Page 61 of Resisting Mr Black
Butterflies flutter in my stomach as the firm double knock on my apartment door reverberates down the hallway. I swiftly give myself a final once-over in the bathroom mirror and spritz my wrists with Miss Dior. I smooth down my straightened hair and pull my red dress across my stomach, silently reassuring myself that it’s not too tight. It’s another dress I’ve owned for years but never had the guts to wear and I think it’s possibly the most daring one I own. The poppy red colour, spaghetti straps, and thigh-length hem give it a sexy vibe. I’ve pulled out all the stops tonight. It’s our first date. I want everything to be perfect.
My black heels click across the shiny floor as I walk up to the door and swing it open. The sight of the six-foot-two hunk of scorching deliciousness standing in front of me sets off a fluttering sensation between my legs. He warned me not to look too hot… maybe I should have given him the same warning.
A perfectly tailored black jacket and stark white shirt hang from his broad upper body. His hands rest in the front pockets of black trousers, which fit snug against his slender waist. His hair is swept back, and his eyes travel over my body from head to toe in appreciative silence as he steps into the hall. I smile to myself at his stunned reaction and take it that the dress is a success, but don’t get a chance to ask. As I close the door and turn around, his lips crash against mine and his body presses me against the door as if he can’t wait another second to touch me.
I fling my arms around his neck as his hands come to rest on my waist and even though it’s only been a few hours I’ve missed the feel of him on me. His freshly showered smell intoxicates me, and he tastes of mint as his tongue licks the length of mine and sets every nerve in my body jangling.
He pulls away from me slightly breathless and skims his hands up my back and rests them on my shoulders.
“As hellos go that was pretty nice,” I smile, rubbing my thumb across his bottom lip to remove my red lipstick.
“This is a very sexy dress.” His eyes lower to my chest. “I’m not sure how I feel about other guys ogling you in it.”
Not this again. “Relax, I’ll be coming home with you.” I give him a reassuring kiss on the lips. His eyes glide down my body, and he nods slowly as if coming round to the idea. “I want to throw you down on the bed and fuck you right now, but I also want to take you out to dinner.” Dark eyes hold mine and flash with an intent I’ve not seen before. “I’m going to have every inch of you tonight.”
I press my lips together to suppress a shiver that threatens to run down my spine at his words. I’m not entirely sure what he means and don’t get the opportunity to ask because he scoops down and picks up the black overnight bag that’s waiting by the door with one hand, and grabs my hand with the other.
He flicks me a look. “We need to move because if we stay any longer, we’re not going to make it out of here.”
I agree.
He keeps a firm hold of my hand all the way down the corridor, in the lift, and even when we reach the foyer. Dave the concierge is already looking our way as we walk past the reception desk.
“Put your eyes back in, Dave,” he growls as he strides by, causing Dave to fluster and turn back to the CCTV monitors.
Eventually, we pull up outside a large red-brick building in Mayfair. Le Gavroche. Eight white sash windows decorate the front of the restaurant, and an ornate, frosted glass canopy overhangs the wooden front door. Troughs over-spilling with perfectly tended pink and red roses adorn either side of the marble steps that lead up to the entrance.
This place is expensive. “We’re going here?”
“It’s usually booked up months in advance, but I pulled a few strings and managed to get us a table.”
My eyes swing back to the frontage of the restaurant. I’ve heard of Le Gavroche, of course. The Michelin-starred restaurant is renowned for its French cuisine. I stare up at the restaurant and worry whether I’ve dressed appropriately. I’ve never set foot in a place this expensive before.
“You look perfect.” I glance over at Art who’s watching me with a smile as if he knows the thoughts going through my head. “Come on.”
His hand returns to its usual place around mine as he leads me through the front door of the restaurant where we’re immediately greeted by a short, bald, forty-something man wearing a smart black suit and bow tie. He greets us with a broad smile.
“Monsieur, mademoiselle,” he welcomes in a French-English accent, bobbing his head in acknowledgement.
“Table for two. Black,” Art says.
“Of course, monsieur, mademoiselle, this way, please. Follow me.”
My eyes scan the opulent surroundings as Art leads me through the restaurant. Circular tables fill the large open-plan dining area and bottle green; velvet booths line the edge of the room. A low hum of conversation from the other diners fills thespace, and faint classical music is coming from somewhere. Dark-green walls, plush carpets, and chandeliers give off an opulent and luxurious feel.
The maître d comes to a halt at a booth at the back of the restaurant and presents the table with a flourish of his hand. “Monsieur Black, is this satisfactory?”
“Perfect.” Art smiles and settles down into the booth and I sidle up next to him.
“A waiter will be along shortly to take your order.” The maître d’s eyes sweep over me and crinkle at the corners. He breaks into a smile.
“Votre dame est belle,” he murmurs to Art, then with a bob of his head scuttles away.
A ghost of a smile appears on Art’s face as he picks up a dark-green leather-bound menu and studies it.
I’m intrigued. Foreign languages were never a strong point of mine. Now I wished I’d paid more attention at school. “What did he say?”
“He told me my lady is beautiful.”