The Awakening of Nina Fontaine Page 9

  Jack bent his head to her ear and her entire body seemed magnetized to his as she leaned closer to hear him.

  “You’re not here for them — you’re here for me. Only me.”

  His voice was full of steely possession. She almost believed he already owned her.

  They started up the carpet to Cipriani’s. Flashbulbs nearly blinded her on both sides of the carpet, blocking out portions of the crowd so that their questions were disembodied, voices shouting from the ether.

  “Who’s your date tonight, Jack?”

  “What happened between you and Ella?”

  “Is it true that Ella broke off your engagement?"

  Nina’s body was in full-on fight or flight mode, adrenaline making her flushed and manic, but she couldn’t have run even if she’d wanted to. Her hand was tucked into Jack’s arm, pressed against his body as he held her close, propelling her purposefully up the carpet as he ignored the shouted questions.

  It was over quickly. One second she was on the red carpet being pummeled by questions and light, the next she was being ushered into the restaurant, the chaos falling behind them as another object of interest stepped from another limo at the curb.

  “You did marvelously well,” Jack murmured near her ear.

  She didn’t have time to dwell on the rush of his approval. They moved into the restaurant — too mundane a word to describe the legendary Cipriani’s, with its expansive interior and towering barreled ceiling, more like a theater than a place to eat — and were quickly engulfed in a crowd of people Nina recognized from newspapers and tabloids.

  There were more photographers inside, although markedly fewer of them. Jack steered her clear of the press areas set up for photography. They headed for the bar instead.

  “Champagne?” he asked her when they reached it.

  She spotted an A-list actress leaning over the bar, deep in conversation with a director she’d seen described as “reclusive” in news articles. There wasn’t enough champagne in the world to get her through this night.

  “Vodka martini.”

  His eyes lit with appreciation. “I’ll join you.”

  He ordered their drinks and they moved toward a large area set up for the gala. Circular tables glittered under the towering ceiling, fresh flowers and flickering candles placed at the center of creamy linen. A balcony looked over the room on one side. Under it, a small orchestra in black tie played as guests began to trickle in from the bar and press areas.

  “It’s so beautiful,” she said.

  He smirked. “Do you think so?”

  “You don’t?”

  “I think you’re beautiful. This…” He looked around. “This is artifice.”

  “Can’t artifice be beautiful?” she asked.

  He seemed to consider her words. “It’s an interesting question. I’ll get back to you.”

  It wasn’t flip. Not a dismissal of her question or a way to move onto more interesting conversation. She had no doubt that he would think about, was thinking about it already, and that when he finally came to an answer it would be like everything else about him — thoughtful, considered, deliberate.

  “Jack! Darling! I’m so happy you made it.”

  Nina leaned around him to find the owner of the voice and found an elaborately made-up woman leaning in to kiss Jack’s cheek, one manicured hand on his shoulder.

  Jack submitted to the kiss without any attempt to return it.

  The woman stepped in front of Jack and appraised Nina as if she were a strange and unusual object. “And who is your friend?”

  “Nina, this is Kitty Vanderbilt, the organizer of this dog and pony show,” Jack said.

  “Oh, you! Always a spoilsport.” Kitty squeezed Jack’s shoulder before hungrily returning her attention to Nina. “So nice to meet you, Nina. Jack has a habit of keeping his… friends a secret.”

  It was an obvious attempt to get Nina to say more about her relationship to Jack, and Nina was surprised by the protective instinct that rose in her. She had no idea who Kitty Vanderbilt was — other than the organizer of the Amfar gala — but the woman had no right to details of Jack’s life that Jack didn’t want to give her.

  Nina shook her hand. “It’s a pleasure meeting you.”

  The woman’s face tightened. “And you, dear.”

  Nina didn’t bother trying to smile. Jack was right; Nina was here for him. She hadn’t realized how true it was — how right it felt — until this moment.

  Kitty was already moving on, her gaze scanning the increasingly crowded room. She lifted a hand into the air to greet someone beyond Nina’s shoulder, then turned to Jack.

  “Duty calls, darling. I’m sure we’ll catch up later.”

  She melted into the crowd and Nina lightly touched Jack’s arm. His cologne was subtle but effective, the spicy scent going straight to her toes.

  “A viper in couture?” she asked.

  For a split second, his face remained unreadable. Then he tipped back his head and laughed. It was the first authentic display of emotion he’d exhibited, the first time he hadn’t seemed perfectly controlled. He had a lovely laugh that came from deep in his chest, and his eyes crinkled at the corners.

  When he looked down at her, a smile still touched his mouth. “I had a feeling you were special.” He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. “Come on. Let’s see who else we can torment.”

  18

  The party was still going, dancing just getting underway, when Jack led her to the exit. Nina didn’t mind. The evening had been a whirlwind of introductions, food, and speeches. Her encounter with Kitty Vanderbilt had been a good proving ground, and Nina had managed to maintain a relatively cool demeanor even when she’d been introduced to an Oscar-winning actress, the singer who’d performed at that year’s Super Bowl halftime show, and a tech mogul known for his benevolent efforts around the world.

  All of them seemed well acquainted with Jack, who introduced her simply, with only her first name. She’d been more than happy to play along, stingily meting out details about herself and her life even when it was obvious the conversation was really a disguised grilling.

  It had been fun being a mystery woman, and as the night wore on she had maintained the role with more and more comfort. For once she didn’t feel obligated to answer every question, to spill her guts like some kind of offering on the altar of niceness. She didn’t know any of these people and would probably never see them again anyway.

  It was empowering to remember that she didn’t owe anyone anything, that she never had, and she’d vowed to remember the feeling, to call upon it the next time she felt tempted to play nice when it wasn’t what she wanted to do.

  “You were marvelous.” Jack’s voice came from beside her in the backseat of the limo.

  She turned away from the glass to look at him but his face was in shadow. “I didn’t do anything.”

  “Exactly,” he said.

  She smiled. “Is it always like that?”

  He didn’t ask her to elaborate. “Yes.”

  “How do you do it?” she asked.

  He took a moment to answer. “The same way you did tonight: smile, say as little as possible, which is quite easy, as you discovered. People prefer to talk about themselves.”

  “Except when they’re digging for dirt on you, you mean.”

  “Yes.” He turned his face to the window. “They’re hungry.”

  “They’re empty,” she said.

  “What about me?” he asked, turning to look at her, his eyes shining in the half light from the window. “Am I empty as well?”

  “No.” The answer came easily. She wanted to say he was empty in another way, but she had a feeling the opinion wouldn’t be welcome. “You’re different.”

  He held her gaze, then returned his attention to the window without responding.

  She wondered if she’d said something wrong, then scolded herself silently. Where was all the bravado she’d felt at the gala? Why did it seem to matt
er what he thought of her? Why did she already want to please him even as she was unlearning the habit of working to please everyone else?

  She wasn’t any closer to the answers when they pulled up outside her apartment. The street was empty, the sidewalk still glistening with the remains of the week’s snow.

  Reggie opened the door, and Nina stepped out of the car and waited for Jack to do the same. He reached for her hand, the first time all night he’d made direct contact with her other than to slip her arm formally through his or to help her from the car.

  He didn’t say anything as they made their way up the steps. It was surreal to realize it was the second time in the past three days she’d had first date jitters.

  She turned to him when they reached the lobby door. “Thank you for a lovely evening.”

  A ghost of a smile touched his mouth. “Open the door, Nina.”

  Her breath caught in her throat, and she turned the key in the lock and stepped into the lobby with Jack on her heels. He had an authority over her that was both unsettling and thrilling, and while she had no intention of letting him into her apartment, she couldn’t help being fascinated by the dynamic developing between them. Whatever else it might be, it was an unfolding story, and she was both participant and witness.

  She didn’t know what would happen next. But she wanted to find out.

  They made their way up the stairs in silence. Nina was glad she still had her coat on. She wasn’t quite ready to think about sticking her ass in Jack Morgan’s face on their way to the second floor.

  They reached the landing and Nina drew in a breath as they approached her apartment door. This was where his command over her ended, her line in the sand.

  Even as she thought it, she wasn’t sure it was true.

  She turned to face him. “I won’t invite you in, but I do appreciate you walking me up.”

  She’d barely gotten the words out when she found herself backed against the door, Jack’s body half an inch away, close enough that when she exhaled she felt the brush of his coat against her own.

  Hunger roared to life inside her, and she had the sudden urge to unfasten the buttons of his coat, tear it off his shoulders along with his shirt until they were skin to skin.

  She could barely breathe as he looked down at her, his expression grave, as if he were considering a particularly perplexing and weighty problem.

  “We both know you’d invite me in if that’s what I wanted, Nina.” The words were guttural, as if they’d been wrenched out from underneath his veneer of control. He lowered his head to within an inch of her collarbone.

  Her body was a pool of kerosene, his own a lit match. His breath kissed her skin as his face traveled up her neck and across her jaw. He stopped at her mouth, so close that she could have nipped at his bottom lip without moving an inch. His gaze lingered on her lips, then rose to meet her eyes. It was like tipping into an underwater canyon, the fall endless and dark, her body weightless.

  “But it’s not what I want,” he said, slowly straightening, his eyes still locked with hers. “Not yet.” He turned and headed for the stairs. “Goodnight, Nina.”

  She watched his dark head disappear as he turned the corner, his footsteps echoing down the stairs.

  He was long gone when she realized she was still standing there, staring at the stairs as if he might reappear.

  As if she wanted him to.

  19

  She was still a little high the next morning when her alarm went off for brunch with Liam. She’d been physically exhausted when she’d gotten home, but her mind had been full of Jack and she’d lain in bed for more than an hour, tossing and turning, her body humming like an idling engine primed for an experienced driver.

  She replayed every moment between her and Jack, the gala itself fading into the background of every charged encounter, every graze of his body against hers. She had no doubt he knew what he was doing. Whether as a method of seduction — one that worked — or manipulation, his practiced distance was intentional.

  Harder to explain was the power he had over her, his ability to elicit compliance even when commanding her to do things she wasn’t sure she wanted to do. Her response felt primal, almost beyond her control. He spoke and she obeyed and somehow it felt not only right but hot as hell.

  She pushed Jack from her mind as she brewed coffee and took a hot shower. Now that the gala was behind her, she was looking forward to brunch with Liam, to the easy conversation between them and the physical chemistry that was somehow both comfortable and new.

  She spent some time considering her wardrobe options and came to the conclusion that Karen was right: she needed new clothes. She’d gotten lucky last night with the dress Jack had sent, but she couldn’t expect to be handed a suitable outfit every time she went on a date.

  She sighed and shook her head. "Toto, I have a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore,” she murmured.

  Two months ago she’d been in the suburbs, donning her uniform of jeans or slacks and a blouse, finished with sensible flats that would get her through the day’s errands and allow her to cook meals in comfort, even if only for herself.

  She’d been comfortable there, had felt like herself, but now she couldn’t help wondering if that brand of comfort was actually laziness. It was easy — too easy — to wear the same thing, to do the same thing, every day.

  This was harder. She felt like she was walking a tightrope almost every moment of every day, balancing the person she thought she was with new revelations that made her wonder if she’d been fooling herself all along, that made her wonder if her comfort zone had been a pleasant disguise for fear.

  She settled on a dark pair of jeans and a black V-neck sweater, close enough to show her waist without being obscenely tight. She finished it with the boots she’d worn on her first date with Liam, telling herself he wasn’t the kind of man to care if she wore the same shoes twice. She didn’t know how she knew this about him, but somehow, she did.

  She’d blown out her hair into long waves and touched her face with a little mascara and tinted lip balm. It was Sunday, and her face was still thanking her for removing the makeup she’d worn to the gala.

  By the time Liam buzzed the intercom, she was relaxed and looking forward to a couple of hours in a comfortable environment. The gala had been exciting, a chance to try on a completely new persona, but the brunch part of her date with Liam wasn’t such a stretch.

  The Liam part, on the other hand, was still unfamiliar, something she was reminded of when she emerged onto the stoop to find him standing with his hands in his peacoat, his face flushed with cold, blue eyes sparkling.

  Jesus, he was beautiful.

  “Hey you.” He leaned down and kissed her cheek. “You look pretty.”

  She smiled and looked down at the jeans emerging from her coat. “Aw, shucks. This old thing?”

  He laughed and took her hand. It felt natural in spite of the heat that ran through her body.

  “Hungry?” he asked.

  “Starving.” She’d picked at her dinner the night before, too busy keeping up her end of the conversation with everyone at the table, too preoccupied with the nearness of Jack’s thigh next to hers.

  “Good,” Liam said. “I know just the place.”

  They took the subway to the Stone Park Cafe, an upscale bistro in Park Slope. Liam gave the hostess his name and she drew a line in the reservation book.

  “A reservation,” Nina said. “How very organized of you.”

  He laughed. “Don’t get used to it. Spontaneity is usually more my thing, but I know Brooklyn on Sunday at noon.”

  The hostess picked up two menus. “Follow me.”

  Nina followed her, Liam’s words striking a chord in her memory: an argument between her and Peter near the end of their marriage. She couldn’t remember the exact context of the fight, but she could see it in her mind’s eye, Peter pouring himself another inch of vodka, his face pinched and angry.

  “Jesus, Nina… I rem
ember when you were actually fun. When it wasn’t impossible for you to be spontaneous.”

  The words had cut to the bone, both because Peter had said them — because he’d obviously been thinking them for a long time — and because she knew he was right.

  What had happened to her? She’d never been the life of the party. Had never been one of those college girls who suggested streaking across the rugby field during the big game or who climbed onto the bar to dance when she was drunk.

  But she’d been fun. She’d been willing to try new things.

  She’d seen herself as Peter saw her then — uptight, slightly overweight, and worst of all, boring — and had been deeply ashamed.

  She looked up as they passed through the homey if minimalist interior of the restaurant, decorated in creams and taupes, complete with the ubiquitous brick wall that ran along one side of the space. It was comfortable, with an assortment of people, from parents with their children to couples to groups of girlfriends dishing about the weekend that was almost behind them.

  They came to a fenced-in patio at the back of the restaurant and the hostess indicated an empty table. She waited for them to sit and handed them their menus.

  “Enjoy your brunch.”

  Nina looked around, trying to banish the memory of Peter, of her other self. “This is nice.”

  Liam reached across the table to touch her hand. “What is it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  He smiled. “You don’t have to talk to me, Nina. But I hope you know you can.”

  She sighed. “I’m not sure I’m the spontaneous type.” He looked confused, and she continued. “When we first came into the restaurant, you said spontaneity was more your speed. I just… I want to be honest, that’s all.”

  “You hate spontaneity?” he asked.

  “I’ve just been told…” She sighed. “I’m not twenty-five anymore.”

  “What does that have to do with spontaneity?”

  “I think I might have gotten boring,” she confessed.