Harbour Falls (A Harbour Falls Mystery #1)(30)

I shook my head, my lips brushing against the pebbly texture of the fruit. “OK, be a good girl now”—Adam prodded my lips open with the fruit— “and suck.”

I squirmed in my seat and obediently wrapped my mouth around the whole strawberry. When I dragged my lips along the length of the fruit, I heard Adam whisper a barely audible “f*ck” that stirred me even further. I repeated the same action, and Adam growled, “Just bite the f*cking strawberry, Madeleine.”

I bit the tip off the strawberry, and Adam pulled the fruit away. I could hear him biting into what remained.

Just as I was about to open my eyes, heated, strawberry – and champagne-moistened lips crashed into mine. We both moaned as our mouths moved hungrily together. He tasted divine, and I wanted more. I trailed my hands lazily over the lapels of his suit jacket, before curving them up and around to the nape of his neck. Adam’s fingers teasingly brushed the sides of my breasts as he snaked his hands down to rest on my waist, and, in response, I raked my fingers into his hair, pulling him closer.

Amid noisy gasps and hot breaths, Adam deepened our kiss, tenderly parting my lips until our tongues met—all strawberries, champagne, and the thrill of uncharted exploration that only those first kisses can deliver.

My body ached for more, much more, but unfortunately the plane was beginning to descend. We’d soon be in Boston. Adam, who must have felt the change in altitude as well, began to slow our kisses.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed out against my lips.

I longed to hear more; I longed to say something in return. But Walker’s voice rasping out over the intercom brought me back to reality. “Mr. Ward, we’ll be on the ground in about five minutes. Please prepare for landing.”

We broke apart, leaned back in our seats, fumbled for our seat belts. As the plane touched down, Adam took my hand and brought it to his mouth. “So did you enjoy the flight, Ms. Fitch?” he asked, his lips brushing over my knuckles.



“Immensely,” I responded, smiling. And, boy, had I ever.

Still in a daze from the champagne, the strawberries, but mostly the kisses, I barely noticed as we made our way from the plane to a sleek, black limousine that was waiting for us on the runway. As we pulled away from the jet, I heard Adam instruct the driver to take us to some exclusive, members-only dinner club that was located in a skyscraper in downtown Boston. I’d heard of it before but had never been there.

The club—which took up the entire upper floor of the tall building in which it was housed—was all dark wood paneling, maroon carpeting, brass adornments. Oil paintings in the style of the Old Masters lined the walls. Everything about the place screamed old money, power, prestige. It was obviously a place for only the absolute wealthiest of the wealthy.

The maitre d’ led us through the main dining room and back to a private dining area. As we stepped into a room, decorated in the same dark wood and maroon palette, Adam informed me he had reserved the whole area just for us.

I glanced around. Floor-to-ceiling windows allowed for the lights of downtown Boston to sparkle before us. Classical music played softly in the background, and the soft glow of candlelight flickered all around. “Adam, this is very, very nice,” I remarked as we took our seats.

“I’m glad you approve,” he replied, a smile playing on his lips.

Just then a wine steward entered the room, and Adam engaged him in a quiet discussion. I nervously fumbled with my napkin while they spoke. When the wine steward left, Adam directed his attention back to me. “Maddy, I have a bit of a request.”

“And what would that be?” I asked quietly, somewhat distracted by how painfully gorgeous Adam looked in the warm glow of the candlelight—shadows playing across perfection.

“I’ve ordered a special vintage for us, which I think you’ll enjoy.” Adam paused. “But, if you don’t mind, I’d also like to take the liberty of ordering dinner for the both of us.”



I’d never had a man order dinner for me before, but Adam had impeccable taste, so, trusting him, I said, “Of course. That would be fine.”

A waiter came in with a set of menus, but Adam ordered without even opening one. Observing the interaction between the two—the waiter listening attentively and respectfully as Adam commanded his full attention—I felt the obvious power Adam held over so many people. It was truly impressive, and it allowed me to see why he was so successful.

After the waiter left, the steward returned with the wine and poured a small amount into a glass. Adam took a contemplative sip and nodded to the steward, who then poured us each a glass before leaving the room.

I took a small taste and found it to be, as promised, quite delightful. Curious as to what exactly I was drinking, I leaned across the table, albeit awkwardly, to try to read the label on the bottle which was resting in an ice bucket.

Adam cleared his throat, and I glanced up to meet his amused stare. “Oh, sorry,” I said, quickly leaning back in my chair.

He chuckled amusedly. “It’s a Bollinger Vieille Vienes Fran?aises, 1999, Maddy.”

“Mmm.” I finished the last of the fine vintage and put down my glass. “Well, I have to say, it’s quite tasty.”

“I’m glad you like it,” Adam replied, smiling as he poured me another glass.

I was already feeling a little heady, but whether it was from the alcohol—or my date—I couldn’t be sure.