my dresser.
“I didn’t think you’d be back here tonight,” I huff. “Or I would have hidden those.” I have to hide them in my room because nobody replaces them but me. I’m sick of bankrolling their ass wipes.
I coax him away from the dresser to the centre of the room. If he looks closely, he’ll spot the premium bamboo rolls stolen from Madison Legal.
“The perils of a London house-share.” I shrug and let out a pathetic giggle. Standing here with Tristan Kane in my bedroom is turning me into a hot nervous mess.
When he draws himself up to his full six-foot-four height he knocks into the light fixture.
“And this isn’t your bed?” He hovers above it like it’s been dispatched from a nuclear power plant.
“No, the room came furnished,” I explain. “Only the armchair and the dresser are mine. Why?”
“Do you know how many people have had sex on this bed?”
I give him a withering look. “Sorry, I didn’t think to ask the estate agent.”
“No wonder you sleep in linen closets,” he mutters. “We don’t know how many people have used this bed. It’s like having sex in a brothel.”
“Hey!” I whack him against the chest. “I’ve got a mattress topper. That’s what renters do, we buy mattress toppers and don’t think about all the renters that came before us.” I roll my eyes. “Try to search within yourself to find a modicum of reality, will you? Have you forgotten how normal nonCEO people live?”
“Can we have sex standing up?”
“You are acting like the princess and the pea.” I glower, putting both hands on my hips. “And you are being very presumptuous. Who said I want to have sex with you, anyway?”
He smirks down at me. “Of course you do. I’ll get you so steamed up you’ll be begging for me to fuck you.”
That arrogant, infuriating, handsome face. He’s so confident in himself, so certain I’m a sure bet. It turns me on and annoys me in the same instant. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of joining the million girls that beg Tristan Kane to fuck them. “As if. I don’t beg men.”
His eyes blaze as he steps into my personal space. Wrapping his hands around my waist, he pulls me in and presses me against his groin, his hardness jutting against my stomach.
My core flutters with excitement. I was bluffing before.
Of course, I’m going to let him fuck me.
I reach up on my tiptoes, and he comes down to meet me, pressing his lips against mine. “I’m making a big mistake,” I whisper into his mouth.
“Boss’s orders. I guess you have to do as you’re told.”