Читать книгу On His Knees - Cathryn Fox - Страница 12

I PACE INSIDE my suite, hardly able to believe I’m about to have dinner with Tate the sexy bartender with a body made for sin. He never did give me his last name, and I never gave him mine, which is A-Okay with me. If I’m going to have a hot affair with a man I never plan to set eyes on again, the less I know about him the better.

Wait.

What?

I’m going to have a hot affair with Tate?

My blood races faster, heating my flesh and no doubt turning my cheeks a deeper shade of pink. God, am I really going to do this? I mean, there is no denying the heat between us, the insane, off-the-charts attraction. As soon as he approached our table, crowded my personal space, we created a volatile bubble of sexual energy that even my friends felt to their cores. Off course, after he left, they suggested I jump his bones and have a little much needed fun while I’m on vacation.

Should I?

I walk to the patio window and glance out at the slopes. Honest to God, I have the nicest view in all of St. Moritz. James spared no expense, giving me this suite and setting my friends up in their own rooms. Guilt tightens my stomach. I’m not one to take from people, not at all. I’ve always paid my own way in life, and went without when I couldn’t.

For most of my life, I’ve had my own preconceived notions about the wealthy, thanks to many childhood incidents with the rich boys at my school. Spoiled, entitled, mean boys who bullied me, and set me up for disaster. Growing up in New York and going to Harvard, I’ve met people from all walks of life, most of them kind. But after what those boys did to me when I was a kid, I was never able to shake the feeling of distrust I get around rich people. And, honestly, several summers spent working at an upscale steakhouse in Boston did little to help with that. The tips were great, some of the diners...not so much. But James is kind, compassionate, fair and generous. In the world of the rich, he may be one of a kind.

The knock on my door startles me, and my heart jumps into my throat as I turn around. I glance at myself in the mirror. Am I dressed appropriately? I only packed a few nice dresses. I had no idea I’d be dining with anyone other than my girls.

I check my clipped hair, take a deep breath and walk to the door. I open it and my pulse leaps when I find Tate standing there, hands in the pockets of his dress pants, and a suit jacket that fits him to perfection. He must have had it professionally made to fit those shoulders. Then again, probably not. Not on a bartender’s salary anyway. I give him another once over. Tate in jeans is one thing, but damned if he doesn’t clean up nice.

His gaze leaves my face, drops to take in my little black dress. “You’re beautiful,” he says so low, I almost don’t hear him.

“You are, too.”

He grins as his eyes lift to mine. “I’ve been called a lot of things before, but beautiful was never one of them.”

“Well, it’s fitting,” I say. “You look amazing. I’ll be the envy of every woman in the restaurant tonight.”

He steps into me, captures my chin with his thumb and index finger, lightly brushes the soft pad back and forth, and my mind takes that moment to envision him using the same movement, on a different part of my body.

“Thank you for the compliment,” he says. “But you’re the one who’s going to turn heads tonight.”

His intense gaze sets my panties on fire, and I resist the urge to run to the bathroom to change my damp thong. My God, the man sure knows how to sweet talk a woman.

His hands drop. “You all set?”

“I am.” I grab my purse from the table, and let the door click shut behind me. Silence ensues as we walk to the elevator and I steal a few glances at him as we wait for it to arrive. It’s empty when it opens and Tate puts his hand on the small of my back to lead me in. Breathless, I move to the back wall, and grip my purse tighter.

“How long have you worked here?” I ask him as he presses the button for the lobby.

“Long enough to know my way around the place. Are you up for a tour later?”

“I’d love a tour.” I glance down at my little black dress and heels. “I’ll have to change though.”

“Of course. We can’t have you going outside in that dress.”

The doors open and he leads me into the exquisite lobby. Raydolins is a pretty top-notch resort, so I’d imagine the fine dining restaurant must be pricey. He puts his hand on the small of my back again and guides me across the wide expanse of marble flooring. Heat sizzles through me at his touch, and I try not to appear as flustered as I feel.

We step through the doors to the restaurant, and I take in its opulence. “Tate,” I begin quickly. “We don’t have to eat here.” Jeez, how do I say this without offending him? He wants to take me out to dinner to a nice place, but I don’t want it to empty his bank account.

“You don’t like it?” he asks.

“No, it’s beautiful, I just...” To be honest it’s a little out of my element. Deep down I’m just a simple girl from Brooklyn and I don’t want this man to think he has to wine and dine me to impress me. I’m good with a cheeseburger and Coke. I might even prefer it.

He leans into me, puts his mouth close to my ear and whispers, “If you don’t want to stay...” he says, looking and feeling far more comfortable in this swank restaurant than I do. He actually looks like he belongs here, like he wants to be here.

“No, I do,” I say. If he wants to stay, we stay.

“Anything you want, Summer. Just say the word.”

What would that word be, please?

My brain spins, buzzing like a fine wine, as his low, sexy voice travels down my body, hitting every erogenous spot along the way. I tremble. Almost violently.

Tate’s brow furrows. “Maybe we should run back upstairs and grab you a sweater.”

“No, it’s okay, I’m fine,” I lie. I’m far from fine because the thoughts of running upstairs with him sounds appealing. Except I don’t want to go back to my room to put more clothes on. Quite the opposite, really.

When the hostess arrives, Tate says something I can’t hear. The waitress laughs, and her face lights up in admiration. She touches Tate’s arm, and I sense the familiarity between them. I guess working here, the staff all know each other and probably hang out. Heck, they probably all live together in the staff’s quarters.

We’re led across the restaurant, and a few heads turn to Tate, give him a nod of acknowledgment. I guess he’s well known, even with some of the guests. The hostess takes us to a table with a spectacular view of the mountains, as nice as my penthouse view. I stare at Tate, and wonder how exactly he managed to arrange this.

“You’re right, you do have some pull,” I say as we’re seated.

He grins, and smooths his hand over his tie. I angle my head, the gesture so familiar to me. James does the same thing, even when he’s not wearing a tie.

“Told you,” he says, but not in a show-off way. Just then the server stops by.

“I’m Justin. I’ll be your server tonight. Can I start you both off with some drinks?”

Tate turns his attention to me. “Summer, what would you like?”

“White wine, please.”

The muscles along Tate’s jaw twist, and he goes quiet, like he needs a minute to compose himself. He scrubs his chin, and the bristling of his fine hair is like silk being dragged across my nipples.

“A bottle of your best,” Tate says.

The waiter nods. “Thank you, Tate. I’ll give you a minute to look over the menu, and I’ll be right back with your drinks.”

“Does everyone here know you?”

“Pretty much,” he says, and opens his menu.

I do the same, and nearly swallow my tongue when I see the prices. Even on a new doctor’s salary, these prices are a bit steep for me. Fortunately, the salmon costs the least and sounds the most appealing. I close my menu and glance at the crystal chandelier above us, take in the amazing view outside. The hill is lit up under the star-studded night sky, and off in the distance I hear children laughing. The sound brings a smile to my face.

“Something funny?” Tate asks, and I turn my attention back to him as he sets the menu down.

“No, I just... I love this view. I’ve never seen anything like it actually.”

“No? Where’s home?”

“I’m originally from Brooklyn,” I say, an invisible band tightening around my heart as my thoughts go back to the old apartment I shared with my late father. God, I miss him. If it weren’t for Amber and Cara, I’d be all alone in this world. Sure, I have my patients, but that’s not quite the same. “How about you, where do you call home?” When he arches one eyebrow, I laugh. “Right, St. Moritz.”

“I used to live in Boston,” he says.

“Ah, I spent time in Boston, too. Maybe we crossed paths a time or two.”

“What were you doing in Boston?”

I open my mouth, not wanting to lie to this man, but not wanting him to know too much about me either, especially the fact that I’m a Harvard grad and a doctor. Just then the waiter returns with our drinks. He pours a small amount into Tate’s glass and he tastes it.

“Perfect,” he says, and the waiter fills our glasses. We put in our order and once he’s out of earshot, Tate leans toward me. “You never did tell me your last name.”

I hesitate for a second. “It’s just Summer.”

He leans back and nods, a flicker of a smile on his face. I expect him to call me on it, ask why I’m not giving up more information, but he doesn’t, and for that I’m grateful.

“What do you do, Summer?” He lazily waves his hand toward the view of the mountains. “Besides vacation in St. Moritz.”

I chuckle. “Right now I’m between jobs,” I say. Not a lie. I do run between the geriatric clinic and James’s mansion on Sixty-Fourth Street. Not to mention my own clinic that I’m trying to build. I look out the window. “This was all compliments of a friend.”

“A very generous friend.”

Averting Tate’s gaze, not wanting to flaunt the fact that I’m here living in luxury—and feeling guilty about it—I pick up my napkin and place it on my lap. “Very generous indeed.”

When I don’t elaborate, he lifts his glass, redirecting the conversation. I reach for my wine and we clink crystal.

“What are we toasting to?” I ask.

“Mistakes.”

I crinkle my nose. “Mistakes?”

He laughs. “Yeah, me groping you by mistake.”

“So, you admit to the groping?” He laughs harder and I arch a challenging brow. “I’m beginning to wonder if it was a mistake,” I say, fully aware I’m leading this conversation elsewhere.

His blue eyes deepen, little flecks of honey sparkling under the chandelier lights. “Believe me, Summer. If I was touching you on purpose, you’d know it,” he says, his voice full of promise and heat. My breath rushes as he stares, his eyes latched on mine, not letting me go.

The waiter returns to top our wine glasses, and Tate expels a breath, long and slow...tortured. A thrill goes through me, to know I can do this to him. I’m not being totally honest about who I am, but it’s the woman in me he wants, so it’s the woman in me he’s going to get. The bottom line is, I want this man, and dammit, before the night is through, I plan to have him.

A loud group of middle-aged men gets seated next to us, and I shift my chair a little closer to the window. The hostess hands them their menus, and when they start making inappropriate comments to her, every muscle in my body stiffens. My heart goes out to the girl who stands there quietly and smiles. Having been in her position, I know just how she feels. If she says something, puts a complaint in about their behavior, she’ll be out of a job before the night is over. Men like the ones beside me, ones with impressive pedigrees, well, they think they can get away with anything—and they usually can. I lift my eyes to find Tate watching me, his gaze narrowed, zeroed in on me.

“Summer.”

“Yes?”

“Would you excuse me for a minute?”

I nod. “Of course.”

Tate slides his chair back, and stands to his impressive height. “I’ll just be a moment.” He turns from me, and I expect him to disappear down the hall, to the little boy’s room. What he does instead surprises me.

I study the way his hair flirts with his collar as he bends down, puts his hands on the backs of two chairs and says something to the table of men, his voice low, for their ears only. A moment of silence, then he straightens and smooths his hand over his tie as he walks back to me. My jaw is practically on the table, as the men give their apologies to the girl, then go deathly silent. The hostess smiles after Tate, but his attention is back on me.

“Want to get out of here? Go somewhere a little quieter?” he asks.

“But we ordered.”

He smooths his hand over his tie again. “I’ll take care of it. What’s important right now is if you want to leave.”

I hesitate for a second, not wanting to ruin this date, but not wanting stay here a minute longer either. “Yes, please.”