Abbey's lips twitched, fighting a grin. Eventually the grin won.
"Very funny," she said taking a sip of wine.
He opened his mouth to ask her what she really did major in, but she held up a finger.
"That topic's off limits."
Like hell. "No. I want to know more."
"I said it's off limits. Got it?" Her voice was low and she spoke through clenched teeth.
Nick didn't like being refused. He glared at her with a look that usually withered his opposition across a boardroom table. She didn't flinch. She glared right back.
"Guess it's back to travel again, then," he said in attempt to clear the air.
She nodded stiffly and sat back in her seat. She looked flustered. Good. He liked knowing he'd at least achieved that reaction from her, since she'd already succeeded in getting him to lose his self-control last night. It was only fair.
"Antarctica," he said. "That's the one place I don't want to go. Too cold."
Abbey's sour mood melted and she laughed, a throaty laugh that bubbled up from deep within. God, it was fantastic the way she threw back her head and put her heart into her laugh. He'd never met anyone who enjoyed his conversation so much. It was a novel experience—and kind of satisfying too.
"Way too cold for me too," she said. "I prefer the heat."
"Then you'd be happy today."
"Well, today was exceptional, even by Melbourne's standards. Although I do like it like this. It reminds me of summers by the pool or down the beach when I was a kid."
Her voice drifted off dreamily. Nick could picture her, sitting on a beach in a large straw hat and bikini.
A small, white bikini that revealed her rosy ni**les when she emerged from the water.
He swallowed and glanced at Abbey. She was grinning at him. Damn it, how did she know what he was thinking?
"I take it from that look on your face that you like the beach too?" Her eyes danced mischievously.
He nodded and shifted in his seat. Bad move. His erection rubbed against his thighs and the movement made him bigger, harder.
"Are you ready to order, sir, madam?"
A short, balding waiter stood at Nick's side, handed them a menu each then scuttled away. Nick was grateful for the distraction.
"The seafood's great here," said Abbey.
He peered over his menu. "You've eaten here before?" Yet another surprise—Abbey didn't seem like the right sort of clientele.
"Many times." She suddenly dropped her menu. He momentarily caught her gaze in his and held it before she glanced away. She shrugged casually. Too casually. "Once or twice a long time ago. I can't afford this sort of place anymore." Her face disappeared behind her menu again.
She was a mystery this one. A real mystery.
They ordered and continued sipping wine and chatting. The evening was turning into quite a pleasant one, and he was surprised at how easily he could talk to Abbey. And laugh with her.
She asked him about Sydney, and he saw no reason not to tell her which restaurants he liked. She seemed eager to hear about the best galleries in town, something else he wasn't expecting. When he asked her what sort of art she liked, hoping to catch her out, she quickly rattled off some of her favorites.
"Actually, any of the French Impressionists. Which is why I want to visit Paris." She smiled. "The Musée d'Orsay has a fabulous collection, so I hear."
He smiled back, genuinely pleased with her answer. "You know, I didn't think masseurs were the type of people to go to art galleries."
He thought he saw her flinch but it was covered quickly by a defiant toss of her head. "You shouldn't judge a book by its cover."
Nick's gut tightened. She was right, he wasn't being fair. But he was damned if he was going to apologize. Nick Delaware was not the sort of man to apologize to a hooker for thinking she was out of place in an art gallery. And he'd best remember that before he got carried away by this woman's charm.
Their meals arrived, saving him from making any further comments, or apologies. They ate in silence, broken only by occasional chatter. Once their plates were collected, Abbey checked her watch.
"Time to go?" As soon as he said it, Nick cringed. He didn't want to appear too eager to get back to the hotel. On the other hand, he didn't want to appear too casual either, in case she decided he wasn't interested enough. Damn it, this woman was tying his brain into knots—he needed to regain his control, and fast.
"Nearly," she said with a cheeky smile.
Their coffees arrived and he stirred in a spoonful of sugar. He was replacing the spoon on the saucer when he felt something at his crotch. He jumped, bumping the table, splashing coffee into the saucer.
He glanced up at Abbey to see if she'd noticed, and was met with a wicked smile. Again something touched him, and this time he didn't jump. He knew what it was—Abbey's bare toes.
Thank God for long tablecloths.
The toes moved around his bulge, feeling, prodding, stroking. She was extremely dexterous, because her toes caught his zip and slowly began pulling it down.
He gasped and a hot rush of blood flooded his face. He swallowed and looked at Abbey. She was no longer smiling but concentrating on her task. She stared straight back at him, boldly, and that only made him more excited.
The toes ducked into his open trousers and rubbed his erection, only the thin fabric of his shorts between his flesh and hers. The pain and pleasure was excruciating. He wanted to take himself out of the shorts and let her have free reign but common sense told him not to be ridiculous. What if someone came over? He shouldn't have let it get this far. He shouldn't be doing this. He shouldn't...oh, what the Hell, it felt too good to stop now.
Nick closed his eyes and let the sensations course through his body. He heard someone moan—himself?—and bent his head forward.
She felt good. Damn good. Her toes stroked, an endless circular motion that quickened his pulse. He sat forward on his seat, bringing himself closer to her foot.
She had managed to get his trousers even wider apart and she was massaging him, up and down the hard length caught inside his shorts. It pleaded with him to be released from its tight prison. As it grew and expanded, he had no choice—he reached under the tablecloth, not totally aware of what he was doing, and fumbled the button on his shorts.
His erection sprung out, and he heard Abbey gasp. He looked up at her and the lust in her eyes told him she was enjoying this as much as he was. Both her hands were below the table and he wondered whether she was touching herself.
The thought that she might be made him harder, hotter.