Wine and Whiskey (Surviving Absolution #1) by Nikki Belaire Page A

down,
his face even with hers, his eyes burning with worry as he cups her face. “Are
you okay?”
    No, but she nods anyway, her chest throbbing from her racing
heart.
    Max turns to the stunned kids. “Everything’s fine. Just a
misunderstanding.” None of them respond, shock paralyzing their bodies and
their voices. He places the pitcher upright and bends down to scoop up the
packets, dropping them in the trash. “No harm done.” He slowly pulls out his
wallet and removes several one hundred dollar bills, putting them in the tip
jar.
    Unaware she’s shaking until Nick takes her hand, she grips his
arm as he leads her outside.
    “Ready?”
    Nick puts the Jeep in gear after Max hops in the back and pulls
out of the parking lot without waiting for her to answer.

 
 
 
    Chapter Three

 
 
    Sitting next to Nick on one of the beige leather sofas in his
living room, Shae is reminded of what an imposing man he is. How his large hand
engulfs her cheek as he caresses it, his long fingers brushing against her
hair. How the heat radiating from his thick, muscular body warms her as she
wraps her arms around herself, trying to stop the trembling.
    His eyes search hers, his face tight with worry. “Are you okay?”
    Maybe she’s foolish not to be afraid of him. Not to be
frightened of him and his gun-brandishing bodyguard who calmly deflect the
threats against them, easily reversing their roles from victims to aggressors.
Then doling out cash afterward in recompense for the shock of being unwitting
spectators to their impromptu drama.
    Yet, his gentleness with her never falters. Fierce and
protective, he seems to make her safety his only priority, even in the midst of
confrontation. Never any doubt regarding his concern for her. No, she doesn’t
fear him. It’s his life beyond the two of them that scares her.
    She lowers her head, breaking the physical connection between
them. “I don’t know. I shouldn’t have let you talk me into coming here.” With
shaking hands, she smoothes the wrinkles in her black
and pink striped skirt. Unable to face his agonized expression, she stares at
her dress. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I can do this. Can you please take me back
to my car?”
    He lays his hands on top of hers, preventing them from rubbing
the fabric, attempting to erode her decision to leave. “If that’s what you
want. But I was hoping we could talk some more.”
    Memories of the altercation play on a continuous loop in her
mind. The images revealing a truth she pretended to ignore, reality she wanted
to disregard as easily as the gossip swirling around herself. She takes a few
deep breaths, failing to clear the confusion in her head. “I don’t think
there’s anything left to say.”
    He curls his fingers over hers. “If you leave, I’ll never see
you again. I can’t let that happen.”
    Trying to ignore the longing behind his words, she struggles to
minimize the mutual desire she feels for him. “Why not? We just met a week ago.
We don’t even really know each other.”
    “That’s not true.”
    A familiar twinge of disappointment wells up in her chest—a
reminder of all the broken connections after the illusion of her disintegrates.
She blows out a deep sigh. “Everyone thinks they know me from magazines and
gossip sites. It’s just an image for publicity. I’m not that person.” Before he
can respond, she stands up and walks toward the foyer. “I need to go.”
    “I know the real you.” The tenderness in his voice forces her to
pause. This is the Nick she knows, not the one from the restaurant. The man who
makes her think crazy things like this could be real, that the two of them
might actually have a chance. “How your cheeks turn pink when you feel shy. How
you’re secretly competitive and try to one-up me when we work out. The way
you’re always thinking about dessert.”
    He stands behind her, close enough his breath warms her neck,
his skin skimming hers, stirring an ache for him