"I won't hate the jewelry. I just don't think you should spend so much money on me," I said as I accepted the box. "Besides, from what you've told me, your father's opinion shouldn't matter one way or the other." Of course, I knew that wasn't true at all. I could read a lot more in what Tristan had said--and not said--about his father than he gave me credit for. Cold and indifferent parents are the kind children spend their lives trying to please or impress.
The bracelet and earrings were set with a gemstone I didn't recognize. They were perfectly matched square cut stones set in rose-colored gold. Each was about the size of my thumbnail. But it was the color that made them so unique. Not orange and not pink, the warm glow of the crystals was somewhere in between. They reminded me of an autumn sunset.
"I purposely chose something modest. I know how squirrelly you are about expensive gifts."
"Yes, I'm sure you bought these at Claire's," I said sarcastically.
"Claire's?"
"Nevermind, it isn't a place you'll ever set foot in. What are the stones?"
"Imperial topaz. Unusual, aren't they? I thought the color would suit you."
"They're beautiful. Thank you."
"That's it? I don't have to argue with you about it? Just a graceful 'thank you'? My, my, perhaps you're growing up."
"Keep it up and I won't wear them," I threatened, but with a smile. I held out my hand and he fastened the clasp around my wrist. Then he brought my hand to his lips and brushed a kiss over my fingers.
"You deserve beautiful things. You wouldn't frame a Van Gogh in plastic, and you should be adorned and clothed like the masterpiece that you are."
I turned back to the mirror and put the earrings on. He watched me from behind with an expression that was dangerous and devouring. There was a possessive side to him and I couldn't decide how I felt about that. On the one hand, I was thrilled that he wanted me. On the other, I resented the way he wanted to control me without giving me anything to . . . hold on to.
When I turned and met his eyes I felt as if I was falling again. Falling into his depths, getting lost in the tangle of his desire and losing myself in the dense jungle of his damaged soul. I looked at him and knew that it was impossible to be near him without wanting him. At that moment it was enough. It had to be enough.
We went out to the ancient elevator and I used the long ride to admire how fine he looked. He had chosen a rather understated outfit for our brunch meeting with his father. The bespoke suit he had worn to dinner the night before had been replaced by a blue blazer and a pair of khaki slacks. His crisp white shirt accentuated his tawny skin and gold-brown hair. He glowed with good health and prosperity down to the tips of his perfect fingers. Today he chose not to wear a tie, but he had tucked a red pocket square in the breast pocket of his sport coat. The double-breasted blazer emphasized the broadness of his shoulders, his strong chest and narrow waist. For the thousandth time, I thought him as beautiful a man as had ever been made.
We drove nearly the entire way to the Pump Room in silence. He was trying hard to appear casual, but I could sense his mood. There was tension in his jaw and his grip on the Bentley's steering wheel was a little too tight.
"The Pump Room used to be about as old school as the Drake Hotel. A couple of years ago, the hotel that it's attached to was sold and the restaurant was completely overhauled. I'm kind of surprised my father still goes there."
"He's not fond of change?"
"That's part of it. But also because it was one of my mother's favorites. They used to go there on New Year's Eve." He smiled. "They took me there for brunch once in a blue moon. The thing I remember the clearest was the midget who served coffee."
"A midget?"
"I'm not kidding. He was a midget dressed in pink satin livery with an ostrich plume on his turban."
"That would certainly make an impression on a kid. Or anyone for that matter."
"I hope you aren't too disappointed. I think they did away with the midget years ago."
The valet took our keys and Tristan led me through the doors as if seeing his father was the most natural thing in the world. When Mr. King rose to greet us, the resemblance to his son was striking. He had Tristan's regal bearing, the same aristocratic features and an almost identical smile. But where Tristan was golden, Bradley King was dark. His hair was once jet black but now showed silver at the temples. His eyes were dark chocolate and almost unreadable as they took me in. If my presence at the table was a surprise, he didn't let on. Like Tristan's eyes, his seemed to bore right through me.
I found myself appraising his body. Under the pinstriped suit were shoulders every bit as broad as his son's, a chest that looked solid and strong, narrow hips that ended in long graceful legs. I couldn't stop myself from wondering if under those perfectly creased pants was a cock as beautiful and talented as his son's. I mentally pinched myself for even going there.
"Father, this is Raina Harding."
"Brad King," he said as he took my hand. His grip was more powerful than I had expected but I saw the same elegant King fingers. His smile seemed forced. "I'm happy to meet you, Raina."
The two men didn't embrace or even shake hands. Tristan hadn't told me how long it had been since he had even talked to his father, but I suspected it had been a while. We sat down, Tristan to my right and Mr. King to my left. The two men faced each other across the small table.
Their conversation was bland and all business. But it was plain that they followed each other's exploits carefully. Both men were able to converse about the other's triumphs in different financial arenas with ease. I felt quite irrelevant. Mr. King had forced a few polite questions out at the beginning of the meal--where I was from, where I went to school, that sort of thing--and then turned his frosty attention on his son.
I picked at the meal in front of me and wondered what Tristan's purpose had been in arranging the meeting. Did he want to impress upon me that his reserve was an inherited trait? I didn’t see much value in that discovery. It changed nothing.
Tristan put his hand to his coat pocket and pulled out his vibrating phone. "You'll have to excuse me, I need to take this call," he said as he rose from his seat and left the table. Alone with Mr. King, I felt small and childlike. I wanted to dazzle him with some witty conversation but I drew a complete blank and settled for what probably looked like a stupid grin.
"How well do you know my son?"
Yikes. I felt a twist in my heart and a tingle between my legs. "We've been seeing each other a few months."