Dominic smiled again. “Not a problem. I was about to invite you out to dinner anyway,” he lied. He’d actually planned on sitting alone in his apartment and drowning his sorrows in whiskey.

“This is such a darling little restaurant.” She lifted her perfectly manicured hand in a flighty little wave that encompassed the room before reaching out to lightly brush her fingers across Dominic’s hand, which was resting on the table. “I’m so glad you brought me here. I gather the chef is a good friend of yours.” The chef had come out to greet them when he heard Nick was in the house.

“Guillaume and I met in Nice a few years ago. I was pleased when he moved to Paris.” The restaurant was on a quiet, tree-lined street in Montmartre, on the ground floor of a small house that had been converted into a neobistro thanks to an investment from Dominic.

“He reminds me of that lovely young chef in Monaco. Do you remember that little café by the water?” She giggled prettily. “We were a little risqué that night.”

“I remember. We were both pretty loaded.” He picked up the bottle on the table, uninterested in reminiscing about their public sexual escapades. “More wine?”

She readily held out her glass and gave him a playful smile. “Are you trying to get me drunk, Nicky dear?”

He shook his head. “It’s just a good wine.” He actually was trying to get himself drunk. He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to see Vicky across the table from him, full of flattery and artifice, showing off her boobs, taking it for granted that they were her best calling card. He had wanted to leave twenty minutes ago… alone.

The way Vicky ate the first course of white asparagus with anchovy dressing almost took away Dominic’s appetite. Although, realistically, it wasn’t her fault, it was his. Pre-Katherine, watching Vicky delicately place the tip of the asparagus in her mouth and slowly nibble on it until she’d consumed the entire stalk would have been amusing. Now it was unappealing on so many levels.

Daintily wiping her mouth when she finished, she smiled and pointed at Dominic’s barely touched asparagus. “Aren’t you hungry, darling?”

Not anymore. “I should have ordered the ravioli,” he said with a quick glance at his watch. Then he caught the waiter’s eye and nodded at their plates.

As their first courses were whisked away and their glasses refilled, Vicky leaned forward to better display her impressive cleavage, beautifully framed by the deep V of her white angora knit dress. “You seem moody.” Her voice softened. “All dark and dangerous. I like that,” she whispered.

If she mentioned whips he might lose it. “I’m just a little tired. Long day at work.” He smiled tightly and wondered if he was being punished for all the iniquities in his past. “Guillaume’s blanquette de veau is amazing,” he said, determined to change the subject. “You’ll enjoy it.” And reaching for his wineglass, he drained it, nodded at the waiter for a refill, and drank down the next glass without tasting it.

Two bottles later, he was marginally relaxed or mildly anesthetized. The food was superb as usual, the veal spectacular, the wine cellar excellent, the waiter alert to his glances for more wine, the low buzz of conversation tranquilizing. Vicky was persistently flirtatious, doing her best to lure him in.

Unfortunately, he was unaffected by her overtures.

She obviously was planning on staying the night.

He’d previously thought the same; a fuck was a fuck. But each minute that passed, each perfumed remark directed his way, each seductive smile, left him not only indifferent but seriously demoralized by his own apathy. Since when had he become a eunuch? Don’t answer that, he quickly warned the insinuating little voice in his head.

His unprecedented feelings aside, what he really needed was a way out. But his escape mechanisms were rusty from neglect; he couldn’t remember when he’d last turned down a woman. Calling for another bottle, he hoped alcohol would quash his aversion to fucking Vicky.

Sadly, it only made him more averse.

Long before dinner was over, he knew that there was no way he was bringing Vicky back to his apartment. He ordered a rare port to prolong the meal, then another for tasting, at which point Guillaume came out to the table and politely said, “I have two of those bottles left in the cellar. Come, Dominic, you decide which you prefer.”

Dominic experienced such a feeling of deliverance, he was momentarily touched by a flash of religiosity. But his voice was calm as he came to his feet. “If you’ll excuse me, Vicky, I’ll be right back.”

Dominic shot a glance at Guillaume as they entered the back hallway. “How the hell did you know I needed rescuing?”

“You don’t normally drink so much. Bertrand noticed and told me.”

“Bertrand must be the mother I never had,” Dominic said with a grin. “I’ve been trying to think of some way to end this dinner date. Vicky’s lovely but I’m not in the mood for more of her tonight.” Smiling, Dominic shook his head when he saw Guillaume’s quizzical look. “Don’t look at me like that—I haven’t a clue why either.” The men had partied together in Nice and Paris; they both loved women. “I need an escape plan she won’t find insulting. Although, if necessary, I’ll go with insulting.”

“Are you unwell, mon ami?” Guillaume looked at Dominic with male understanding. “I know a good doctor; he doesn’t mind if I call day or night. He’s a friend from Nice.”