Wicked Burn(12)

“Tokyo, you said, right?”

“Yes.”

Another short silence followed. This time Niall sank into it . . . embraced it instead of fighting it. Her eyes remained closed. Her whole world narrowed down to the fragile, temporary connection with a man via the means of a technology she couldn’t even begin to comprehend.

Where, exactly, was he as he talked to her? In the entryway of The Art, protecting himself from the cool November wind? Or perhaps on the sidewalk with theatergoers strolling by, arm in arm?

Outside, Niall decided unequivocally. A man like Vic embraced the elements, never shunned them. She could picture him perfectly—his broad shoulders hunched slightly, his back angled to the street in an unconscious gesture of self-protection . . . not from the elements but from people’s prying eyes.

What did his attractive, dark-haired companion think about Vic’s absence as he talked to Niall and she sat alone at their table, waiting?

Those were all distant thoughts that had nothing to do with what she asked him next.

“Where did you grow up?”

“In a li’l pissant town called Avery, South Dakota, just outside the Black Hills. I’ve lived in Montana for the past fifteen years, though. Why?”

“No reason,” she murmured. “I like your accent, that’s all.”

“I don’t have an accent. You do, though.”

Niall laughed softly at his matter-of-fact declaration. She could picture the small smile curving his lips perfectly. She pressed the phone tighter to her ear, thoroughly mesmerized, wanting him closer, even in this nonphysical sense.

“What accent is that, exactly?”

“The one that sounds like you grew up on the North Shore . . . Glencoe? Lake Forest?”

Her eyelids popped open. His assumption and something in the tone of his voice had stung her—although he had been entirely correct . . .

“Kenilworth, actually.”

“Ummm.”

The cabdriver made another wicked right into the circular drive in front of Riverview Towers. It hurt, his little grunt of acknowledgment, as if she’d suddenly confirmed something nasty about herself to him, as if growing up in an affluent neighborhood was a shameful crime.

“I should probably go. I’m home,” she said huskily, realizing that the words sounded far more intimate to her ears than she’d intended.

“I’ll probably be working late tomorrow but I’d like to have dinner with you afterward if you’re available.”

“I’m available,” Niall said rapidly. She closed her eyes in mortification when she realized how that must have sounded to him. His quick bark of masculine laughter suggested that he’d liked her response, however.

“I’ll give you a call around eight and tell you how things are looking on my end. Okay?”

“Okay. Have a good night.”

“Night.”

Niall was distracted as she walked through Riverview Towers’ luxurious lobby. She didn’t realize why she was so preoccupied until she reached her front door and glanced over at the entrance to Vic’s apartment. Against her will, the powerful image rose in her mind’s eye of what she must have looked like lying spread-eagled on his hallway floor, her dress around her waist, flushed from multiple orgasms, vibrant life surging thickly in her veins.

Guilt washed through her. She knew what rankled at her spirit. She’d told Vic that she was available.

And Niall herself couldn’t decide if that was the ultimate truth or not.

A pile of things had accumulated on her desk in her absence, each one seemingly more important than the last. Niall coped with her anxiety and excitement about seeing Vic that night by throwing herself into work. By the time she returned to her office from a late afternoon meeting, she wasn’t feeling any less jumpy about her date, but she did feel good about how much she’d accomplished that day.

“Any calls?” Niall asked Kendra Phillips, her administrative assistant and good friend. When she heard the eager tone of her own voice, Niall realized that she was half hoping that Vic might have called, which was ridiculous. He’d specifically told her that he wouldn’t call until this evening. God, she was like a teenager with her first crush. The only difference being how wet her panties got every time she thought about Vic touching her. That aspect of her infatuation was definitely very adult.

She must not have been hiding her eagerness very well, because Kendra gave her a slightly suspicious look.

“Who were you expecting to call? Not Evan Forrester, I hope.”

Niall blanched. She hadn’t spoken to Evan since the night that he’d practically attacked her in the hallway . . . since the night Vic had branded her with his touch.

“God, no.”

“Good, because I saw him at Toulouse during lunch,” Kendra said, referring to the upscale restaurant housed within the museum. “He really likes his martini lunches, doesn’t he? He cornered me and asked if you’d returned yet. I told him that I thought you’d be spending the weekend with your parents in Kenilworth.”

“Nice one, thanks,” Niall said.

“Mac said that Forrester was trouble from the first when it came to you, although he has to tiptoe around the issue, seeing as how Forrester is on the board,” Kendra said with a grin, referring to Alistair McKenzie, the director of the museum.