CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The interior design of Castigio’s was opulent and warm, the chandeliers above our head casting rays of dancing light over the polished dark wood furniture and deep red cloth seating. Having skipped the line of people outside, Donovan and I entered a front lobby that was larger than the office where we worked, the seating sparse as if the establishment preferred for patrons to wait on the sidewalks rather than clutter the ambience of a restaurant built around finery and poise.
Approaching a pretty redhead standing behind a podium painted with gold leaf and jewel toned purple, I didn’t fail to notice the way she stared at Donovan, hunger flashing behind her blue eyes and appreciation written into the pull of her lips and the shine of her straight white teeth. The woman should have been a runway model and not a hostess at a dining establishment, but still, there she stood in a green gown that looked to be painted over her skin.
Feeling out of place, I pretended that her appraisal of Donovan didn’t bother me, but in truth, it felt like every woman we encountered was a potential competitor. It was ridiculous to see it that way. I was simply Donovan’s assistant, out for a night on the town to celebrate a contract I had no part in acquiring. Merely a stand in for Jackson, who couldn’t be here tonight, I wondered again why Donovan had invited me. Surely he had a black book somewhere with the names of women who would be happy to act as arm candy for a wealthy man.
But yet, here I was, and rather than embarrass him by acting out of place, I pasted a friendly smile on my face and attempted to hide the eye daggers I was shooting at the hostess. I’d worry later about why I’d become so territorial over a man to whom I had no claim.
“Mr. Stone,” she said breathlessly, her voice deep and sultry like a woman you’d listen to on some 1-800 sex line. “Your table is ready per your standing reservation. I’ll be happy to escort you and your date to your seats.”
Laughing at the bitterness in the way she’d said date, I walked at Donovan’s side as we were led to the table, my eyes taking in the large dining area filled with white clothed tables, crystal stemware and pristine jewel toned plates that mimicked all the precious stones that can be found on Earth. Gold and silver embellishments sparkled beneath the overhead lighting, the dancing light and shadows of several fireplaces discreetly tucked in corners flooding the room with a sensual warmth that instilled an intimate feel to the setting.
As we passed several tables, I noticed men inclining their heads in Donovan’s direction, and the women sitting beside them smiling at Donovan before their expressions became cold to look at me. Unable to handle the scrutiny, I kept my gaze trained on the decor, and hoped that Donovan didn’t notice how my feet dragged and my arm trembled. The feeling of being out of my element was becoming too heavy to bear, my body wanting to instinctively curl over itself in order to hide from the world.
I breathed out a small sigh of relief when we finally reached our table. Pulling a chair from where it had been tucked against the white tablecloth, Donovan glanced at me, a smile tugging at his lips when I stared back. Any idiot would have known he was being a gentleman by allowing me to sit before him, but I was so lost within a sea of insecurity I could barely think about proper manners. His smile deepened before he canted his head to the side to indicate for me to sit.
My cheeks flashed with heat, the blush obvious to any person glancing in my direction. Thankfully, Donovan had his hands full with the chair and couldn’t sign some sarcastic observation about my being out of place. Taking the seat, I gave him a small smile in thanks and waited for him to sit opposite me. The hostess hovered near the table, her eyes wide with expectation. I wasn’t sure what she hoped would happen. It wasn’t like Donovan was going to thank her. The man didn’t speak, but I wasn’t sure she knew it. Feeling bad for her, I finally spoke up to excuse her from the immediate area.
“Thank you for seating us,” I said, my lips held in a friendly grin as she shot me a glare that told me exactly what she thought of my dismissal.
Turning back to Donovan, she asked, “Is there anything else I can do for you before returning to the front?”
Donovan’s expression was a blank mask, the same chilling demeanor he’d used with me the first day I met him. Without looking at the hostess, he lifted his hand and wiggled his fingers in silent dismissal. Her expression fell and I felt bad for her again.
Clearing my throat, I smiled politely. “You’ll have to excuse him. He doesn’t talk much. Thank you for seating us and if we require anything further, I’ll be sure to let you know.”
She stalked off, but not without casting one more longing glance in Donovan’s direction. Keeping his eyes trained on me, he ignored the look, waiting for her to be out of ear shot (not that he needed to wait) before lifting his hands and signing, I didn’t want her to excuse my behavior.
Rolling my eyes, I tucked a white cloth napkin in my lap. This dress was far too expensive to ruin with an accidental spill and even though we hadn’t so much as received our drinks yet, I wasn’t taking any chances. “You could at least smile. She was only being friendly.”
She was trying to get in my bed.
“So?” Soft laughter rolled off my lips. Didn’t he realize every woman was trying to get in his bed? One would think he’d be used to it by now. “You’re kind of a great catch, Donovan. Even if you’re rude.”
His eyes widened at the remark, and I struggled to think what had gotten into me. Even if we were out celebrating, he was still my boss.
I’m not rude. I’m clear about my thoughts. I didn’t want her here anymore and since I couldn’t tell her that, I showed her my discontent through body language.
The waiter approached as Donovan signed the last word. Dressed in grey pants, a white shirt and a sapphire blue vest, He had a folded white napkin draped over the forearm of his right hand, a bottle of wine held in the left. He was younger than us, but not by much and he had the prettiest lips I’d ever seen on a man.
“May I pour you a sample of our house wine?”
Donovan answered with a quick cut of his chin to the left. Pulling a wine menu from the table, his eyes scanned the listings. Finding one he liked, he placed the menu on the table and pointed to what he wanted. The waiter was slightly taken aback by Donovan’s silence, but smiled regardless and dashed off to fetch the wine.
I couldn’t help my curiosity, and I swear the question tumbled out before my brain could process what I was asking. “Why do you choose not to talk?”
His gaze lifted to mine from the dinner menu. Setting it down he was quick with his response.
Why should it matter? Why do you dislike being touched?
Shut down instantly by his question in response, I rushed to explain why I was curious. “It just seems like you make life harder on yourself by not communicating with words. People work around it when they have no choice, but you do have a choice. I’m just curious why you would make that choice. I don’t have to let people touch me in order to communicate with them.”
Shaking his head, he signed, It’s easier than you think. And you’re missing out on a major part of communication by not allowing touch. I can communicate all sorts of thoughts with my hands that I would never be able to tell you with my voice. I wondered if you were a prude when I first noticed it, but now I’m not so sure.
Picking up his menu, he read the selections while I stared wide-eyed at him from across the table. When he glanced up again, his lips tugged up at the corners. Dropping the menu back to the table, he moved those elegant hands over a question that froze me in place.
Would you like me to show you?
Practically choking on the ball of surprise lodged in my throat, I sat stunned for several seconds before regaining the ability to talk. “I’m sorry? What do you mean?”
He couldn’t mean what I thought he meant, could he? My mouth went dry at the images running through my head, of the myriad of ways touch could be used to communicate emotion. All of them included naked bodies and sensual moments. Reminding myself that Donovan was my boss and not my date, I waited for his answer.
Give me your hand.
He reached across the table with his palm held up, his fingers wiggling to hurry me along when I didn’t offer my hand in return. I glanced between his palm and his face, noticing that his eyebrows were lifted in challenge for me to allow him to show me exactly what he’d meant.
Blowing out a breath, I ignored how my hand shook as I lifted it from my lap. Placing it palm down on Donovan’s hand, I also tried to ignore the way my heart picked up in rhythm, the way heat bloomed beneath my skin as a spark shot between where our bodies touched. He was communicating all sorts of ideas already and he hadn’t done anything but hold his hand against mine.
Reaching with his free hand, Donovan grabbed mine and turned it so that my palm was facing up on top of his. His fingers tightened over the sides of my hand as he used the pad of his pointer finger to draw a circle over my palm, the soft touch such wicked torment that I struggled not to close my eyes and just feel what the contact did to me.
It was a circle. That was it, but yet it affected me in ways I’d never experienced before. If Donovan could do this to me by simply drawing a circle over my palm, what could he do if our bodies were fully pressed together. Would I feel this rush of heat to be against him, or would I panic? The simple fact was that Donovan’s touch didn’t come with the sensation of bugs crawling across my skin - instead, his touch elicited goosebumps.
I should have known he’d notice my reaction. Peeking up at him from beneath my lashes, I found him staring at me intently, his eyes trapping mine as he traced a line up my palm, over my wrist, slowly climbing towards the crook of my elbow. More goosebumps erupted, my cheeks flaming with heat for him to discover how his touch affected me.
More images danced in my thoughts, more desires building in my core as my thighs tightened at the touch, my eyes begging to close as I was carried away by the sensation. Barely holding them open, I turned my head to hide my reaction, the moment lost as soon as a familiar voice rang out from a nearby table.
“Oh my God, it is you!”
Rachel’s voice was distinct in its shock. Floating just above the low din of conversation that filled the dining hall, she called out my name before excusing herself from her table and approaching mine.
“Mia? What are you doing here? I thought it might be you, but I couldn’t see your face until you turned your head, and-“
Her voice cut off as soon as she glanced Donovan’s way. Lips pulling into a demure smile, she observed, “And you’re with Donovan Stone. Will the surprises never end?”
It wasn’t until she’d asked the rhetorical question that her gaze flicked down to the table, her eyes widening to see that I was allowing another person to touch me. Pulling my hand away as quickly as I could, I balled my hands in my lap and stared up at my best friend with a face that must have been bright red. Disappointment filtered through me to be disturbed, to have to let go of Donovan’s hand.
Scanning my face, her brow wrinkled with confusion. But instead of asking me all the questions I knew were flying in her head, she turned to Donovan and offered her hand. “Hi, I’m Rachel. I’ve known Mia since grade school. I’m sorry to interrupt, but I just never expected to find her at a place like this.”
Donovan shook her hand, but was quick to pull away. He nodded in her direction without saying a word, Rachel’s expression souring to realize he wouldn’t voice a response. It occurred to me that I’d never had the chance to tell her about my new boss.
I’d been too distracted by the stalker emails the last time we’d spoken. Clearing my throat, I drew her attention away from Donovan.
“Rachel, as you apparently know, this is Donovan, my new boss. We’re here celebrating a business accomplishment.”
Her gaze snapped back to me. “You didn’t tell me you worked for Stone Industries.” Attempting to include Donovan in the conversation, she looked back and forth between us as she explained, “I spoke with Mia a day or so ago, but she was too distracted with some man online to answer my questions.”
My jaw dropped, my denial sharp when I spoke again. “I never told you I was talking to a man online.”
Lips puckering with amusement, she gave Donovan a knowing glance, then smiled brightly as she looked back at me. “Whatever you say, Mia. But I should let you two get back to the celebration. However, I will be calling you tomorrow, and I will be demanding all your attention during this phone call.”
Winking before she nodded goodbye in Donovan’s direction, Rachel sauntered off while Donovan fixed his stare on me.
Man online? Don’t you know that’s dangerous?
In my instance, yes, it was dangerous, but I wasn’t about to admit that to him. What would he think if he knew I’d volunteered to let a stranger stalk me? Not just volunteered, I’d given him all my personal information to make the stalking easier. However, why had Donovan jumped to a conclusion that what I was doing was risky? People met each other online all the time. In fact, it was becoming far more prevalent than people meeting in public. Times had changed.
“I wasn’t talking to a man online. I don’t know why Rachel said that.”
Thankfully, the waiter arrived at just that moment to cut off the conversation before Donovan could ask more questions. Presenting the bottle’s label to Donovan, he waited for Donovan to nod his head in approval. The waiter was quick and efficient to open the bottle and pour us both a glass before setting it on the table. With pad and pen in hand, he asked what we would like to eat. Donovan ordered the steak and I selected salmon. Dashing away again, the waiter left us to our conversation, Donovan’s eyes searching my expression to determine what I was thinking.
Thank you for your help today. You made me look better in front of my clients.
Confused by the comment, I said, “I didn’t do anything but stand there. You did all the hard work.”
He smiled, his eyes flashing with some unspoken thought. You have no idea how you affect people, do you?
“Um, no,” I stammered. “Typically I like to blend in with the crowd so that I can slink next to a wall and stay out of people’s way.”
Good luck with that, he signed, his eyes watching my face as I read his hands. Like tonight, for instance. You’re one of the most beautiful women in the restaurant yet you refused to make eye contact with people. And the times you accidentally met eyes with another person, your shoulders tucked inward like you were trying to hide.
Damn. He’d noticed. I’d hoped that my insecurity hadn’t been a neon sign above my head. It seemed I would have to get used to Donovan seeing everything. Perhaps his years spent silent had sharpened his attention on other areas of body language. If that circle he’d made on my palm meant anything, then Donovan was an expert with all forms of communication that didn’t involve direct speech.
“Thanks for pointing that out,” I replied, nervous laughter cutting through my words.
I’m not trying to embarrass you, I’m simply mentioning it because you didn’t behave that way in the board room. It’s almost as if you’re only comfortable in your skin when people aren’t paying attention. Why?
“Why do you ask so many personal questions?” I shot back.
Because it’s the only way to get to know you. You’re extremely closed off.
“So are you,” I countered.
His brow arched, a flicker of grief flashing in his eyes before he signed, I have my reasons.
He could have constructed a brick wall between us at that moment and it wouldn’t have closed him off more. Something about the reason for his silence bothered him - I only recognized it because I carried the same emotions in myself on a daily basis. Rachel was the only person who knew why I hated to be touched.
“I have my reasons, as well,” I mumbled, hating that the mood had shifted between us. I wasn’t sure whether I needed to thank Rachel or curse her for the interruption. She’d taken the dangerously sensual moment Donovan and I shared and directed us right back to the uncomfortable, and antagonistic relationship we had as employer and employee.
Assuming he would continue prodding, I was surprised that he changed the subject. Do you like dancing?
Laughter bubbled over my lips and it was my turn to lift a brow at him like he was an idiot. “I can’t dance. It requires a lot of personal contact. That would be the same as me asking you if you like singing in a church choir.”
His shoulder shook with silent laughter. Would you like to learn? I thought after dinner we could go to an exclusive club. It won’t be packed, so the only human contact you would have to endure would be mine.
Endure wasn’t exactly the right word when it came to how I felt about his touch, but I’d let him believe it was. Telling your boss you crave him seemed like a quick way to get fired. “I don’t want to embarrass you,” I admitted. “I’m not sure if I can learn.”
I’ll be the judge of that.
His words were more of a challenge than he knew. I wasn’t even the type to dance when I was alone. Lacking natural rhythm, I was more of a toe tapper, maybe a finger drummer, but a dancer? Not quite. More like a klutz that tripped over her own feet when she walked too quickly.
Now that we’d decided on dancing after dinner, my stomach was in knots by the time our meal arrived. Thankfully, the smell was so heavenly that my stomach growled in response. The other great thing about food was that it occupied Donovan’s hands, making it impossible for him to make me any more nervous than I already was.