Authors: Janet Nissenson
Shattered: (13 page)
The black jersey dress looked conservative from the front, with its long, tight-fitting sleeves and boat neck, discounting, of course, the short, narrow hem. But the low, plunging back instantly transformed the dress from demure to daring. It would be impossible to wear a bra with such a dress, and she wasn’t in the least surprised to discover that particular item of clothing had not been included in the box. In fact, the only article of lingerie was a pair of sheer black lace Agent Provocateur panties that to her mind were nearly as skimpy as the thong that Nick had professed a dislike for. But she knew from shopping trips with Julia that this single pair of undies had likely cost over a hundred dollars – the same price she would have normally been able to buy a dozen pair for.
Angela typically shied away from very high heels – her nearly six feet of height already cause for extreme self-consciousness. But Nick would still have a few inches on her, even when she donned the black suede Prada sandals with their sexy ankle strap and the buckle detail across the forefoot.
There were three other items in the box that had been delivered from Barneys – a small black Fendi clutch, a gorgeous pair of gold and diamond drop earrings, and a tube of Nars lipstick in a vivid crimson shade.
Angela wished Julia was here instead of back in Manhattan where she’d moved after college. Her fashionista friend would be able to add up in her pretty little head in a few seconds how much all of this stuff had cost. But Angela had a fairly good idea herself, and was aghast at how much Nick had casually dropped on an outfit for her to wear out to dinner.
As she stripped off her work clothes and headed for the shower, Angela tried – really tried – to feel some level of annoyance or anger or another suitable emotion at the very high handed way Nick was arranging everything. After not hearing a word from him for days, he had called without warning and informed – not asked – her that they were having dinner tonight. It was the same – worse, actually – with the dress and shoes. And even a lipstick, for God’s sake, she thought wildly as she began to wash her hair. She’d never worn red on her lips before, had always considered her mouth too wide and full for such a bold shade. She wondered a little defiantly what Nick would do if she wore a different color. He was strong-willed enough, she feared, that he’d make her wipe it off and reapply the lipstick he’d sent.
She waited until practically the last minute before actually applying the lipstick. Everything else was done – the dress that bared her entire back and most of her legs had been pulled and tugged into place; the sexy stilettos were buckled around her bare ankles – no stockings tonight, apparently. She’d fastened the earrings into her pierced lobes, stuffed a few necessities into her new clutch. Her long, straight hair shone with the application of clear glaze she’d applied, and the rest of her makeup had been artfully applied.
The lipstick was her one holdout, and she kept glancing back and forth between the sultry fire-engine red and the more subtle berry shade she normally favored. Should she acquiesce to one more of Nick’s demands, or defy him by wearing the color she preferred?
It was the buzzing of the outside doorbell that jerked her out of her contemplation, and even as she was depressing the buzzer to admit Nick into the building she was hastily slicking the red gloss over her mouth before dropping the tube into her clutch.
Angela took a deep breath before rather slowly opening the door, and then gasped as Nick’s intimidatingly huge body filled the door frame. He looked – like the devil, she thought helplessly. Like the sexiest, most tempting, and most irresistible devil one could ever conjure up. He wore another superbly tailored suit – this one of solid black – paired with a dark gray shirt and a black and gray striped tie. With his raven hair, dark eyes, and deeply tanned skin, the almost satanic image he projected made her feel like swooning.
And from the wide, knowing smile on his face, he apparently liked what he saw, too – his sharp gaze taking in every detail about her appearance, from the top of her silky head down the long, long length of her legs to those fuck-me stilettos on her feet.
“I knew that you’d look like this,” he told her confidently. His long fingers gripped her chin, tilting her head from one side to the other. “That dress could have been made for you, those shoes are practically screaming sex, and that mouth of yours – I think I’ll nearly always want you in red lipstick when we’re together.”
She felt her cheeks grow warm beneath his regard. “Thank you – for all of this. Everything is gorgeous, but you shouldn’t have spent so much money on me.”
He shrugged carelessly. “Why not? I wanted you to have a particular look tonight so the best way of ensuring that was to hand pick the outfit. Including the undies. I take it they fit okay?”
Angela was flabbergasted at the forthright way he demanded answers. “Uh, yes. Just fine.”
“Pity. I was almost hoping they’d been the wrong size so you would have had to go commando. After all,” he added in a husky voice, “it would be so damned easy to just cop a feel while you’re wearing this dress, wouldn’t it?”
Without warning, he banded an arm around her waist and hauled her against him, at the same time inserting his hand into the low back of her dress and sliding it down to fondle her buttocks.
“Next time,” he murmured in her ear.
Before she had a chance to respond, he was taking her key and locking the door, then dropped the key into his own pocket. As usual, she wasn’t given the opportunity to protest his high-handed behavior as he grabbed her hand and tugged her along in his wake, taking the stairs so briskly she was half-afraid she’d stumble and twist her ankle in the high heels she wasn’t quite used to.
Expecting to see the scarlet Ferrari, she was surprised when Nick led her instead to a much more conservative silver gray Jaguar.
“Do you collect cars or something?” she asked half-jokingly as he opened the passenger door.
Nick smirked. “I don’t know if collect is the right word. Besides the Jag here and the Ferrari, I have an SUV and a classic Corvette – a 1963 with the split-back window. Now my friend Dante, he’s what you’d call a collector. Last count I think he had more than a dozen.”
“Wow.” She shook her head in disbelief as she eased herself into the car. The tight fitting dress slid even higher up her thighs, almost to the crotch, and Nick’s eyes gleamed at the sight.
“Yeah, definitely commando next time, Angel,” he told her with a wink. “The only sight more erotic than these long, gorgeous legs would be your bare, pretty pussy.”
She gasped as he ran a hand up her leg from the knee to the very top of her thigh, his knuckles brushing over the crotch of her new panties. Panties, she realized with a gulp, that were already wet.
Nick drove across the city with an almost careless skill, somehow knowing the best route to take to avoid the worst of the evening traffic. She was puzzled as he pulled up in front of an elegant, multi-storied, Georgian-style mansion that had no visible signage.
“This is a restaurant?”
He shook his head at her question. “Not exactly. It’s a private club – a very discreet, exclusive club – that happens to have an excellent dining room for its members. Come on, you’ll enjoy it. Some of the best food you’ll ever eat.”
Nick got out of the car as the valet assisted Angela, and then they were walking inside the most beautifully appointed, discreetly extravagant building she’d ever seen. The doorman and the receptionist both knew Nick by name, calling him “Mr. Manning” in awed, almost respectful tones.
He ushered her over to the elevators, his hand on the small of her back. His fingers seemed to be burning an imprint into her bare skin and she couldn’t help the little frisson of excitement that rippled through her.
He smiled down at her knowingly. “Cold, Angel?”
She shook her head slowly. “Not in the least.”
As they stepped inside the elevator, Nick bent his head to murmur in her ear, “No, I agree. You’re hot as hell, Angel. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since Tuesday night. And that’s not something I ever tell a woman.”
Angela smiled up at him. “I’m flattered then. And the feeling is mutual. I’ve thought about you a lot, too.”
“Have you?” His hand slid from her back to clasp her hand in his. “And yet you didn’t try to get in touch with me to let me know how you felt.”
Her spine stiffened in alarm at the somewhat sarcastic tone of his voice. “I wasn’t under the impression that you expected me to,” she replied carefully. “And from the little I know of you I just assumed you’re the sort of guy who prefers to make the moves.”
Nick gave her hand a squeeze. “You assumed right, Angel,” he replied gently. “And you’re one of the very, very few women I’ve known who’s both realized and respected that. I can’t tell you the number of others who’ve pestered me with phone calls or texts or who just happened to be in the neighborhood where we’d be sure to run into each other.”
She shrugged. “Not that I would have tried contacting you anyway, but you never gave me a phone number or email address.”
“When there’s a will there’s a way, Angel. You do know where I work and how to contact me there. You could have easily obtained my extension from the employee directory, or just stopped by my office.”
“No.” She shook her head. “You’ve made it very clear that you like to keep your private life private, so there’s no way I would have done something like that. Besides, you told me you’d call and whatever else you might be it isn’t a lying dickwad.”
Nick gave a shout of laughter. “Never forget that, Angel. Honesty always, that’s my motto. And,” he added in a low voice. “the fact that you didn’t make any attempt to contact me is one of the reasons I
did
call you again.”
did
call you again.”
Angela arched a brow at him. “Oh? And what exactly would the other reasons be?”
He whispered to her. “I still need to fuck you with these incredible legs wrapped around my neck. Soon, Angel, very, very soon. And you’ll wear those fuck-me shoes while I’m doing it. If not this particular pair then another.”
Once more she was left with her jaw dropping open, but seemingly lacking the inability to utter a coherent response. Still holding hands, they walked off the elevator directly to the hostess stand where a slim, exquisitely dainty Asian woman greeted Nick by name.
“A pleasure to have you dining with us this evening, Mr. Manning,” she told him, her accent vaguely British. “Please follow me to your table. It’s the one you requested, sir.”
Angela thought of asking him why he’d reserved a particular table, then thought better of the idea. She was fairly certain Nick wouldn’t like being questioned too often, and she realized that even this early on in their – relationship? acquaintance? – that she’d need to carefully pick and choose her battles.
The petite hostess – who made Angela feel like a brawny Amazon in comparison – led them smoothly through the dimly lit, dark wood paneled dining room. From her peripheral vision she caught glimpses of other couples or small groups seated around tables or booths, and at first glance everyone seemed to be exceptionally well dressed. The whole place was giving off a vibe of old money – lots of it – and she was glad now that Nick had sent her the dress and shoes. She had some nice things of her own, of course, but nothing even in the neighborhood of what she was wearing tonight.
They were ushered to a high-backed, very secluded booth with thickly padded brown leather seats. Located in a corner of the spacious dining room, the booth would afford them the privacy she sensed Nick insisted on having wherever he went.
The smooth leather was cool against the backs of her bare legs, and she couldn’t help shivering just a bit as she sat down. A busboy appeared almost immediately to fill water glasses and set out a basket of assorted rolls and breadsticks.
“So what do you think?”
She looked at Nick and blinked. “About what?”
“The club. The dining room. What’s your first impression?”
Angela took a sip of the ice cold water, wondering briefly if she ought to couch the truth, but then decided to throw caution to the wind by telling him bluntly, “It’s classy and expensive but it’s also stuffy as hell. Someplace you’d expect to see your grandparents eating at.”
Nick chuckled. “I knew you wouldn’t bullshit me, Angel. The women I’ve brought here in the past have all oohed and ahhed about it, probably because they knew how exclusive the place is. But not you. And you’re right, it’s the epitome of class but not exactly the most happening place in town.”
“So why do you come here?”
His answer was succinct. “Privacy. No one here would dare to gossip about who they saw at dinner or an event. The staff has to sign all sorts of non-disclosure agreements, and there’s something of an unspoken pact among the members to mind their own business.”
She couldn’t resist teasing him a bit. “So what you’re saying is that what happens in – uh, whatever the name of this club is – stays here? Though, honestly, I can’t imagine anything too controversial or even exciting going on.”
He smirked. “Exactly. And this is the Biltmore Club. Very, very elite, extremely expensive to join, and nearly impossible to gain admittance to.”
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