“Mr and Mrs Park, right this way. We have the table up the back reserved for you, as per your request,” the young male waiter announces, as we walk up to the entrance.
I chuckle. It’s surprisingly nice to be referred to as ‘Mr and Mrs’. I could get used to it.
The restaurant has a rustic feel to it, like an old wooden boat shed. It’s so isolated and quiet out here. I feel as if we’re a world away from the drama we left in Sydney. Maybe we can just be ourselves out here?
“This was a great idea,” I say to Pacer, as he pulls my chair out for me.
The leather of his glove rubs across my skin as he sweeps my hair aside and leans down to kiss the side of my neck. His stubble against my skin naturally makes my eyes close, taking in all the wonderfully different sensations.
God, he feels good.
Yes, I can definitely get used to this.
“You have the degustation menu set for you today. Would you like to start straight away?” the waiter asks.
Pacer answers without hesitation. “Yes, straight away, thanks.”
For someone who is always in strict control of my life, it’s really quite refreshing not to be, for once. There’s something about having Pacer take control that feels so natural. I don’t think I’ve ever let a man take control as much as he has in one date. Is this a date? I guess it is. Considering the romantic element, you would call it a date. Right?
“You look deep in thought.” Pacer takes his glove off and runs the back of his finger along my arm.
I break from my continuous self-analysis, and automatically revert back to work mode.
“Yeah, I was. So there are some things that have come to light about your investigation.”
“How about we just enjoy each other? All this professional shit can wait.” He pulls my hand to his lips and kisses it gently. “Plus, you wanted to eat first, remember?”
He has me in such a fluster that I forgot I was even hungry. Now I have a different type of hunger —one that’s not going to be satisfied in a restaurant.
“I still don’t know how I feel about all this touchy-feely in public. I don’t want to give the newspapers anymore to talk about. My family would be so upset, and you may lose your case over this.”
Pacer reaches to my cheek, brushing my hair back from my face again. “That’s why we’re here. I’ve paid the staff accordingly to keep this discreet.”
“But what about the other patrons? This is what I mean, Pacer. We have to be careful. The media will blow this story wide open, because it will sell papers. I know how they work. And they pay the public good money for information like this. We can’t just pay everyone off every time we go somewhere together. It’s not that easy.”
He shrugs. “I can afford it.”
“And when you can’t afford it anymore? Then what?”
“Then we’ll just run away and join the circus.” He winks playfully.
“I’m serious. We need to be careful about who sees us together socially. We come from two different worlds. If people see us together on a non-professional level, it will ruin all creditability with your case.”
His left eyebrow rises—just the one. That’s some good brow control. It’s sexy as fuck.
“Are you sure there’s nothing more to your concerns? Why are you here if you’re so worried about your creditability?”
“You’re right. I shouldn’t be here at all, and there is more. Our families know each other, and hate each other. You know how you said you were raised by your Uncle because your father was murdered in prison?” Pacer’s hand slips from my cheek. “Well, my Dad was the one who put him there.”
“Yeah, Carlo told me that.” He doesn’t seem too discouraged by the news.
“So us being in public is a loose decision, both personally and professionally.”
The waiter brings over our wines, breaking the moment between us. “The is a nice torrontés wine from Argentina. All your wines are matched with each serving today.” He places the glasses in front of us.
We both pick our drinks up in unison and take swift gulps, our eyes locking throughout the whole sequence. It’s intense.
I don’t taste the wine. It’s a cold liquid that’s hitting my tongue—that’s the extent my mind is registering beyond my struggle over Pacer.
It’s all but gone by the time I realise the waiter has left us. I put the wine glass down before I crack it from the pressure in my hands.
Pacer, on the other hand, slams his wineglass against the table top. Surprisingly, the glass doesn’t break, but it creates enough of a noise to make me jolt.
The waiter returns with two large plates that have little sectioned pieces of a meal in the centre. Suddenly the situation seems so ridiculous—we’re arguing over life, death and work at a restaurant accessible only by air, and here’s a plate with the tiniest little decorated piece of food? I laugh like I like I always do when I see posh meals that end up looking more like art than food. It’s so pretentious. Why can’t food just be food?
“What’s so funny?” Pacer asks the moment the waiter turns to walk away.
I chuckle as I speak, “Sometimes food just looks ridiculous.”
He starts laughing too, and suddenly the tension in my neck relaxes. I’m here now, so I might as well enjoy the moment for what it is.
I finish the three mouthfuls of the meal before Pacer drops his cutlery down and snatches my hand in his.
“I can’t take this anymore,” he says as he abruptly gets out of his chair, my hand still within his grip.
“What are you doing?”
“Taking you to a house of mine, because you’ve been teasing the fuck out of me for days.”
He grips tight around my hand and leads me out of the restaurant. I grab my handbag quickly as he pulls me. He reaches in his pocket as we pass the waiter’s station and throws a pile of hundred dollar bills on the counter.
“We’ll be back later.”
Holy shit!
CHAPTER TWELVE
Pacer’s leather glove-covered hand grips around mine firmly as he continues to pull me to the top of a road so steep that my breath is non-existent. My feet barely hit ground with each step we make, or at least that’s what it feels like.
We stop at a driveway near the top of the hill. The tree line falls dramatically down the steep embankment. He pulls me with him, and I follow as we cross over wooden decking that leads to the entrance of a very angular, modern-looking house that sits amongst the treetops.
Pacer looks back to me with a wanton glare. I can’t quite distinguish whether he wants to hurt me or pleasure me, but the sexual vapours coming from him make me light-headed. A combination of pleasure and pain is sounding perfect right now. With anyone else, that would be frightening, but with Pacer, it’s fucking arousing.
He makes quick work of the locks, swinging the rich wooden door wide open. His hands grip around the back of my thighs, and he lifts me off the ground and wraps my legs around him. My thighs squeeze tight around his waist.
Fuck, I wish I could feel his gloves against my skin right now.
I do feel something else, though. Holy shit, he is big. Wow, like really big. It sits all the way up to the top of his pants.
I hold my legs around his waist, and my hands slips naturally around his neck. His mouth meets mine and the world melts away. All I need right now is for Pacer to fill every inch of my desires.