On Dublin Street(62)

“No, you’re demanding.”


“I just don’t want you to wear your hair down.”


“Fine.” I cocked my head to the side as my own eyes deliberately perused the length of him. “I don’t take orders, but I do make deals. The hair goes up, but you owe me a favor in return.”


He flashed me a wicked smile. “Sounds good, babe.”


“Oh I didn’t say the debt would be sexual in nature.”


His grin only widened. “So what are we talking about here?”


“Well that’s the thing.” I sidled over to him, pressing up against him with a smile. “You won’t know, until you know.”


Braden’s head dipped towards mine, his lips almost brushing mine. “Deal.”


“Brave man.” I laughed and stepped back. “You also look really good tonight by the way.”


“Thank you,” he murmured, his eyes still eating me up.


“Well, you better tell the cab driver we’ll be out in ten minutes. I need to fix my hair.”


***


I managed to style my hair up into an elegantly messy bun, bid a goodnight to Ellie whose eyes were all teary at the sight of us together—I don’t think she’d quite grasped the concept of f*ck buddies yet—and slid into the cab before Braden. When he got in, he gave the cab driver our destination. It was Braden’s French restaurant, La Cour, the one he’d inherited as part of his father’s businesses, and it was situated on Royal Terrace near the Regent Gardens. I hadn’t been there before, but I’d heard great things about it. As Braden settled back, he settled in close to me and reached for my hand.


For the entire cab ride I stared at his large, masculine hand in mine, fighting the urge to pull out of his touch. It wasn’t because the handholding wasn’t nice. It was nice. Too nice.


Too ‘more’.


This was supposed to be just sex. But there he was… holding my hand.


I barely even noticed we’d pulled up to the restaurant, before Braden was paying the cab driver and helping me down out of it.


“You’re quiet,” he murmured, as he laced his fingers through mine again to lead me inside.


I didn’t answer that. “Who are we meeting?”


But before he could respond, the ma?tre d’ appeared with a huge grin on his face. “Monsieur Carmichael, we have your table waiting, sir.”


“Thank you, David.” Braden pronounced his name with the French pronunciation and I wondered if the guy was really French, or if it was all part of the restaurant’s image. The restaurant itself was opulent elegance. It was modern French rococo with black and silver patterned, gilt-framed chairs, deep-red tablecloths, black glass candelabras and clear crystal chandeliers. The restaurant was packed.


David led us through the tables to a cozy one in the east corner, far away from the bar and kitchen access. Like a gentleman, Braden held my seat out for me, and I couldn’t remember if anyone had done that before. I was so focused on the gesture and the sensual brush of his fingers against my neck as I sat, that it took me until Braden was also seated and ordering wine, to notice that we were seated at a table for two.


“Where are the others?”


Braden flicked me a casual glance as he took a sip from the cold glass of water the waiter had just poured. “What others?”


What others? I gritted my teeth. “You said this was a business meeting.”


“Yes, but I didn’t say what business.”


Oh my God. This was a date! No way. First the bossiness, then the handholding… no. No, no, no. I pushed my chair out, about two seconds from shooting up to my feet when Braden’s next words froze me in place.


“You try to leave, I’ll tackle you.” Even though he wasn’t looking at me when he said it, I could tell he was deadly serious.


I couldn’t believe he’d tricked me into this. With a sullen expression, I pushed my chair back under the table. “Asshole.”


“Just for that, I expect you to wrap that dirty mouth of yours around my cock tonight.” He narrowed his eyes on me.


I felt the impact of those words as they pebbled my nipples and soaked my panties. Despite my body being completely turned on, I was floored. I couldn’t believe he’d just said that to me in a fancy restaurant where anyone might overhear. “Are you kidding?”


“Babe,” he gave me a look that suggested I was missing the obvious, “I never kid about blowjobs.”


The sound of someone choking brought my head up. Our waiter had descended on us just in time to hear those romantic words and his rosy cheeks betrayed his embarrassment. “Ready to order?” he croaked out.


“Yes,” Braden answered, obviously uncaring he’d been overhead. “I’ll have the steak, medium-rare.” He smiled softly at me. “What are you having?” He took a swig of water.


He thought he was so cool and funny. “Apparently sausage.”


Braden choked on the water, coughing into his fists, his eyes bright with mirth as he put his glass back on the table.