Chapter Eight

Dinner

Lark hadn’t worn the cocktail dress in a while, but it still fit. She borrowed a sheer, silvery shawl from her mother which flattered the dress and covered its more revealing parts.

Colin Fields and Matthew Harte were waiting in the lobby of the Benson Hotel when Lark pulled the black Camry rental out front. Both men appeared closer to Charles’s age, in their mid to late thirties, and they had the same seasoned office-veteran aura about them. The taller of the two had a leathery orange tan, out of kilter in the cold autumn weather.

When they arrived at Genoa restaurant, live piano music played as they entered the establishment. Covered glass candles adorned the middle of each white-linen topped table. Classy. Lark raised her eyebrows, impressed. She’d never been here before.

Charles kept his hand on her back as the concierge at the podium in the entranceway welcomed them in a strong French accent, asking what name their party was reserved under. Charles formed the word, “Chase,” but stopped, staring at the cloakroom ahead of them.

Lark stared as well.

“What in the ruddy hell is O’Hagan doing here?” he whispered to her.

Their guests behind them took an interest in Niall as well, who ducked his head as he took off his scarf, handing it to the cloakroom attendant. The Irishman turned on his heel and caught them watching him. He’d changed into a nice dark dinner suit and bowtie, his striking features more defined than usual in the soft light.

Conscious of the hot blood burning her cheeks, Lark tried to focus on something else. Much to her chagrin, he walked over to them, holding out his hand to Charles, who shook it guardedly.

“O’Hagan,” Charles said with tapered enthusiasm. “Well, this is the last place we expected to bump into you.”

“There’s no avoiding me, I’m afraid,” Niall joked, glancing at Lark. “I’m here with a couple friends who’re visiting. I come here often.”

“Ah,” Charles sneered, “What are the chances?”

“Well, ’tis a small world, after all,” Niall countered. “Hello, Lark.” His voice dropped a notch as he locked gazes with her.

She nodded, speechless. What was he doing here?

Charles introduced Matthew and Colin to Niall, and a weird silence ensued as the men shook hands.

Niall seemed comfortable though, quirky. No way in hell did he simply “happen” to be at the same nice restaurant they’d chosen to take their clients to, this exact night, at this precise time.

“We’re ready to seat your party, sir,” the maître d’ called to Charles from the dining-room entrance, holding four leather-bound menus with a red tassel hanging from each folder. “Right this way, please.”

“Excuse us.” Charles pushed past Niall, who turned to avoid bumping into him. Niall grinned at Lark as she passed him.

“Have a nice dinner.” He winked at her.

“Thank you.” As Charles guided her into the dining room, his hand on her lower back, her insides hopped with excitement and curiosity. Niall had come for a reason. Did it have to do with her?

Their small circular table sat near the center of the elaborate room, two tables over from the vacant dance floor, where the pianist occupied the corner and played soft jazz.

At the table closest to them sat an attractive dark-skinned couple, a man and woman, both tall. Charles pulled a chair out for her. She paused on the verge of sitting down. Niall approached, then walked past her and took a seat behind her, sitting with the couple.

“You ordered yet?” he asked, adjusting his silverware.

Lark stood there, staring down at him. He turned in his seat, saw her, and stood back up. “Excuse my bad manners. I was a local lad. I don’t believe you’ve met my friends. My dinner companions, Anthony and Deidre Ajayi.”

The Ajayis nodded to Lark’s party and said hello in accented English. Lark took Anthony to be a quiet, studious man, based on his demeanor, and Deidre was a beautiful woman with dark, wide-set eyes, high and riveting cheekbones. Overall, she had gorgeous features.

Lark sat, and Charles took a seat next to her, his back to Niall. “Excuse us,” he said over his shoulder once Matthew and Colin sat. “Have you decided what you want?” he asked Lark, pointing to her menu. She perused it.

“I’ll have the veal.” She’d volunteered as the designated driver and could not drink, but Charles insisted on ordering French wine for her as well. She sat it out and stuck with the club soda.

The waiter came around, a sliver of a man in his late twenties with short, thick red hair. He asked in French what they would like. Lark couldn’t speak French to save her life and watched with slight annoyance as Charles ordered for the table in a flashy French patois.

“Madame, may I take your shawl?” the waiter asked, indicating the coatroom entrance at the opposite end of the room.

Niall turned around in his seat when she stood. The waiter helped her remove Pam’s shawl from her shoulders.

A number of male eyes zoomed in on her like paper clips to a magnet as the waiter stepped away with her shawl, which was undoubtedly the effect Charles had been after from the moment he’d told her to wear the dress. The soft sheen of the Versace silk clung to her body, showing every plane and curve. Six years ago, she would never have attempted to wear anything like this. Doing it now still made her self-conscious.

She tried to avoid Niall’s gaze, but couldn’t. He’d angled his chair in a half-turn, making him more visible to her, and the heat of his stare drew her in. He gave a sharp intake of breath at the sight of her. From the rise and fall of his chest and the expression on his face, he was clearly in the grip of strong emotion. He did not seem aware he’d stood.

Though she could feel herself blushing from his rapture, Lark remained calm and collected as she sat back down. Niall took his seat as well.

“Breathtaking,” Charles commented. He made a show of Lark, toying with her fingers in front of the men, appearing half-interested in what Matthew and Colin were saying as he traced his finger down the side of her arm, eyeballing her. She did not return his sentiments. She could feel the slight movements from Niall’s chair mere inches from her own, and heard the cadence of him talking with his friends. Prickles of annoyance needled her as Matthew and Colin ogled her from across the table.

Before the waiter left, Charles took a pen from his breast suit pocket and circled an item on the menu. “You’ve misspelled mignon here. You’ll want to show it to your manager and get it corrected.”

Behind her came a bark that sounded like a laugh. Niall cleared his throat. She turned her head, and he fell silent. A second later, the warmth of his hand settled on her shoulder.

“Yes?” she asked.

“Deidre would like a word.” She turned around in her chair, and the beautiful woman appraised her.

“You have pretty hair,” Deidre complimented in her thick African accent.

“Thank you. I love your necklace,” Lark said, admiring the intricate chain she wore around her neck with its wooden shapes, unusual stones, and multicolored beads.

“Thank you. The children in our village gave this to me for my birthday several years ago.”

“Deidre teaches English in the school she and Anthony manage,” Niall offered, his gaze roaming over her dress. His eyes lingered on her breasts, and he bit his lower lip and glanced away, his cheeks reddening. She hid her blush into her glass of water at his struggle, flattered.

“You’re both teachers,” she said, setting her glass down. “How wonderful. What ages do you teach?”

“As young as four, as old as sixteen,” Anthony replied from the other side of Deidre. His voice was deep and resonant.

“Lark.”

She looked at Charles, then back to the Ajayis and smiled. “Have a wonderful meal.”

Lark turned around. The wine flowed freely at the table, and it looked as if the guys were on at least their second glass. Charles seemed to be getting intoxicated—Charles never got drunk off two drinks, which meant he must have imbibed more back home. She sighed. When he became intoxicated, he became an unmitigated ass.

While waiting for the food, Charles insisted on dancing. She looked around. “But the dance floor is empty.”

“Come on, be a sport. One dance.”

His voice took on the belligerent, whiny tone he got when he drank. If dancing with him staved off a temper tantrum, then fine.

“Just one.”

She gave their clients a polite nod as Charles led her to the dance floor. Charles put his arm around her waist and took her hand, and she understood how a pedigree poodle at a dog show felt.

The pianist struck up a slow contemporary song, singing a little. Charles held her close as they danced. Though he’d always been light on his feet, there was no lightness in her heart when he said in her ear, “I do declare, Miss Braithwaite, you are the most stunning woman in the room tonight. You look ravishing. Well done.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself,” she muttered as he turned her about.

Lark danced with him, aware and knowing everyone watched them, as Charles wanted. Meanwhile, her gaze betrayed her and traveled over to Niall, who followed her with his eyes.

Charles dipped her at the end of the song, but she’d never felt more alone, despite their closeness. People applauded. He led her back to the table without another word, mission accomplished. He dived into full-blown business conversation with the guys from Jagger, having their full attention now. He was The Man.

Lark half listened to Charles’s conversation with the Jagger representatives while she kept her other ear on the conversation at Niall’s table behind her. Deidre and Anthony shared experiences they’d had in the last year with their work and plans for the upcoming year.

Lark nibbled at her salad, wishing it were Ben & Jerry’s. After talking to the two Jagger execs about her department, it was clear this would be a “dating dinner,” where the most amount of business which transpired would be what team won what Super Bowl or World Cup.

She injected questions where Charles gave her an opportunity to squeeze a word in on their sales ratios compared with other international firms, but between times she grew more interested in eavesdropping on what Deidre and Anthony had to say. She scooted her chair back a few inches to hear them better.

The men beside her got louder the more they drank. They’d be wasted by the end of the night. Colin and Matthew were like the kind of men Charles hung out with when he needed male-bonding time—brash and egocentric. He was on his playing field. The wine loosened their tongues, and the masculine power play ensued.

She listened with a hard ear while picking at her entrée as Anthony went on to describe the starving and ill children in the villages of Tanzania, compared to the village they lived in now, how light their frames were or how distorted their bellies from malnutrition.

“Well, it’s good the G8 Summit did something,” Niall said close behind her. “But action has to happen, or nothing’s ever going to change the way it needs to. There’s been so much bloodshed in Kenya, enough for the whole world.”

Deidre spoke up. “It will happen over time, I believe.”

“Well, the peace talks are progressing,” Lark said, and she turned in her seat to face them. Niall backed his chair up, and she had everyone’s attention. She went on. “The problem is, how many people, how many children, are going to fall by the wayside in the meantime before action is taken?”

Niall raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t know you were passionate about the situation there.”

Deidre nodded in Niall’s direction. “Mr. O’Hagan comes with us down to Africa every June to do an assessment of the needs of the smaller villages. He also helps coordinate the petition for supplies and takes care of the legalities, the nonprofit status of the school. He has been most supportive to our cause.”

“I only wish I could do more.” Niall bowed his head toward Deidre.

Lark took a good look at Niall, fascinated. “I’m impressed you go over there. I may not have a lot of time to devote to it because of work, but of course, I’m passionate about it. I mean, we can’t see the molecules in the air, but it doesn’t mean they don’t exist. It’s a beautiful fantasy to imagine a mythical, hidden African country armed with magical technology and kick ass heroes who save the world, but the reality is it’s a third world country and in dire poverty. While we’re fighting a political battle and dealing with greed and corruption here in the states, our ignorant comfort doesn’t excuse that Rwandan children are sitting on mud floors as we speak, with only a spoonful of rice in their bellies.”

“Well said.” Anthony lifted his glass to her. Lark caught Charles’s eye from her side, aware he listened in.

Niall leaned his elbow on top of his chair, giving her his full attention. “Please, go on,” he said, and the others seemed glued to her words as well.

Lark glanced down and came out with it. Her own table grew quiet. “Well, when I think of the fact children in Rwanda are working at age four, I’m sickened. They’re barely getting out of toddlerhood, learning how to string sentences together. And my one major issue is the wrong sort of people in positions of power. It’s the whole joke about embracing a political leader who emboldens chaos and violence among his people. But my biggest concern is the utter disregard that’s had and the attitude toward women. Raping is like a sport to the men in the militias, who tear through small villages, cutting off women’s brea—”

“Lark, could we please keep the subject to something more suitable for dinner conversation?” Charles interrupted with a forced, polite air. He picked at the salad left on his plate, and his fork lingered in midair as he glanced at her with an odd, harassed look.

Matthew and Colin acted polite, but their awkwardness might as well have been a cloud above the table. She remembered why she was there in the first place.

She dotted the sides of her mouth with the edge of the napkin in her lap, reached for her glass of water, and turned back to the table. “Yes, of course. Excuse me.”

“You’ll have to forgive Lark,” Charles said to the men, taking over the reins. “She’s hard to stop once you’ve got her going. But she’s a tiger in the boardroom,” he added with a wink.

“And other places too, I’m guessing.” Colin snorted, nudging Charles’s shoulder with his own. Matthew chortled beside him but offered Lark a fake apologetic grimace. Charles did not say anything, yet from the smarmy look he gave them, he might as well have.

Her insides burned hot and uncomfortable, and she set her napkin on the table. “Excuse me,” she said, scooting her chair back to go to the ladies’ room. She put the strap of her evening purse over her shoulder. The legs of the chair bumped into Niall’s. His hot gaze stayed on her. He grazed his finger against her dangling left hand near the leg of her chair.

She met his eyes, and the fire in them consumed her.

“I’m fine with Lark continuing,” Niall challenged.

The two parties stopped talking and looked from Charles to Lark and then from Niall to Charles. She’d seen men make asses of themselves and break into brawls before, but she didn’t like being the reason.

“By all means,” soothed Deidre. “Finish what you were saying, Lark. We’ve seen things you wouldn’t believe. We were there through most of them. We won’t be offended. Please.”

Lark gulped, aware of the giant scowl dying to surface on Charles’s composed face and the awkwardness at both their tables. She continued down a safer road. “Well, nothing infuriates me more than to deprive someone else of their humanity. I read an article not too long ago about how most of the children in Rwanda speak three languages or more, and they don’t have video games and inner-city conveniences. They’re smart, but they lack the resources and wherewithal to learn to read and write.” Deidre and Anthony nodded their agreement and soon immersed her in conversation about their village.

She chanced a glance at Niall. His eyes lit up as he lifted his glass to his lips.

Halfway through the chocolate mousse, Lark left the table and made it to the restroom. Decorated in white, pink, and gold tones, it was vast and luxurious and even had an adjacent sitting room. She finished with the posh toilet and left her bathroom stall to wash her hands at a gold-faucet sink.

A toilet flushed, and Deidre emerged as Lark dried her hands. They nodded at each other in the mirror.

Reaching for an excuse to linger longer, Lark removed her engagement ring as she depressed the lotion dispenser and moisturized her hands and wrists. It had a sweet, floral scent.

Lark peeked at Deidre in the mirror. “May I be blunt?” Deidre asked.

“Of course,” said Lark, rubbing the lotion into her hands before replacing the ring.

Deidre washed her hands. “You strike me as a passionate young woman. I can tell you are driven. I am like that as well. I also see you do things to please the man you are with. This is good, but you shouldn’t do them if you don’t want to. If you put him first in everything, child, you will always be treated as second class.” Deidre wiped her hands.

Lark wasn’t sure what to make of it. The woman was a complete stranger, yet her words drove straight into her. Odd, considering not many people could affect her in such a way. Lark blinked. “Um, thank you. I’ll bear that in mind.”

Deidre motioned to join her at the door. “Come.”

They walked back out to the table together, chatting along the way about the ornate ceilings of the restaurant and how old the place must be.

When they arrived at their tables, Niall and Anthony stood. Deidre sat, but Lark remained standing. Where were Charles and the two other men?

“They went downstairs to smoke,” Niall said, watching her with a knowing expression.

The way he stared at her, into her, unnerved her, and it seemed like the right time to go out for a cigarette. It was too warm inside anyway, and fresh air might do her good. The door to the balcony stood ajar along the south wall, with fairy lights glowing like fireflies through the white curtain, hung outside the open door. The perfect escape.

“I’m going to go get some fresh air. It’s stuffy in here,” she said, shouldering the small silver evening purse her mother lent her. Niall inclined his head to her, and the weight of his stare stayed with her as she headed toward the veranda.

The lights of Portland twinkled in the distance, and a sweet, fragranced breeze blew past her. There must be an autumnal fuchsia plant hung close by for any late migrating hummingbirds nearby.

More than displeased with Charles, Lark listened to the rustling leaves from a potted tree. Her arms broke out in goose bumps, and she rubbed her hands over them, chilled at her neck and where the low-cut dress stopped at her cleavage. The balcony door creaked open behind her. A few minutes later, a large jacket slid over her shoulders, enveloping her in warmth. She turned around.

“Thank you, Char—”

Niall put his hands on her shoulders. Behind him, farther in the restaurant past a couple of tables, Charles sat at their table with the men from Jagger, loud and boisterous in their conversation, oblivious to her absence and more than a little intoxicated. Way more.

“My pleasure,” Niall whispered.

She shivered again, this time having nothing to do with the chill. The jacket covered her, warm and comfortable upon her shoulders.

“Lark, I need to speak with you. I’m sure by now you’ve gathered the real reason I’m here tonight?”

Lark shrugged. “It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together, yes.”

He took a step closer, his face but inches from hers. “I have a confession to make. I overheard your plans for dinner back at the ranch.”

“So, it’s no coincidence you’re here.” Her eyes searched his.

“No, it’s not,” he admitted, pausing to gaze at her.

“And the table?”

“I came early and tipped the maître d’ a Hamilton to seat you next to us.”

She gave him a commiserating look, shaking her head. “W-why would you go to all that trouble? I told you, I’m engaged.”

Niall stepped forward. “I had to see you.”

“You see me every day.”

He eyed her, moving his hand toward her cheek as though he were approaching a wild animal. “I’m drawn to you,” he murmured, caressing her cheek and jawline with his warm fingers. “You keep drawing me. I never had this with M— Never mind.”

Lark gasped and moved away from his hand. “You’re with someone?” Sadness passed across his features, and her stomach plummeted.

“Yes. No. I mean, I was. Twelve years ago. She died in a car crash.”

Lark swallowed and turned away from him toward the city view. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to seem insensitive here, but please don’t tell me I resemble her or something. Is that why you—”

He chuckled, and the pressure of his chest warmed her back. “You look nothing like her,” he said into her ear. His large hands encircled her waist from behind. “You act nothing like her.” His full lips pressed against the side of her neck, and despite knowing she should put an end to this dangerous game, she leaned back against him and closed her eyes. “Taste nothing like her. I’m drawn to you. I know it’s crazy—I can’t explain it—but I…I want you, Lark.”

She inhaled as his right hand slid up her stomach to tentatively cup her breast. He grazed his thumb over the nipple as he kissed her neck, and her breath became labored. When she didn’t object, he slid his hand into the open V of her dress and slid his fingers beneath her bra. The dinner jacket provided a safe cover for his actions from any potential onlookers, and she clutched his trouser leg as he chafed the pad of his thumb over her nipple.

His hands were warm and smooth, strong, like in her dreams. This was wrong. She needed to stop him, but she couldn’t. She yielded to his touch, and he turned her face toward him with his other hand and kissed her full on the mouth. His tongue sought entrance, and she met it with her own, her pussy drenched and throbbing with demand.

“Lark.” He kneaded her breast as he made love to her mouth.

They kissed as he cosseted her, and if this carried on much longer, she wouldn’t be able to stop. He could fuck her right there on the balcony, and she’d let him without reservation. His hand left her breast and descended at a tortuous pace down the flesh of her ribs and past her abdomen. She held a hand to the dress clasp at the back of her neck to avoid the front of the dress dragging down as he slid his hand beneath the rim of her panties. She whimpered as he neared her pussy and shook herself as she came to her senses. She drew his hand away with great effort. “Niall, we can’t,” she gasped. “I’m sorry.” She looked away as she straightened her clothes.

He breathed hard behind her. “You want to, though. I know you do. I feel it. Though not like this. I’m sorry I lost control in a public place.”

She turned back to him. His gaze lingered on her lips. She’d never be able to hide her attraction to him; it was as transparent as air.

“It’s okay,” he reassured her as he rubbed her arms through the jacket. He pressed his lips to her forehead, then walked off without another word, back into the restaurant and toward the bathrooms.

She turned away from the door, grateful for the privacy they’d had. She sniffed the jacket, infused with his scent, pine and nice cologne, woodsy. She waited for her heart to return to normal and stayed out there until the wind increased and she no longer throbbed with want. She pulled the jacket tighter around her, the maître d’ opened the balcony door for her, and she went back inside. Their waiter placed a black leather folio on their table as she approached.

“Wait, Charles.” The nitwit was about to leave the receipts on the card plate at their table. “We need these for expense reimbursement.”

Charles draped an arm over her shoulder. “Don’t worry,” he slurred. “Maisie’ll take care of it. She takes care of everything.”

“Maisie works for me now, remember?” She collected the receipts and folded them into her purse.

“Perhaps I should’ve stuck with the low-alcohol-content American wine instead of going with the French version.”

“That would’ve been best.” She retrieved her mother’s shawl from the cloakroom and came across Niall in the foyer.

“Will you be okay getting back?” he asked with a slight frown.

She nodded. “I’m fine. I didn’t drink tonight. I’m wide-awake.” She slipped Niall’s jacket off her shoulders and handed it back to him. “Thanks.”

He took the jacket and put it right back around her shoulders, fixing it over her bare arms. “Keep it,” he said in a low voice. “It’s cold out there.” He leaned forward, and in a husky voice, whispered in her ear, “At least something of mine will touch you tonight.”

Lark quivered as he pulled away, and she tried to stay composed. Deidre and Anthony had their coats on and were waiting for him by the door. Deidre nodded at her.

Niall leaned close. “You’ll have instant friends if you ever visit Rwanda. Deidre likes you.”

“Yes, I like her as well.” She enjoyed Deidre’s tactful, naked honesty. She’d love to talk to her again.

Charles appeared beside her and shoved Niall hard. Niall bounced back, his expression fierce.

She grabbed Charles’s arm. “Stop it, Charles,” she hissed, wide-eyed as they gained a few onlookers. Did he know about the balcony? They’d been pretty secluded. Had he seen?

“I’ll take it from here, thanks, O’Hagan,” Charles snarled as he yanked Niall’s coat off her.

“I’m sorry. He’s drunk,” she apologized as Charles tossed the coat on the floor.

“Are you sure you’re okay getting back?” asked Niall, concern evident in his voice.

“She’s fine, you twat,” Charles sneered.

Lark moved to step between them, but Niall held up a hand to tell her to forget about it. He wished them good night and left with his friends.

Charles took off his dinner jacket and put it around Lark, serious and solemn. The jacket fell like a parachute over her shoulders and stunk heavily of wine and cigar smoke. The stench vexed her, heady and nauseating, like too much cologne.

“Let’s go.” He turned her toward the elevators, where Matthew and Colin stood waiting. He was courteous and pleasant as she drove them back to their hotel, but in the brooding silence on the way back to the ranch, she sensed his defensive shield, despite the wine he’d consumed. It hit her then how domineering he was.