Tempting Tricks (Tempting Nights #2)

Chapter Nineteen

~Annabelle~

I ’d be lying to myself if I didn’t admit I’m a little disappointed we aren’t going to the club. All day, I wondered what he would do to me. If I would like it. Would he want me to do something to him? Not that I didn’t mind spending time with him. I’m every bit as surprised and pleased that he thinks bringing me on a date first will be more appropriate. It shows a side to him I wasn’t expecting.

He helps me into a waiting town car then walks around, sliding in next to me, his hand settling possessively on my knee. I study his hands, never really noticing before how long his fingers are or the faint scars that line the back of one hand. Burns from the accident, I wonder?

I trail my eyes appraisingly over the rest of him. His suit is obviously tailored, fitting him perfectly and accentuating every firm muscle on his body. I close my eyes, turning my head toward the window before opening them, still a little shocked that I’m actually sitting here next to a man who was my patient two weeks ago.

“What’s wrong?” he questions beside me.

I turn back to him and offer a smile. “Absolutely nothing.”

“You’re thinking again,” he muses.

“Only about how I ended up here with you.” I place my hand over his. “It seems a bit like a dream. How quickly things can change in one’s life.”

He shrugs. “For the better, I hope. For both of us.”

I hum, my lips pressed together as I digest what he’s said. “Where are you taking me?” I change the subject to something safer.

“One if by Land, Two if by Sea. It’s in the village.”

“That’s a really nice restaurant,” I say, my voice raised a little in surprise.

He smirks down at me. “Which is why I asked you to wear a nice dress.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.” His eyes fix on mine. “That’s why were on a date, so we can get to know each other.” He offers me another crooked grin.

“Are you rich? I mean—” I stutter, embarrassed that I’m even asking him this question, because it doesn’t matter to me at all if he is or isn’t. “I guess, I’m just wondering, because you don’t work, or at the very least, maybe are getting disability from the Army. But you live in an amazing apartment, have a car driving us around, and wear tuxedos and suits that cost thousands.”

He chuckles, his brows rising as he nods in acknowledgement at all I’ve just sputtered out. “I’m a little rich, I guess. Yes.”

“How?” I slap my hand over my mouth, eliciting a full belly laugh from him. I lower my hand. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. It’s really none of my business.”

He places his palm on my cheek, pulling my face to his as he bends, sweeping a kiss across my lips. “You’re adorable.”

“I’m embarrassed.” I place my hand back over my face. “I’m usually not this nosey. I swear.”

“I don’t mind. Really.” He pulls my hand off my face, assuring me. “My grandfather started several shipping companies when he was young. They did very well, and he bought a bunch more. Invested money. Got very rich. When he died, a huge chunk of the money and the business went to my father.”

I make eye contact with him, a small frown on my lips as I piece the rest of the puzzle together on my own, even though he continues talking.

“When my parents died, everything my father had went to me.” He shrugs. “I’m an only child. When we learned the crash they were in was due to defective equipment on the plane, I was given even more money. It’s been sitting in a trust for years.”

He wipes a hand down his face, evidence of his discomfort about having all the money obvious. “I honestly don’t even know how much I have. My grandmother handles everything for me, and if I need money, I just go to the bank and withdraw some or use one of my credit cards.”

He leans his head back against the seat and lets out a loud sigh. “Do I sound like a spoiled, pompous asshole? ”

“No! Don’t be ridiculous.” I grab his hand and squeeze it. “You sound like someone who feels guilty for reaping the benefits of someone else’s hard work and misfortune. And you shouldn’t. I’m sure your grandfather would be happy to know he has a grandson to share his wealth with. I’m also sure your parents would want to know you were left provided for.”

“I do, you know,” he says.

“Do what?” I wonder.

“Feel guilty. About having the money.” He sits up and looks down at me. “It’s why I went to West Point, and then to aviator school. I figured, at the very least, I could give something back to my country.”

“And you did.” I look back at him, imploring him to believe in himself and the good that he’s done.

“Except, I took something away, too.” He turns and looks out the window, his voice low. “I took three men away from their families.”

I lean forward and grab his face with my hand, pulling it back to look at me. “You didn’t take those men away from anyone. Whoever fired that missile, that’s who did that.” I let go of his face, pointing my finger in anger at him when I continue. “Not you Patrick. Not you!”

He stares at me, his expression void. He finally blinks, his nostrils flaring as he bobs his head once. “I know, but it still hurts like hell.”

I slide my hand over his cheek and pull him to my mouth. “I know.” And I kiss him, trying to soothe some of the pain he feels over all the loss he’s suffered in his life.

“Mr. Connors, we’re here.” The driver speaks from the front. I slide my lips from Patrick’s and look out the window. I didn’t even realize the car had stopped .

He gives me a half-smile. “You still want to go to dinner with this sad sack?”

“More than anything,” I reply, sliding my hand into his. He squeezes my fingers once quickly then releases my hand to climb out of the car.

The driver has already come around to open the door, so I step out, and Patrick there to meet me as I do. He places my hand in the crook of his elbow and leads me into the restaurant, the serious conversation and mood left behind in the car.

The restaurant is lovely, the food scrumptious, and our conversation nonstop. We talk about where we grew up, our favorite childhood memories, where I went college, first boyfriends and girlfriends, first heartbreaks, favorite colors, movies, and foods. When we leave the restaurant, I not only feel full; I feel richer for the things we’ve learned about one another.

We climb back in the car, and Patrick puts an arm around me, drawing me up against his frame as we pull into traffic. “Do you want to go dancing, or go for a nightcap somewhere?” He glances down at the heavy watch on his wrist. “It’s still early.”

What I really want to do is climb onto his lap and run my hands over his beautiful torso, but I keep that to myself. “A drink sounds wonderful.”

He drops a kiss against my temple. “Gene, we’ll go to the Oak Room at The Plaza, please.”

“Yes, sir.”

I rest my head against Patrick’s shoulder, relaxing as I watch the sights in the city as we drive up Third Avenue. We ride comfortably in silence, so many things already shared between us this evening that conversation doesn’t feel necessary. When we reach The Plaza, we exit the car and head into the luxuriousness of The Oak Room. It’s everything you would expect it to be. Warm, dark colored wood tables and bars, low Tiffany lighting, and music coming from a grand piano as we enter.

Patrick speaks to the host, who shows us to a booth tucked into a quiet corner behind the piano, giving us a view of the entire bar. He slides my coat off my shoulders and drapes it over the back of a chair across from us before sitting beside me. A waiter appears in seconds and takes our drink orders. An old fashioned for Patrick, and a pinot noir for me.

“This is nice,” I state, glancing around the grand room.

“It’s quiet.” He gleams down at me, settling his hand on my bare thigh. “And private.”

Heat pools in my stomach as his fingers brush back and forth on the inside of my leg. I decide two can play this game and lean into him. I rest my hand just shy of his groin, sliding it up until I bump against his length, glide in the opposite direction, and then back again.

He quirks a brow as he lowers his gaze to mine. “You’re playing with fire.”

“Maybe I want to get burned,” I confess, moving my hand even higher this time, dragging my fingers heavily down his hard length when I pull back.

He lowers his lips, hissing against my hair, hot air whooshing against my ear. “I will take you into the bathroom and fuck you if you don’t stop.”

I swing my eyes to his, the green irises dark and glaring in warning. I lick my lips then push them against his, sliding my hand away from his cock, biting onto his lower lip before I release him. “You will fuck me tonight, Patrick Connors. It just won’t be here.”

His fingers stop brushing against my leg, his grip tightening, his eyes crinkling when his cheeks rise in a devilish grin. “Be careful what you wish for.” And then he leans down and pulls my lip between his teeth, returning the bite I just gave him. He pulls away just as the waiter approaches and sets our drinks in front of us.

“Thank you,” Patrick says smoothly, giving no indication whatsoever that what just transpired between us affects him.

“How do you do that?” I ask, after the waiter leaves, bringing the wine glass to my lips. I sip the dark burgundy liquid, humming in appreciation of its warm, blackberry flavor.

“Do what?” He fingers the tumbler on the table before raising it to his nose to sniff it, and then casually drinks.

“Act like nothing just happened between us.”

He sets the glass on the coaster and takes my hand in his, moving it over his chest before resting it over his heart. I can feel it racing under my palm, it’s rhythm erratic and thumping. I sweep my eyes to his, my mouth opening slightly as I gape up at him.

“Don’t take everything you see at face value.” He bends, brushing a kiss across my open lips. “I figured you already knew that one, Doc.”

“I guess I’m not as smart as you think I am,” I drawl out.

He chuckles, taking another sip of his drink. I pull my hand off his chest, sitting up straight to also take a drink of my wine .

“So, I just have one more question for you then.” He sips his drink, peering over the rim of his glass at me.

“Yes?” I tilt my head coyly, waiting.

He thumps his glass down on the coaster and looms over me, his face only a fraction from mine, the whiskey from his drink flavoring the air between us when he speaks. “Your place or mine?”