“Isn’t it?” he asks, his dark eyes clear with a light that I can see myself in as my hand reaches for his.
“Crab linguine!” A harsh voice announces, and a huge plate of pasta drops like a meteor in between Nathan’s hand and mine, cutting us off yet again.
He’s served his own plate and the waiter asks him if he’d like some fresh ground pepper or parmesan for his dish.
Nathan frowns, staring at his hand for a moment before he collects himself.
“No, thank you,” he says curtly. “I think this is quite enough for now,” he adds, straining politeness before the waiter turns to me, raising his brow.
“Pepper? Parmesan? I think we have a lite cheese if madam would prefer?” he says in a surly tone, not even hiding the fact his eyes have shifted to study my hips and thighs.
Nathan’s fist hits the table so hard the plates jump an inch into the air, and his other hand is on the waiter’s throat in a second.
“You want another asshole, buddy? You got it. Just what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” he snarls, pulling the waiter up to his eyes level by his neck, squeezing until he starts to turn purple.
There’s another waiter, then a waitress, and finally the manager again, all on the scene in moments. But Nathan hasn’t loosened his grip any.
“This man has insulted me and my guest long enough,” he grinds through clenched teeth, not breaking eye contact with the waiter the whole time, even when the whites of his eyes show as his lids flutter and they roll back in his head before Nathan tosses him across the room like a rag doll.
“Call them!” he shouts to the manager and all the other staff. “Call the police. The press, call them all in here and I’ll be glad to tell them just how we’ve been treated since the moment we arrived in your fair city,” he says with complete authority.
No menace in his voice, just a factual, booming deep voice of a man who knows things.
Knows the right places, and people. Things we could only dream of.
A man who could buy the hotel and have it knocked down by morning, and we all hear it in his voice.
But he’s not mad about how he’s been treated. Not offended for the sake of Nathan Cartwright.
No.
He’s mad as hell because of how the waiter spoke to me.
I know that because when the dust settles and the staff scamper off with nothing but apologies, he takes my hand in his and brings it to his lips, kissing it tenderly.
“I’m sorry, Lucy. Sorry, you had to be spoken to like that. It won’t happen again,” he assures me.
“We can get out of here if you want?” he says, eyeing the food as if it’s poison now. Ruined because of his outburst.
But I shake my head, my heart pounding in my chest with a new affection for the man.
A man who not only knows what he wants but is prepared to risk everything and anything to show it when it counts.
“I think you made your point,” I say. I shiver, feeling several appetites stirring inside me, with only one of them including pasta as an ingredient.
“That’s my girl,” he says softly, and kissing my hand one more time, he releases it as tenderly as he kissed it as we both start to eat.
His eyes on mine the whole time. The ice. The divide between us slowly disappearing under his masterful gaze and powerful grip on the whole situation.
Chapter Eight
Nathan
Between the starter and the main course, Lucy says she has to powder her nose.
Okay with me, because I can see the door to the ladies from my seat and I know for a fact the restaurant is empty so far apart from us.
The manager is waiting on us now too, all apologies every time he dares come near me after that shithead comment from that shithead waiter.
What the hell though? I have no idea what he meant by his ‘lite cheese’ comment, but the way he looked and spoke to her was way out of line.
Nobody acts like that with my girl.
Oh, wait. I haven’t got that far yet, but still. Not on my watch.
Not now, not ever. Not with my Lucy.
I’ve never used my celebrity status as a weapon, but I think it’s clear to all concerned that if Nathan Cartwright went out after his meal and gave a press conference about how he and his guest were just treated, it could end badly for the Mercurion Hotel chain.
And I’m okay with that.
The manager senses it too, and it’s not long between our starter and main course when things start to feel normal again, along with my blood pressure.
I’m worried I might have frightened Lucy. First my pants-off introduction in our suite, and now this?