by Jackie Lau
For one glorious moment, however, I imagine I can have it all. The man and the business. Not just any man, but one who’s a goddamn CEO.
Though honestly, Josh seems like a “CEO-lite” compared to the ones I suspect I’ll find within the pages of these books. His business isn’t an international empire, and it’s not like he has a private jet and an island in the Caribbean.
Though maybe he has a nice vacation property. Hmm.
And it’s not like he exudes sophisticated taste with everything he does. I mean, the man wears Henleys to the office, not designer suits, though they do look pretty sexy on him.
What will he wear tonight? What should I wear tonight?
I’ll worry about that later. Right now, I need to be in the kitchen.
“I’d better get back to work,” I say to Ann. “That cherry pie filling won’t make itself.”
* * *
Chloe texts me at four, asking if I want to hang out tonight. I tell her I have a date with Josh, and she goes a little crazy with emojis. She also offers to come over and help me pick out an outfit. I figure I could use the help, so I invite her over after work.
I try on my nicest pair of black pants and a pink blouse, but she shakes her head when I come out of the bedroom.
“Do you have a dress?” she asks. “Not that you have to wear a dress if that’s not your thing, but you’d look good in one. Something that would go with these.” She holds up a pair of high black boots.
“I can’t wear those!” I protest.
“But you own them!”
“Because they were on sale. I shouldn’t have bought them. They’ve never been worn.”
“I bet you’d look amazing.”
I smile. I can’t help myself. It’s nice having someone else around, even if I don’t agree with her. I remember getting ready for prom with my high school friends, girls I only talk to a few times a year now.
I have the sudden urge to hug Chloe, but that might weird her out.
“Let me look in your closet,” she says.
“It’s a mess.”
“I’m sure it’s better than mine.”
Ten minutes later, I’m dressed in a black halter dress with a few sequins on the bodice, as well as the boots, and Chloe is fixing my hair.
“There,” she says. “You look hot.”
“Thank you.” I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, and damn, I do look hot. “But I can’t walk in these things.”
She waves this away. “He’s picking you up, right? I bet you’ll hardly have to walk at all tonight, and it’s not like he can’t afford to get a taxi, or that he’s not strong enough to carry you.”
I remember him carrying me to his couch the other night.
Yeah, he’s definitely strong.
“I feel guilty,” I admit. “A night out with a guy...it seems frivolous.”
“Sarah! It’s one night. When was the last time you had a night out like this?”
“I, um, really have no idea.”
“You deserve it.”
I burst into laughter, but Chloe doesn’t join me.
“Really,” she says. “You deserve a night just for yourself, and then tomorrow, we can go out for lunch and you can tell me about it, okay? Twenty-four hours without thinking about your business. Come on, you can do it.”
Chloe and Ann have a point. The only time I really had a break from work was the four days I shut down Happy As Pie for Christmas and went to Ingleford, but I still spent lots of time crunching numbers and thinking of changes I could make.
A woman deserves a real break every now and then, right?
I’m going to have a fun night out with Josh, and then we’re going to have sex. I wasn’t ready last time, tempting as it was, but tonight, I’m ready.
I wanted to jump him when he came into the pie shop yesterday, but somehow I managed to restrain myself and listen to Amrita’s stories about him. I was a bit jealous, but not in the way I was jealous of Amrita when I first heard about her.
I was jealous that Josh had a close friend.
Someday, I want to have a friend who can tell lots of embarrassing stories about me, because we know each other so well. Not stories from my childhood, but stories of my adult life.
I imagine Chloe saying, “Remember that time Sarah went on a date with a CEO?”
Alright. For the next twenty-four hours, I won’t think about my business. I’ll just enjoy myself. I don’t know exactly where this night will take me, but I’m ready. I’m ready for something exciting and unfamiliar, with a man who makes me feel like no one else.
* * *
Josh is five minutes early. I’m still transferring everything from my everyday purse to my fancy purse when there’s a knock on the door.
I open it and attempt a smile, but instead, my jaw hits the floor.
Josh is wearing a gray suit, no tie, and he’s leaning against the door frame, hands in his pockets. He looks amazing. Like, even tastier than my chocolate tart.
“I want to eat you!” I blurt out.
Dear God, what is wrong with me? Why am I acting like an idiot?
Maybe this is just what happens when you don’t go on a date for years. You get so out of practice that when an attractive man appears at your door, you start sounding like a cannibal. I feel like I just showed up in a pumpkin costume to a party where everyone is wearing ball gowns.
“I mean...I can’t wait to eat dinner,” I say hurriedly. “I’m starving.”
Josh smirks. Unlike me, he’s calm, cool, and collected.
He touches my bare shoulder and pulls me toward him. “I want to eat you, too.”
When he says it, it doesn’t sound stupid. It sounds seductive. How unfair.
“You look amazing, Sarah,” he murmurs, and then he nibbles his way up my neck to my earlobe, which he gently bites. He picks up the jacket I left on the bench and helps me into it, one arm and then the other. It feels so intimate to have him helping me with this, something I could easily do myself.
He leads me downstairs, where there is a nice black car—I don’t know anything about cars, but it looks nice—waiting. I soon discover that Josh is not actually driving this car himself; instead, there’s a driver. Huh.
He helps me into the back seat and holds my hand throughout the entire ten-minute journey. We pull up in front of a bank tower in the financial district, and I’m momentarily confused. I don’t see any restaurants, except for a generic bar—is that where he’s taking me?
And then I remember.
There’s a restaurant at the top of this building, on the fifty-second floor, called Loren’s.
I’ve never been here before. It’s expensive, and there’s lots of wonderful food in Toronto that’s comfortably within my budget, unlike this place.
I turn to Josh to protest, then zip my mouth shut. I might not be able to afford this, but he can, and I won’t tell myself I don’t deserve it.
Our table is by the window, and the view is amazing. I can see the CN Tower, the city all lit up before us.
“Is this okay?” Josh asks me, and he sounds uncertain, just a tiny bit.
That makes me melt.
“It’s perfect.” I smile at him. “I’ve always wanted to go here.”
He tugs at the collar of his dress shirt. He doesn’t seem comfortable dressed up like this, but he’s doing it. For me.
“I haven’t gone out on a date in three years,” I blurt out, because I seem to lose control of my mouth around him.
“I haven’t been on a date in a while, either,” he admits.
I suppose Friday night was a date of sorts, but we didn’t go out. He cooked for me. This is a little different.
In three days, Josh has cooked dinner for me and taken me to a fancy restaurant. He must really like me.
I look at him as he peruses the menu, and my heart flutters.
“What are you getting?” he asks.
Oops. I haven’t even looked at the menu because I’ve just been staring at him.
I end up ordering burrata for my appetizer, which comes with beets and herbs and lavash, and elk with sour cherry reduction for my main course. Josh orders us a bottle of red wine, and it doesn’t take long to come, followed by our appetizers. Josh has rabbit, but I’m sure it’s nowhere near as good as my burrata.
I tear open the outer shell with my fork, and the creamy interior oozes out. I scoop some onto the lavash and bite into it, and oh my God, it’s amazing. I’ve only had burrata a couple times before, but I remember each occasion as though it were a momentous event, and I know I’ll remember this night, too.
I open my eyes—yes, I closed my eyes to savor it—and find Josh staring at me.
“What?” I ask.
“I admit I’m so uncultured that I thought burrata was a cured meat, rather than a cheese that can make a woman re-enact the diner scene from When Harry Met Sally.”
I’m horrified at the thought of other people hearing my sexy burrata-induced noises. “I hope I wasn’t that bad.”
His eyes are heavy-lidded, and he trails his finger from the top of my knee-high boots up to my inner thigh. I’m practically overcome with sensation. There’s the food, and his touch, and the beautiful surroundings...
“May I have some burrata?” he asks.
“Go ahead.”
He tries a small amount with lavash and a roasted beet. He, too, moans when he pops it in his mouth.
“You see?” I say. “This stuff is magic.” I have some more. Just a teeny-tiny bite—I’m going to make this last.
“I hope to hear you make those noises in my bed later,” he whispers huskily, his gaze holding mine, a question in his eyes.
“Yes.” The word comes out unsteadily. Not because I’m uncertain, but because I’m overwhelmed.
He gives me a slow, sexy smile.
“You clean up nice,” I say, gesturing to his suit.
“Not like you. You’re so fucking sexy, Sarah.”
It doesn’t sound ridiculous when he says that. Here, far above the city streets and the lake, life is just a touch surreal, and I believe him. The lights in the restaurant are low, but not so low that you can’t read the menu and get a good look at your food...or the man sitting across from you.
I squeeze my thighs together. I’m looking forward to the rest of my food, but I’m also looking forward to later.
He watches me intently with his dark eyes, and my skin feels like it’s exploding with awareness. I turn my attention back to my burrata, which looks damn fine, but nowhere near as fine as Josh.
The main course arrives soon after we finish our appetizers. My seared elk loin is exquisite, and the root vegetables that accompany it are cooked in a delicious amount of butter. Josh has the duck, which is very good, too—he lets me try some—but I’m partial to my elk.
You know when you order a meal and then, even if it’s pretty good, you regret it because your dining partner’s food is even better?
Well, I’m not having any regrets tonight.
I feed Josh a bite of my elk with cherry reduction. I manage not to stab him, which I count as a win.
“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” I say.
“Yes. Amazing.”
His intensity tonight is different from usual. Usually he’s more relaxed and friendly, but tonight, he has the super-rich, suit-wearing CEO thing going on.
I don’t think he’s unhappy with this meal, though; I don’t see how anyone could be unhappy with it. Rather, I have the impression he’s impatient to get me alone.
When I lick the cherry reduction off my fork and place it on top of my empty plate, he says, “Let’s have dessert back at my place.”
That’s such a line, but it causes a pleasant hum in my body.
However, as much as I’m looking forward to going home with him...
“Not a chance,” I say. “Nothing is getting in the way of me having dessert at Loren’s. Not even you.”
Everything on the dessert menu looks amazing, but my brain isn’t functioning well enough to decide what to order. It’s just screaming, Sex! Sex!
Then I see what’s at the bottom of the menu, and I burst into laughter. “They have a hazelnut chocolate tart with cherries. We have to get it.”
We order the tart, as well as a scoop of bananas foster ice cream. They’re both heavenly.
I smile and swipe a piece of the tart crust off his lip. This time, unlike the day I first met him, I think it’s an appropriate thing to do. It’s not like we’re strangers anymore.
“Your chocolate hazelnut tart is better,” Josh says.
“That’s sweet of you to say, but you don’t need to.”
My expert, objective opinion? This one is better.
“No, really,” he says. “This is very good, but not as good as yours. You’re amazingly talented.” He says it with such conviction that I can’t protest.
Pride bursts in my chest.
I know I’m good at what I do, but it’s rare for someone I care about to compliment me like that, and Josh has done it more than once.
Yes, I care about him.
In the past decade, I haven’t really been close to anyone in Toronto, and I’m not going to lie, my feelings for him scare me a little. But for now, I manage to push that aside and focus on the wonderful night we’re having together.
I want to feel his skin against me; I want to feel him inside me. I want to spend the night in his bed and wake up next to him.
I want it now.
However, there are still two heavenly desserts sitting between us. I’m not leaving those half-finished, no matter how much I want Josh. It would be a sin to let them go to waste, but rather than savoring them slowly, I pick up the pace.
“What’s the rush?” he asks.
“I want to get out of here.” I wink at him.
I’m out of practice when it comes to flirtation and seduction. Those aren’t skills that I spent any time developing in my adult life. So I suspect my wink doesn’t look nearly as sexy as I want it to, but still, Josh’s eyes darken, and he, too, starts eating quickly.
“I’m glad to hear it,” he murmurs.
“I am most intrigued by the idea of putting something scrumptious in my mouth.”
“Sarah,” he says warningly.
“What? You want me to stop referencing that unfortunate email?”
He groans, then leans forward. “Well, yes. But I also want you to stop making me harder than I already am.”
I actually shudder at that, despite the warmth of the restaurant.
Ten minutes later, we’re in the back of the car he hired, heading uptown. Though traffic in Toronto is generally crappy, on Sunday night at nine o’clock, the roads aren’t bad, and I’m not growling in impatience.
Besides, Josh is kissing me.
His hands stay above my shoulders, but the things he can do with his mouth...my God. I can’t wait to feel his mouth between my legs. I have no doubt that he intends to go down on me and treat me very, very well.
We stumble into his house. He tears off my jacket and hat, then his own winter clothes, and starts kissing me again, his hands going to my neck to undo the bow at the back of my halter dress. After unclasping my strapless bra, he fills his hands with my breasts and brushes his thumb over my nipple.
I feel like I’m not quite myself. I, Sarah Winters, do not go on dates to fancy restaurants, then have a very attractive CEO devour me at his house in Forest Hill. Nor do I wear knee-high boots; rather, I keep them at the back of the closet and wonder why I ever bought them.
And yet.
I do feel like myself when I’m with him. I feel desired for who I am.
I’m not just some woman to Josh.
I’m Sarah Winters, and who I am matters to him.
This isn’t just a one-night stand.
He pulls my dress over my head and rests his hands on my hips, at the top of my lacy black underwear, which I specifically wore because I intended
to have sex tonight.
“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes. “I love the boots. The underwear.” He gestures at me. “Everything. Everything about you tonight. I can’t believe I was forced to eat bananas foster ice cream first.”
“Poor baby. You had to eat ice cream.”
He slides the tips of his fingers into my panties. “I want to do everything to you, but you can stop me at any time, okay?”
I nod, and he slides his hand lower.
We both groan as he brushes his finger over my slit.
“God, you’re so wet.”
“How could I not be when...”
I can’t finish my sentence. He’s pushing his finger inside me, and it’s been so long since a man touched me intimately like this...and yet I don’t think a man has ever touched me quite like this.
Needing to feel his skin, I start unbuttoning his shirt, my clumsy fingers not working as quickly as I want. When he grazes my clit, I have to stop what I’m doing, leaving his shirt half undone so I can grasp his shoulders for support.
He kisses my mouth as he touches me, and his other hand goes to my breast, massaging it, drawing the nipple to a tight peak. His mouth shifts to my breast, just for a moment, and then he’s dropping to his knees and grinning wickedly up at me.
He pushes aside the gusset of my lacy underwear and puts his mouth on me. He licks over my slit, then slides his finger back in as he sucks on my clit.
I gasp and reach in desperation for something to hold on to—the doorknob in one hand and his hair in the other. He keeps pleasuring me, one hand grabbing my ass and keeping me against his face.
I can feel it coming, and then my orgasm washes over me like a tidal wave. It’s nothing like the orgasms I occasionally give myself at night; it’s so much more.
I breathe shakily and cry out before sliding down the door until I’m sitting on my ass, Josh between my legs.
“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he murmurs.
He unzips and removes my boots, and it’s a relief to finally be out of them. I wiggle my toes before he removes my underwear.
I’m naked before him.
He shudders as he rakes his gaze over me, and a part of me can’t believe I’m causing a man like Josh Yu to respond like this.
Yet at the same time, it feels right to be naked with him.
