Broken (Manhattan Ruthless Book 1)
Chapter 13

I glance at my cell phone on the desk beside me and suppress a smirk when I see her text message displayed on the screen.

Is this a joke? Are you seriously choosing my clothes for our date?

I clear my throat, and my secretary looks up from her legal pad. “Excuse me, Helen. I need to deal with this.”

She offers me a brief smile and places her pad and pen in her lap while I type out a reply to Mel.

It’s a gift. You know what a gift is, surely?

It feels like a possessive, big dick energy move to me.

I suppress a laugh. Our last two dates play on a highlight reel in my head, and we didn’t even so much as kiss. But fuck, I wanted to kiss her. I wanted to take her back to my place and fuck her until neither of us could walk.

So she thinks I have big dick energy? Well, she’s sure right about one thing. I almost type that but refrain from being so crass. I picked the dress out especially for her, and it will look goddamn incredible on those killer curves.

Have you even looked at the dress?

That’s not the point.

Helen taps her pen on her notepad, a subtle reminder that we’re supposed to be going over my calendar for next week. I hold up a finger, letting her know I’ll be just another minute before I send my final reply to Mel.

Tonight will be a special occasion. I wanted you to have something special to wear. If you don’t love it, don’t wear it. I’ll send a car for you at eight

I place the phone back on my desk, screen down so I’m not distracted by her reply when it inevitably comes through, and give my full attention to Helen. I already have way too much shit to do today without being distracted by a text argument with my wife-to-be—as much as the thought of doing that gets my blood pumping.

I can’t fail to notice the admiring glances Mel attracts as she winds her way through the crowded restaurant toward me. A group of men at a nearby table look her up and down when she passes. Annoyance stabs my gut, but she doesn’t even glance in their direction. Her eyes are fixed ahead. On me.

I grin when I catch a glimpse of the blood-red fabric molded to her body like a second skin, accentuating the curve of her hips, and I’m practically salivating at the thought of how delectable her perfectly rounded ass must look in the clingy fabric. I knew that color would look incredible on her, but the fact that she’s wearing a dress I picked out stirs the possessive animal inside me. I pull out her chair and kiss her cheek when she reaches me. The scent of her sweet floral perfume fills my nose and makes my mouth water. My hand skims over her hip, my lips linger on her skin a little longer than necessary, and I feel her cheek heat beneath my touch.

I clear my throat, breaking the connection that sparks between us. “You look beautiful, Melanie.”

She absent-mindedly brushes the fabric covering her abdomen, and her sparkling green eyes meet mine as she mouths thank you.

Once we’re seated, I take a moment to appreciate her captivating beauty. She wears minimal makeup and no jewelry aside from a pair of diamond earrings. Her thick dark hair is styled so that it falls in cascading waves over one shoulder again, exposing the soft skin of her slender neck. An image of me sinking my teeth into the creamy flesh there makes its way into my consciousness, and I mentally check myself. “I see you decided to wear the gift?”

Her cheeks flush pink. “Well, it is a beautiful dress. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Her eyes rake over my features like she might read what I’m thinking by my expression alone. She won’t. “Did you choose it yourself, or …” She chews on the inside of her cheek.

I arch a brow. “Or?”

“Or did someone pick it out for you? A woman, perhaps?”

I pour her a glass of the Chardonnay I ordered when I arrived and fight to hold back a satisfied grin. I have no idea why this woman makes me want to smile so goddamn much. It’s unnerving. “Melanie, are you jealous?”

“No,” she retorts, a little too quickly. “But I’d like to know if it’s you who has such exceptionally good taste, or if you have some poor ex-girlfriend who dresses your dates for you.”

She is jealous. Why does that make me so fucking happy? “I picked it out for you. I saw it in the window at Barney’s and thought it would be perfect for you. Is that acceptable, Miss Edison?”

Her lips twitch. “Very, Mr. James.”

Her eyes light up when I wink at her, but the moment is interrupted by the waiter coming to talk us through the specials.

“So what’s the occasion?” Melanie asks, placing her soup spoon on the table beside her bowl.

I take a sip of my wine. “Any time I see you feels like a special occasion, darling.”

She rolls her eyes and snorts a cute-as-hell laugh. “Nathan. I’m serious. You said tonight was a special occasion.”

The ring box in my jacket pocket feels like it’s burning through the fabric of my suit. Some part of me wants to surprise her and see her reaction, but I have no clue why, seeing as this is merely a business transaction for her. And for me too—that goes without saying. I lean closer, careful to ensure nobody hears me. “I was planning to propose.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “Here? Tonight?”

“It’s one of the most exclusive restaurants in Manhattan. It’s known for being a popular proposal spot. Seemed like the perfect venue.”

“I know that, but I guess I thought …” Her slender throat thickens as she swallows.

I frown. Surely she’s not having doubts now. “Thought what?”

She shrugs. “I dunno. It’s a little cliché, is all. I figured you’d be more inventive.”

“Well, maybe I would be if this was a real …” Hurt flashes in her eyes, and I decide not to finish that sentence, and not only because some piece-of-shit paparazzi could be close enough to read my lips.

With a nod, she sits back in her chair, her demeanor prickly in a way it wasn’t a few moments ago. “You’re right. This is the perfect venue.”

“If you’d rather …”

Her features soften on a faint smile. “Ignore me. I’m holding on to schoolgirl fantasies of a dream proposal. Here is great.”

I press my lips together and resist the urge to ask her about that schoolgirl fantasy. It doesn’t matter. I’m not her fantasy, and I never will be.

No time like the present. I fish for the ring inside my pocket and drop to one knee beside her. She gasps and puts a hand to her chest, playing her part to perfection. I’m vaguely aware of the restaurant coming to a standstill around us, and the vibrant hum of chatter fades to a few whispered voices. Keeping my gaze trained on hers, I take hold of her left hand and open the box, revealing the four-carat diamond ring. It sparkles, reflecting light from the chandeliers above our heads,

“Oh, Nathan,” she whispers. “It’s beautiful.” Her glistening eyes flicker between the ring and my face. She’s either an incredible actress or she really likes the ring.

“Melanie Edison, will you marry me?” I can barely believe the words come from my mouth, and I hold my breath, seemingly along with everyone around us given the quiet that’s now settled over the entire restaurant.

“Yes. Yes!” she squeals, wrapping her arms around my neck and pulling me close.

Applause erupts, and I press my lips to her ear. “They’re all still watching. I think we should probably kiss or something.”

“Put the ring on me first,” she whispers back.

I slide the ring onto her finger and notice the way her eyes shine with what appears to be genuine delight as she inspects her hand. There’s another round of applause and a few cheers. Then her eyes are fixed on mine, her hands are on my face, and everything else ceases to exist.

I kiss her, not because I’m supposed to, but because I can’t wait another second to press my lips against the plump bow of hers. Can’t stop thinking about how it would feel to slide my tongue into her mouth and taste her. And the second I do, I regret it. She tastes like wine and sweetness, of all the things I shouldn’t want. She tastes like she’s mine.

Her mouth is warm and inviting, and when I flick my tongue against hers, the sexy little moan she gives makes my dick stiffen. I tangle my fingers in the back of her hair and tilt her head to the angle I want, the perfect angle to tongue-fuck her right here at this table.

“Congratulations, sir. I hope you and your lovely fiancée enjoy an eternity of happiness together.” The restaurant owner’s voice has me pulling back, leaving her breathless and looking like she wants more. My eyes remain locked on hers while I thank Javier for his kind words and the complimentary bottle of champagne I hear him order for our table.

“I feel like everyone’s staring,” Mel says with a breathy laugh, her cheeks pink and her red lips swollen from my bruising kiss.

One glance around the room confirms her suspicions, and the moment suddenly seems too intimate to share with the world. It shouldn’t feel that way. This is business, nothing more. I chose this place because I knew it would be crowded, and I wanted strangers’ recording and snapping this moment with their cell phones. I wanted photographers to be waiting outside for us when we left.

By midnight, news of our engagement will be splashed all over social media, and the trashy news sites and gossip columns will be throwing out wild theories about our courtship. That’s all precisely what I wanted. I don’t understand why it feels so wrong now. Why do I wish I could take her away from all the lights and noise and fakery and finish up that incredible kiss with nobody’s eyes on us? With no sound in my ears except my heartbeat and her soft moans.

“Nathan.” She giggles, breaking the spell she has me under. “As much as I enjoy the sight of you on your knees for me, are you going to sit back down?”

I stand, but before I take a seat, I clasp her hand in mine. Dipping my head, I brush my lips against her ear. “Don’t get used to it, Mel. You’ll be the one on your knees for me before too long.”

Her breath catches in her throat, and when I take my seat opposite her, her eyes sparkle with mischief, her cheeks now as red as her lips. The image of her naked and on her knees with her mouth open while she waits for my cock sends white-hot pleasure searing down my spine.

“Your champagne, Mr. James,” the waiter interrupts us, and I force the image of me coming down my fiancée’s pretty throat out of my mind.