Dirty Little Secrets

Ch. 18: The Reservations

DAMON

The elevator doors open at exactly 7 p.m. I struggle to keep my jaw hinged. Emery waltzes toward me, her hips swaying, those curves that I've gotten accustomed to wrapped in the finest black fabric. I instantly regret my purchase. The tight, tempting dress hugs her body, every dip, every mound, every inch of her femininity painted with velvet coal. My lascivious gaze travels up to her face, her rosy cheeks, her golden eyes, and her deep scarlet lips.

She smirks, tilting her head. "I've never seen you so quiet, Mr. Cavanaugh," she purrs. "You usually have so much to say."

My grip tightens around the bouquet in my hand as I mutter out, still reveling in her beauty, "I cannot seem to find my tongue."

She perks up a brow. "Search harder, Mr. Cavanaugh. A dinner without conversation is like sex without an orgasm."

My eyes darken. "I wouldn't mention sex right now, Miss Jones, otherwise we might not even make it to dinner."

"I'd heed your warning if I knew that wasn't a complete lie." She bats her taunting lashes at me. "With the lack of contract and all." She takes a purposeful step forward and drags her sharp nail down the length of my silk tie, her balmy, sweet breath dizzying my senses as she whispers, "You look quite handsome this evening, Damon. Did you dress up just for me?"

My jaw clenches, and I push back the urge to bend her over right here and now. "We should get going, Miss Jones. Wouldn't want to miss our reservation." Inwardly grumbling, I hold out the bouquet. "These are for you."

She frowns slightly at the persevered arraignment, six of the roses encased in 24-carat gold. "You got me flowers?" She traces the hard edges of the golden roses. "Is this a business dinner, Mr. Cavanaugh?" Her inquisitive gaze flicks upward. "Or a date?"

"Both." I cast her a smug look, snaking my hand around her waist, and pulling her flush against me. She gasps before sinking into my touch. "First—" I dip my head, feathering soft kisses down the slope of her neck, "we will review the contract..." She tilts her head, silently beckoning me to keep going, "and then..." My hand slithers down her spine, palming her ass, as I rasp into her ear, "Then the date can start."

"Business first," she breathes, flushed and eager.

"And pleasure second," I add, pulling away and offering her my hand. "Shall we, Miss Jones?"

"Lead the way," she whispers, tentatively allowing our fingers to interlock as if sealing her fate.

***

The scent of French cuisine permeates the air as we enter Chez Gustave. In the past, I was always a creature of habit. There were only a handful of restaurants that I'd frequent. But that was in the past. A past tainted by memories I'd rather not revisit. Or relive.

"Cavanaugh for two," I state to the maître d', slightly offended he did not recognize me as soon as he saw my face. He searches the system for my reservation, and I sigh loudly, making sure he picks up on my displeasure. "Well?"

"One moment, sir," he says, continuing to frown at the screen. "My apologies. Our system is glitching."

"This is ridiculous," I grumble. Emery giggles softly beside me. I snap my head at her. "What?"

"You're not used to waiting often, are you?" she asks, the bells on the front door chiming as another party enters the foyer.

"I've never had to wait," I grunt, glaring at the useless host. "Perhaps I should take my business elsewhere."

Emery rolls her eyes. "Oh, relax, Damon. We've been in here for one minute."

"One minute too long—"