Page 21 of Heart Stopping
"Is she happy now?" I asked.
He smiled as he said, "Yeah. Alan is a good bloke. He treats her like she's a queen. Which she is, if you ask me."
He clearly adored his mother. Which I had to admit was cute as hell.
"I'm happy for her," I said honestly. "Every woman deserves to be treated like a queen."
"Even badass vigilantes." He nodded toward me. "Especially beautiful ones with red hair and mean knife skills."
"I don't know about that," I said, sipping my coffee.
"I do." He finished off his drink and put the cup down beside the sink. "I don't think I've met anyone who deserves as many orgasms as you do."
"That's very specific," I said, trying not to think too much about our night together. It was good. Very good. A repeat performance wouldn't be a hardship. What it would be though, was a complication. Those scared me more than anything.
"It's very accurate," he said. He took my empty cup from my hand and placed it beside the other one. "You're a gorgeous woman, Harlow St. James." He ran his knuckles down my cheek, across my neck to my throat.
"So fucking pretty." He leaned in and kissed me lightly, barely more than a brush of lips over lips. "Go out with me."
"On a date?" I frowned at him, but my heart was thumping away in my chest.
"Yeah. Dinner, movie, a walk through the park. The works. You are allowed to eat at other restaurants, right?”
"They usually don't object to me walking through the door," I said, pretending to misunderstand what he was asking. "And I don't mind eating other people's cooking either. I'm always curious about the way other chefs use flavor. Once in a while, I learn something new."
"Huh, I never thought of that," he said. "I can understand though. Like an artist is always open to appreciating new artforms. New ways to work with light or new materials. Like animal bone versus plaster."
"Life is a learning experience," I said. Right now, I was learning about my body's response to being so close to him. Remembering the way his piercing felt inside me didn't hurt either.
He cocked his head and smiled. "See, that's what I keep saying. The moment we stop learning is the moment we might as well curl up in a sad ball in the corner, because we've essentially given up. And no one ever said Edward Douglas Bonegard was a quitter. I bet they never said you were one either."
He hesitated for a beat and a frown before asking, "How did you come to own your own restaurant at the tender age of…" He gestured at me to fill in the implied blank.
"Twenty-eight," I said. "Family money. Inheritance, to be specific. It's given me a lot of freedom to do the things I wanted to do."
"So it's true what they say, money is the root of all evil." But he was grinning as he said it.
"Money is the key to a lot of things, including freedom and, to some extent, evil," I agreed. "Rich people get away with a lot of things." Now I was thinking back to Gary and Carl. Both rich men. Both who used their wealth to do abhorrent things.
"Sometimes they don't get away with them," Boner pointed out.
"Eventually," I said, letting my frustration show. They'd gotten away with plenty before I caught up with them. Others were doing the same thing as we stood here talking.
"Better eventually than never," he said. "So, about our date. When are you free?" He looked certain I'd make the time.
I remembered I was having lunch with Cass on Monday. I didn't want to string either of them along, but I hadn't made any promises. Why shouldn't I go out and enjoy myself with twodifferent, attractive men? It wasn't as though anything was going to come of it anyway.
We'd have a nice time and then go our separate ways. Maybe we'd be friends afterward, maybe we wouldn't. Maybe we'd fuck, maybe we wouldn't do that either.
"I'm free Tuesday night," I said finally. "Let me know where and I'll meet you. Unless you want me to pick a restaurant?"
I knew the restaurant scene of the city pretty well by now. Especially those within a three or four block radius of mine. Between us, we covered every kind of cuisine you could imagine. And some you couldn't. Some were about creative presentation as much as they were about feeding diners. That wasn't my thing, but I appreciated the artistry. How could I not, when their food looked so elegant?
"I know a place," he said. "It might not be up to your standards, but it's pretty good. And I'm almost certain they don't serve asshole."
"Onlyalmostcertain?" I asked, arching an eyebrow at him.
"I'd like to be one hundred percent, but you never know." He grinned, clearly sure the restaurant didn't source meat the same way I did. He was probably right. I'd like to think I was an exception.
