Newsflash, Miss Jacobs. I’ve been around the psychoanalysis block before. There’s no such thing as “better.”
There is before.
And there is after.
The.
End.
Six
Merrick
He couldn’t deny it. Nikki looked good.
Merrick allowed his gaze to run over her toned legs and arms. Bronze, smooth, you name it. The heiress of the Owens estate had it all. She showed enough skin to make his pulse pound but hid the rest, leaving him to wonder . . .
Ugh. Stop, Merrick. She is not an object. Plus, we have zilch in common aside from our extremely wealthy fathers. Get a grip, man.
Still, how could he deny their physical chemistry? Their relationship was easy. Zero work involved.
“You look . . .” Hot? Pretty? Gorgeous? “Nice.” He cleared his throat as he slid into the back seat beside her.
Nikki scooted across the leather bench. Her skirt rode up her thighs.
He cleared his throat again. That was two already. He ought to slow down if he was ever going to make it through the date.
The one he didn’t want to go on.
Merrick gazed out the privacy glass window after glancing at her legs once more. Do not be that guy. You’re better than that. She deserves more.
“Where to?” the driver asked from the front. A chauffeur’s cap sat low over his eyes and black driving gloves covered his hands. His accent was difficult to place. Polish, if Merrick had to guess. If anything could be said well of his father, it was this—the man didn’t discriminate against race, color, ethnicity. He hired based on merit. Prided himself on it too.
Good for you, Dad. Way to keep up those appearances.
Hiroshi loved to remind his son where they’d come from. Telling him how his Japanese great-grandparents pinched every penny and saved every dime for Hiroshi’s future.
“They didn’t have equal-opportunity employers back then,” his father had said. “Which is why our company will never discriminate.”
Bitterness coated Merrick’s tongue and throat. The man had no problem with anyone, no matter where they hailed from or what they believed. But his own son? Merrick could do nothing right. How about an equal-opportunity father? Could he get one of those?
“Um, Mer?” Nikki’s silky voice jerked Merrick from his internal stew.
They weren’t moving. Why weren’t they moving?
Ugh. Right. He leaned forward. “Gary Danko, please. Near Ghirardelli Square.”
“I know the place, sir.” The driver nodded. Then he pulled into traffic in one effortless glide.
Merrick sat back and relaxed. Clasped his hands behind his head.
“You spoil me.” Nikki shifted. She placed a graceful hand on his knee and began tracing little circles with her long, pointed fingernail.
From the corner of his eye, Merrick glanced at her legs. Again. Her skirt had ridden higher. He closed his eyes. Help me. Help me now.
She scooted closer and leaned her head on his shoulder. Her dark, curly hair was soft against his cheek.
Merrick let one arm fall around her. Drew her near. Then he inhaled. What line were his mom and sister always quoting from that old Julia Roberts chick flick?
Big mistake. Huge.
He was a goner. Nikki smelled amazing, though he could never place the particular scent. Merrick turned his head. Nikki tilted her face toward his and they began their routine. They’d been here before. Tangled in too much emotion and desire to bother seeing they were completely wrong for one another.
But it felt good.
She felt good.
Merrick ignored the rising guilt. Shoved it out of sight and locked the door. Soon he didn’t know where Nikki ended and he began.
Then again, he wasn’t sure he ever knew where he began. So he welcomed her touch and tender kisses, not bothering to care how uncomfortable their driver must feel.
Uncomfortable was Merrick’s life story. But this?
This was his escape.
This was how he kept his head above water.
When the car reached their final destination in under fifteen minutes, they unlocked lips.
“Your kisses always taste like the first,” Nikki breathed.
He nodded but couldn’t meet her eyes. He smoothed out his shirt, jacket, and pants while Nikki touched her face and tamed her beautifully wild hair. She closed her palm-size mirror, which served as Merrick’s signal that it was safe to get out and open her door.
“We’ll be a couple hours,” he told the driver. When he attempted to slip the man a tip, the chauffeur waved him off.
“Already covered, sir.” He tilted his hat. Adjusted his gloves. “Compliments of your father.”
Of course. “Thank you . . . ?”
“Harold, sir.”
“Thank you, Harold.”
“It is my pleasure, sir.”
When Merrick opened Nikki’s door, she rose from the car. Practiced royalty. San Francisco’s paparazzi princess.
He offered his hand.
Beaming, she took it but barely held on. When they were eye to eye, she kissed him tenderly on the cheek. So innocent. So different from the passion of moments before.
A flash to Merrick’s right indicated some tabloid photographer had already spotted them, probably followed them over from Pacific Heights. Paparazzi regularly parked outside their iconic Victorian-style house. Then again, so did social media junkies—forever snapping selfies with the homes straight from old nineties TV shows. This was nothing new.
Nikki and Merrick turned on the charm and angled themselves so the photographer could get a better shot.
“You’re so bad,” Nikki mumbled under her breath. Then she kissed the spot below his jaw.
Snap, snap, snap.
He nuzzled her dark locks as they walked.
Click, click, click.
This was what his father wanted. For his son to be caught in public with Nikki—correction: happy Nikki—so her father would see the papers and social media posts and magazines and be all the more inclined to take Hiroshi’s deal. Pictures didn’t lie. Merrick’s father could woo the CEO of Owens Industries into a merger all he wanted, but images of his daughter on the town with San Francisco’s most eligible bachelor? Mr. Owens would see the companies were a perfect match.
Merrick loathed his father’s game.
But here he was, playing it. Could he blame the man for his own choices?
“Are you cold?” Merrick whispered in Nikki’s ear.
She shivered and nodded.
He removed his blazer and draped it over her glowing bare shoulders. When he led her inside the restaurant with his palm at the small of her back, a few more flashes blinded his peripheral vision.
“Merrick, table for two.” He purposely avoided giving the hostess his last name. He hated admitting he was his father’s son.
It didn’t matter. Everyone knew anyway.
The hostess didn’t look up but snatched two menus and led them into the establishment without a word. Her heels click-clacked while Nikki somehow managed to walk in her crazy-tall shoes soundlessly. When they reached their table, Merrick pulled out her seat, removed the blazer, and draped it over the back of her chair.
“Thank you.” A satisfied blush colored her cheeks.