But an accident didn’t explain why Dmitri Palitov was so obsessive about security.
His daughter’s security in particular.
CHAPTER FIVE
‘I HAVEN’T EATEN here before,’ Nina told Rafe as she glanced appreciatively at their surroundings. They had been seated at a secluded table near the window of a fashionable—and wildly exclusive—New York restaurant.
Situated on the top floor of one of New York’s most prestigious skyscrapers, with three-hundred-and-sixty-degree views over the city, it was one of the in places for the rich and famous to enjoy themselves in relative privacy. Nina had spotted several easily recognisable TV personalities, as well as actresses and actors, as they were shown to their table. She even recognised a couple of politicians.
As she had said she would, Nina had spent the day at the gallery—most of the time vacillating between going out to dinner with Rafe this evening, as planned, or telling him she couldn’t make it after all.
The latter hadn’t been because she had received a particularly negative response from her father in regard to the date she had planned with Rafe for this evening; her father’s mouth might have tightened with disapproval, but he seemed to know, from the stubbornness of Nina expression, not to comment further.
No, Nina’s earlier trepidation, in regard to having dinner with Rafe, had been for a completely different reason. And that reason was Rafe D’Angelo himself.
Rafe was unlike any other man she had ever met. Confident and forceful, but not obnoxiously so, with a wicked sense of humour that was also teasing. He was intelligent without being pompous, and his bad-boy good looks were undiminished by the trappings of civilisation. The elegant black evening suit and snowy silk shirt and bow tie he was wearing this evening did little to temper that impression.
He also showed absolutely none of the awe for her father that so many other men did. Nina had been out to dinner with only three other men since her return to New York three years ago. Without exception all of those men had almost fallen over themselves in an effort to impress her father, with Nina’s own preferences or dislikes coming a very poor second.
Rafe, on the other hand, was respectful to her father but at the same time not in the least overwhelmed by the Palitov power or wealth. No, Rafe was most definitely his own man: charming, worldly, wealthy, and confident of himself and his own abilities.
A dangerous combination to a woman who had always known the full force of the effect on other people of the wealth and power of the Palitov name.
‘I heard this place was booked up weeks in advance,’ she added conversationally, once the waiter had poured them each a glass of the pink champagne that had been delivered to their table the moment they sat down, the bottle now resting in a nest of ice in the bucket beside the table.
Rafe shrugged. ‘The owner is a friend of mine.’
Nina gave a teasing smile. ‘Was he a friend before you started eating here so often, or did that come later?’ It wasn’t the same restaurant Rafe had been photographed in with Jennifer Nichols, but Nina was pretty sure she had seen several other photographs on the Internet of him leaving this particular restaurant with other beautiful women.
Rafe shrugged. ‘I knew Gerry before he opened this restaurant. Talking of which—he enjoyed having your two men come by earlier,’ he added ruefully.
Nina eyed him uncertainly. ‘I’m not sure if that’s sarcasm or not?’
‘Not,’ Rafe drawled ruefully. ‘Apparently they did a thorough sweep of the place, and then, because they weren’t officially on duty for another couple of hours, and the restaurant was still closed, the three of them sat down together and played poker for an hour or so till opening time. Gerry loves playing poker. Especially when he wins,’ he added dryly.
Nina chuckled. ‘That sounds like Lawrence and Paul; they taught me to play poker when I was ten, and I started beating them when I was twelve.’
Rafe knew his eyes had widened, but otherwise he managed to keep his expression passive. ‘You play poker with your bodyguards?’
‘Not so much since I started winning.’ She laughed.
‘Remind me never to play strip poker with you,’ he drawled dryly. ‘Shouldn’t you have still been playing with—oh, I don’t know—dolls, or something equally girlish at that age?’
‘Sexist!’ Nina came back dryly. ‘I never played with dolls, and certainly not aged twelve,’ she added with a grimace. ‘I was more interested in boys then than anything so childishly girlish.’