Authors: Opal Carew
Meat (12 page)
When the main course arrived—chateaubriand and lobster tails, which he knew she loved—her eyes widened. He realized it was because she probably knew how much it cost. Knowing River—and he did—she would have looked up the menu online before she came and would know that the chateaubriand alone was into the three digits. Add the lobster and the other courses and the meal was probably close to a week’s pay for her. That wasn’t even counting the bottle of wine, which doubled that amount.
The waiter served the food from the beautiful platter onto their plates, then refilled their wineglasses. A moment later, he disappeared out the door.
Kane leaned forward. “River, don’t worry about the cost of the meal. I’m paying for it.”
Her wide blue gaze darted to his, looking thankful at first, then shifting to determined.
“No, it’s my responsibility to pay for dinner.”
“Actually, it doesn’t say that anywhere in the agreement. So I believe it’s my prerogative to pay if I choose.”
“But—”
“If you insist on paying for dinner for me, then we can go to a roadhouse for a second dinner and we’ll count this as a rehearsal dinner.”
“A rehearsal dinner? It’s not like we’re getting married.” Instantly her cheeks flushed a deep rose color.
He laughed. “Really? Talk of marriage so soon? We’ve barely gotten started renewing our connection. Give us a little time.”
She practically growled. “We aren’t renewing anything. Once this dinner is done, I’m gone and we never see each other again.”
“Well, no, not really.”
* * *
River’s eyes narrowed as she stared at him suspiciously. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I didn’t just buy this dinner opportunity with you. Did you notice how quickly your campaign hit the target?”
“Yes,” she said slowly, her stomach tightening.
Please, don’t let him say that—
“I bought all the options.”
Oh, God, he’d said it.
“All of them?”
“That’s right.”
The superb taste of the chateaubriand soured in her mouth. She put down her fork and stared at him.
“What are you going to do with a thousand bottles of nail polish?”
The option rewards had basically been choices of nail polish. The lower-cost options included a single bottle of polish, the middle level included packages of the basic shades of the collection, and the high-level rewards were sets of the whole collection, which included the special top coats. Altogether, that would be about a thousand bottles.
Her heart sank. She’d been so happy that so many people would be trying her nail polish and hopefully love it and want to come back for more. She’d seen this as a way to grow her clientele. But because of what Kane had done, she’d only reached one client, and he didn’t even care about the polish. He had just used this as an opportunity to trap her into seeing him again. Altogether the campaign had raised fifteen thousand dollars, including this dinner, and after expenses—including the huge outreach to bloggers as she’d intended—she would be left with enough to buy more supplies and get a kick-ass Web site set up, and do some promotion, but without that base of clients …
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll build a special room for them. I can have you come and organize them for me.”
She quirked her eyebrow. “I don’t think so.”
“So how many nail polishes do you have?” he asked.
She shifted in her seat. “In stock, you mean?”
“No, I mean personally.”
Oh, God, she didn’t want to reveal her quirky obsessiveness. “Um … I have a few.”
His grin broadened. “Come on. Tell me.”
She pursed her lips. “Well … about … uh … fourteen hundred.”
He chuckled.
“Why are you laughing?”
“Well, for someone who is tight for cash, that’s a lot of money tied up. Each bottle is what … twenty-five dollars?”
Her eyes widened. “Are you kidding? Sure, a bottle of Louboutin goes for fifty dollars.” She’d seen the stylish bottle online and drooled over the facet-shaped bottle that looked like a jewel and the tall slender cap, like one of the iconic stiletto heels from the designer’s line of shoes. “Or Dior for thirty to forty dollars. Azature, which is infused with a crushed diamond, is twenty-five, but I only have one of those.” Her one indulgence. “Most of what I have are two-dollar brands from the drugstore. Like Sinful Colors. They’re really nice,” she defended. She didn’t mention that she did have several from the boutique where she worked, but with her store discount they weren’t too pricey.
“Even at two dollars a bottle, that’s close to three grand.”
She leaned back in her chair, her back stiff. “Sure, but I don’t have many shoes.”
His eyes glittered and he laughed again, a deep, delightful sound. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Well, I’m just saying. A lot of women buy lots of shoes. But I don’t. And shoes are thirty or forty dollars a pair.”
“Sweetheart, I have no idea where you shop, but the last pair of shoes I bought for a woman was over a thousand dollars.”
She crossed her arms. “I think you just made my point.”
She pushed aside her plate, her meal only half eaten. Under the covered silver platter on the side table, more food was being kept warm.
“Look, I don’t want to argue about nail polish or shoes, or why we’re here,” she said. “I have to work tomorrow so I’d like to go home.”
“There’s still dessert.”
“I’m full.”
“Then stay for coffee.”
“I—”
But he glanced at his gold Rolex watch and she sighed.
“Fine.”
He picked up his napkin and wiped his mouth, leaving his meal unfinished, then pulled back her chair. “Let’s sit by the fireplace.”
But when she stood up, he rested his hand on her upper arm—the action intimate and totally familiar—and her heart raced. She couldn’t think with him this close. With him touching her like that.
Before she knew what was happening, he drew her close and his lips brushed hers. She sucked in a breath, immobile at the shock of his solid body against hers, her hormones swirling through her. Then his lips pressed more firmly, coaxing, and his tongue slipped inside her mouth. She melted against him, the deep, intense yearning she’d suffered so long … that she’d buried inside so deep she thought it would never resurface … stole away her reasons for keeping him at a distance. Denied her the barriers she needed to keep her sanity while in his arms, plucking each excuse from her brain before it could surface.
Also by
Opal Carew
Opal Carew
is the
New York Times
bestselling author of nineteen previous erotic romances for St. Martin’s Griffin. Visit her on the Web at
www.opalcarew.com
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This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
MEAT.
Copyright © 2016 by Opal Carew. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
Cover credits: man © Shutterstock; texture © Shutterstock
eISBN 978-1-250-11856-1
First Edition: July 2016
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