Page 3 of Forbidden Touch
She pauses, her eyes turning serious. “You want to make it up to me? Loan me your warehouse.”
The response comes out of the blue and makes no sense. I lean in. “What?”
She looks in the eye. “I need a venue for my musician, and your warehouse near Fremont Street is the perfect place. Give me that, and I’ll forgive you for ruining my dress.”
A corner of my mouth lifts at her creative request. “That’s quite a trade. I’m not sure there’s value in that for me.”
She lifts her chin higher, her eyes intent. “Of course there is. We’ll split the profit three ways. What is there to think about?”
Oh man, this woman is serious and shrewd. The deal sounds absurd, but something in me wants to entertain the offer. “I’ll tell you what. You go to dinner with me, and we’ll discuss the warehouse.”
She throws her hands up, a wet crumpled napkin still clutched in one of them. Her hands land on her wide, sensuous hips. “Fine. You win. But I’m a busy woman with things to do, so we’ll need to make it quick.”
Her comment catches me off guard, and a chuckle resonates from my throat. She’s asking me for a favor, yet she’s the busy one?
She watches me thoroughly before her lips turn upward.
I can’t help but study this fascinating creature. Something in me longs to kiss that pouty mouth and suck on those pretty lips all night. But I refrain and lead her to the best restaurant in the Blake.
Chapter 2
Fiona
Theafterglowoftheart gallery fades as we settle into an annoyingly secluded booth at one of the most chic restaurants in Vegas. The dimly lit restaurant exudes an air of sophistication, with its plush velvet booths and soft jazz music playing in the background. But tension crackles in the air between me and the king of awkwardness.
Stuck in a booth with Jonathan Lane? It’s the last place I want to be. There’s way too much rivalry between our two families to have dinner together. I mean, my brother married Jonathan’s cousin, Ava, but that was a fluke.
Keeping at a safe distance, I glance at him in my peripheral vision.
Jonathan’s features are striking, with defined cheekbones, a chiseled jawline, and intense eyes that seem to follow my every move. His dark hair is perfectly styled, and his suit fits him like a second skin, emphasizing his muscular build. A hint of stubble lines his defined jaw, giving him a rugged charm.
Is it a coincidence that he spilled his drink on my dress? Maybe. Am I going to take advantage of him being the owner of the warehouse space that would be perfect for my musician? Absolutely. Full steam ahead.
This is the perfect opportunity to take care of my needs, and that includes getting that venue. It’s the ideal spot for my musician, and all I have to do is play along with Mr. Lane. I’ll let him wine and dine me all he wants. And then I’m getting that damn warehouse.
Jonathan sniffs a glass of pinot noir before sipping it. “So, what made you decide to get into talent management?”
My gaze unintentionally flicks upward before my hands clench under the table. Small talk irritates me. If only we could cut through the crap and just talk about the venue. It’s literally all I care to discuss with him. Resting my back against the booth cushion, I fixate on him. “Does it matter?”
“Whoa.” He flinches back some, then holds his palms up. “Just making conversation.”
I’m so tired of his type—people born into wealth that just get things handed to them. They have no idea what it takes to actually have to work for a living and earn your way through this world. I lift my chin. “Not in the mood for small talk.”
His shoulders drop before he shakes his head and chuckles. “Why are you like this?”
My lips curl at his holier-than-thou demeanor. “Like what?”
His brows furrow as his lips part. “Angry as hell.”
Crunching a napkin in my hand, I lean back and breathe. Being around the Lanes makes me want to grab a hatchet and start swinging at whoever gets in my way. There’s a beef between our families, and it runs deep. Besides, that fraudulent thing his uncle pulled just a few months ago was straight-up foul. Turning my attention back to Jonathan, I lay it on him. “Because your family is always up to something evil.”
Jonathan’s shoulders slump and he rubs the back of his neck, conveying a sense of vulnerability and frustration. “I know my uncle did some messed up stuff when he offered your brother an unsellable company, but my family isn’t me.”
My eyes roll and I let him see it. “Oh sure. You’re every bit a Lane, and for all I know, you’re trying to figure out how to pull the wool over my eyes as I sit here.”
Leaning in, his mouth drops. “You’re kidding. Don’t you think it bothered me that my uncle tried to sell a company that my father wanted to give tome? You don’t think it irked me that my uncle thenpocketedthe money when I had no idea the company was even mine?”
My brain races to find fault with what he’s saying. Did he not know about his uncle’s fraudulent plan? Is Jonathan a victim of this like we are?