Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84442 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84442 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
His penthouse looks like something out of a Pinterest post, but it’s not gaudy. Just so out of my league that I’m a little scared to touch anything.
“Sorry for the wait,” Nick says as he comes back in from his kitchen with two huge glasses of dark red wine. “Pétrus, 1989. I’m more of a whiskey man myself, but my mother swears by it.”
He slides one glass in front of me before rounding my chair and taking a seat beside me.
I pick the glass up and sniff at it curiously before taking a sip, my brows arching in surprise at the bold, deep flavor. “Wow,” I hum, taking another sip. “I know, like, nothing about wine, but that’s delicious.”
“My mother will be thrilled to hear it,” Nick says with a grin before taking a sip of his own. “Let’s eat. Ronan’s food is too good to let sit around.”
Dinner is laid out lavishly on one large tray: thin slices of perfectly cooked steak drizzled with a dark sauce and golden roasted spears of asparagus nestled on a bed of fluffy mashed potatoes. Microgreens and little flowers dot the plate and add a splash of color that turns the meal into a work of art.
I almost feel bad about eating it.
Nick has no such reservations, picking up his fork and spearing a bite-sized piece of steak. He swipes it through the mashed potatoes, leaving a streak of the sauce behind, before holding it up to me.
I blush as I open my mouth but silently revel in the intimacy of being fed like this.
The flavors burst across my tongue, and I moan as I chew, buttery potatoes and whatever tart berries are in the sauce and tender meat melting across my palate. My eyes meet Nick’s as I swallow, only to find him grinning at me, resting his cheek on his closed fist as he watches me.
“Good?” he asks.
“Incredible,” I answer with a breathless laugh. “You said your mom likes this wine, right? What’s she like?”
I’m pretty sure I’ve got a good idea of what Nick is like as a person, at least around me, but I’ve been wanting to know more about him. He’s not much of an open book, and he spends so much time asking about me that I rarely get a chance to find out about his life.
Who is Nicholas D’Amico when he’s not with me?
“She’s a strong woman,” Nick says after a moment of hesitation, scooping up another bite of food and carefully feeding me. “Dad passed away years ago, so she handles the family. I’m closest to her out of everyone.”
The look in his eyes is softer than I expected for someone who’s avoided questions about his childhood like the plague so far, and it makes me smile.
“My mom’s like that too. Always taking care of everyone else,” I say fondly, giggling a bit as I spear a bite of steak and hold it out to him. “She lives in Florida now, so I don’t get to see her as often as I’d like, but she’s who I got my work ethic from. Is Marcus your only sibling?”
The easy warmth in Nick’s eyes fades a bit at that, and he takes a sip of his wine to wash down the steak before answering me.
“I have an older brother too. We don’t see each other often.”
I can take a hint when I see one, and his clipped tone tells me that Nick obviously doesn’t want to talk about his siblings. His mom might still be a safe topic to prod about, but I’d rather just enjoy our night. Whatever his reasons for not wanting to talk about his family, he’ll tell me about them when he’s ready.
“Where’d you go to school?” I switch topics easily as I spear a stem of asparagus and nibble on it.
“NYC Stern,” he answers, the tension melting out of his shoulders as he swirls his wine around in his glass. “Got my bachelor’s there, then Columbia for my MBA. Spent about half of college partying, then figured I should take it more seriously. I took over the company when I graduated and turned it from a little financial consulting firm into the stock market giant we are today.” He pauses and winks at me. “Not to brag or anything.”
“You? Brag?” I tease. “I’d never believe such a thing.”
I really am just poking at him; he’s never done much bragging around me. Some of the things he says may seem like bragging, but it’s just him being honest about his own skills. He’s confident, intensely so, but it’s not unearned.
Nick has put his money where his mouth is every time he’s promised me something outrageous.
Every orgasm I’ve ever had at his hands can speak to that.
He smirks like he knows exactly what I’m thinking about as he feeds me another bite of steak. Comfortable silence falls between us as we eat, sharing forks and sipping at wine that seems to get better with every sip.