WINDY CITY: The complete series

by Stone, Measha

  She managed only a quick wave before he dragged her out of the restaurant and toward the first cab he saw.

  Chapter 11

  “Give him your address.” Alex slammed the door once he was in the cab, effectively trapping her from escaping to the curb.

  “Alex—”

  “Now.” He pointed to the cab driver, who watched with obvious amusement in his eyes.

  Alyssa gave the address while keeping a heated glare on Alex, then leaned back, her arms folded over her chest.

  Alex didn't trust himself to speak to her yet, so he was glad for the quiet. She’d taken a second job. As far as he knew, she’d worked well over her forty hours at the club, and now she was waitressing at a diner too? His father had asked him over a week ago to check out her place, to be sure it was a safe area, but he’d been too irritated with the friend-zone issue to approach her. He’d been sure anything he said to her would have only driven her further from him.

  The cab pulled up to a six-floor apartment building. Other than the deadbolt lock on the front door, there was no other security. Any lockpick could get in. The area wasn’t too bad, not as bad as he’d thought it would be. He stood beside her as she pulled her keys from her purse, grateful she wasn’t giving him a hard time about going up with her.

  The door squeaked when she opened it, and the carpeting in the main lobby—if the five-foot square room could be called a lobby—had a thick wetness to it as he walked toward the elevator. Neither of them spoke on the way up to her apartment, but the elevator was anything but silent. He found himself gripping the railing of the car, readying himself to catch her in case the cable broke and they found themselves in a free fall.

  He’d smelled rancid places before, having been a boy up for any adventure anywhere, even the city dump, but nothing prepared him for the stench that assaulted him as the doors opened.

  “Breathe through your mouth,” she mumbled as they stepped into the hallway. She hurried to the last apartment at the end of the short hallway and shoved her key into the lock. Once the door was open, she hopped inside, allowing him to follow. He took a deep breath once safely behind the closed door and was more than happy to find that whatever had died in the hallway had not resurrected in her apartment. “Sorry. The guy at the end of the hall likes to experiment with curry and other spices. That actually wasn’t the worst of it.” She gave a half smile and tossed her keys and purse on the tiny end table near the front door.

  He looked behind her at the apartment. Anyone calling the room he saw before him an apartment was using a very loose definition.

  “Where’s the bedroom?” he asked. There was a doorway to his right leading to a kitchen fit for one, and another door directly beside it which he guessed was the bathroom.

  “This is it.” She pointed to the couch.

  He gave her a side glance and walked past her into the room. A mirrored wall separated the room from the hall, which he guessed was a closet since there were no clothes strewn about the room and no dresser to speak of. A small, round patio set sat in the corner of the room near the windows, three in a row, looking out at the street below. A television set that looked similar to the one he’d had as a child in his bedroom sat perched on a wooden stand. Two end tables sat on either side of the couch, housing lamps and a stack of magazines on one, and books on the other.

  His father would have a fit if he saw this place.

  “I know it’s not as roomy as your place, but—”

  “Roomy?” He laughed. Roomy would be how he described his bathroom. Her place could have fit into his bathroom. He’d never considered himself a snob, but the way she seemed to be stuffed into this place didn’t feel right to him.

  “Don’t be rude,” she chastised with a stern look, her arms folded across her chest.

  “I’m sorry. You're right.” He looked around the room again. “You like this place?” he asked with what he hoped was sincerity and not a trace of sarcasm. He’d had more room in his dorm room in college.

  She nodded, but her eyes told him something different. She was embarrassed. He’d made her feel ashamed. Asshole.

  “Well, give me the tour.” He tried to sound upbeat, but her shoulders slumped.

  “This is the bedroom-slash-living room. There’s the kitchen, and next to it is the bathroom.” He wanted to kick his own ass from the low pitch of her voice.

  “Were you afraid you wouldn’t have a job when you rented this place?” he asked, sitting on the couch. Comfortable. At least it looked new, unlike the television and end tables.

  “No. I mean…I wasn’t sure how much I’d be making. I’m saving up for a larger place.” She shrugged. “I know this must seem like a cardboard box compared to your place.” She wrapped her arms around her stomach, and again, he wanted to kick the crap out of himself.

  “No. It doesn’t. I won’t lie, I don’t like the idea of you living here. The building needs a lot of repairs. That elevator isn’t safe.” He jerked a thumb toward the front door. “But it’s your home, not a cardboard box. Now that you have the job at the club, you can afford something that won’t make me fear for your life when I drop you off at home.”

  “And the job at the diner.” She reminded him in a sweet tone. “There’s just one favor I need from you.” A mischievous grin replaced her proud smile.

  “What?” he asked cautiously. Nothing good was about to come out her mouth.

  “You can’t tell Paul about this place. He thinks I live in a one-bedroom apartment with a full kitchen and all that. He’d die if he knew I lived here.”

  “You want me to lie to my father?” He leaned back against the couch.

  “Not lie. Omit.” She kicked off her sandals, flinging them to the corner of the room.

  “Just so we are clear, omission is lying.” He pushed himself off the couch and stood at full height, their toes touching. The tip of her head reached his lips. “Look at me,” he said in a strangled voice. He hadn't touched her. He wouldn't until she gave the okay. But…damn. If she didn’t hurry up, he’d have to douse himself in the shower.

  Slowly, she tipped her head back, and his gaze found hers.

  “I want to kiss you. Dammit, Alyssa, I’ve wanted to kiss you for a week.”

  Her tongue touched her top lip. “Me too.” The words were given on a breath, soft and warm, but there was intense hunger in them. There would be no more waiting.

  Alex ran his fingertips along her jawline, then dove his hand behind her neck, fisting her hair in his hand. She yelped, but without panic. He yanked her head back, forcing her to look up at him.

  “No more waiting,” he said, challenging her to push him away—to tell him again they should only be friends.

  He crushed his lips to hers. It had been too long. She’d teased him for too many days for him to be gentle with her now. He was starved for her—for her taste, her sounds. He wanted all of her.

  Her hands settled on his hips, hooking her fingers into the belt loops of his jeans, holding him to her, like he would pull away at any moment. She tasted of summer, sweet tea and peaches. He could drown in the sweetness of her lips.

  When he broke the kiss, pulling away slightly, she groaned.

  “Why did you wait so damn long?” she chastised him playfully.

  He released his hold on her and stepped back.

  “For two weeks, you’ve toyed with me.” He rested his hands on his belt buckle. Her gaze dragged down the length of him, to his hands. Her eyes widened.

  “You’ve stared at me, winked at me, smiled at me—you’ve been a complete brat.” He stared at her. She didn’t move. “Are you usually such a brat?” he asked as an afterthought.

  “No.” She brought her gaze back up to his, a fresh blush tinting her cheeks.

  “What about with Thomas?” he asked in a low voice.

  Her eyes narrowed. “Bradley has a big mouth.”

  “That he does,” Alex agreed. “Now, about Thomas.”

  “Thomas is an ex. I’m su
re you have quite a few of them.” She stepped around him and plopped down on the couch.

  “Yes, but he’s not just any ex, is he?”

  “Alex, he was my first Dominant. He was the guy who showed me the submissive side of myself. He helped me figure out what I needed and wanted.”

  “And what is that? Because I’m going to be honest, I won't do the friend thing with you. I just won’t.” He shook his head. “And I won’t do the vanilla thing either. I tried that once, had a serious relationship, and it all went to hell. I hated it, she hated it, and I won’t try it again.” He crouched onto his haunches in front of her. “I see you at the club, and I want to devour you. So, I can’t do the friend thing. And I won’t try.”

  Her eyes swept over his face several times, and she exhaled loudly.

  “I want you,” she finally said, and air filled his lungs again. “I’ve hated seeing you and not being able to talk to you—not like I want to. The more I tried to ignore you, the more I sensed you. It was really starting to piss me off.” She lowered her gaze. “I don’t do vanilla well either. I end up being a bitch to see how far I can push the guy until he pushes back.”

  “Like you’ve been doing with me,” he said.

  “Yeah,” she said.

  She closed her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them, tears danced on the brim of her lids.

  “I’m really bad at asking for what I need,” she whispered. “You were just so…so…there.” She wiped her eyes before the tears could fall. “I think it just frightened me. I mean, I didn’t expect to meet anyone—especially not anyone within the first day of being in the city.”

  He hadn’t expected it to happen either. He’d expected to pick up a girl, have dinner, send her on her way, and be done.

  “Allyssa, I’m not your boss at work. Kerri is. Bradley is. I’m the finance and marketing guy.” He rested his hands on her knees. Silky and soft. How good would it feel to have all of her exposed body pressed against his? “But here, outside the job, I’m all boss.” He winked.

  “I’m not that good at it,” she whispered sadly.

  “What does that mean?”

  “I mean, Thomas and I didn’t work because he was all about it, twenty-four-seven, and I needed my independence. I needed to live my life on my own terms, no rules or boundaries from him. I don’t want vanilla, but I’m not good at a twenty-four-seven thing either.”

  “Maybe you and Thomas didn’t have the right rules, the right boundaries. I have no need to micromanage your life. I don’t want to tell you where to go and when, or how to dress, or when to sleep. You're a grown woman and can do all that on our own. But I do want to have a say in how you behave, how you work toward your goals. I want to encourage and guide, not drag and demand.”

  “This shouldn’t be so complicated,” she growled, pushing her way off the couch and nearly knocking him over in the process. The spaghetti strap of her dress slid down her shoulder as she paced in front of him.

  “It’s not complicated,” he finally said after giving her a few moments to work off some steam. “I’m not asking you to move in with me or to follow a long set of rules and regulations. I’m asking you to go on a date. Spend time with me. Yes, during that time, I do want you to remain in the submissive role. And by that, I mean, if I say we are going to have Italian for dinner, then we are going to have Italian for dinner. You won't stomp your feet, roll your eyes, or any other disrespectful things people do when they don't get their way.”

  “Sex?” she asked, swinging around to face him. The sincerity in her voice when she blurted out the question kept him from grinning. She looked ready to devour, but the hesitation kept him from remarking on it.

  “When you’re ready. Not before. This isn’t unlike most relationships. Just because you won’t have the majority of the say doesn't mean we just get naked and jump each other's bones.” Although, he wasn’t opposed to the idea, and could easily be persuaded.

  “Oh.” The disappointment in her voice didn’t go unnoticed. “What about play? What if we don’t…you know...play well together?” The worry crept back into her voice.

  “We won't know until we do it, but again, not until you’re ready. We need to go over our boundaries, our limits. If we play and we don't like it, we talk it over.”

  “We can't play at the club. People will know.” She gasped. “People are going to think I got the job because I’m fucking the owner.”

  “No, they won't.” He stood and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her to his chest. She smelled so good, so delectable. “How about you pack a few outfits and come back with me to my place?”

  “A few outfits? You said—”

  “Until that elevator is fixed, you aren’t staying here. I’ll call your landlord in the morning—”

  “I can do it.”

  “Yes, you can. But I want to. That's just me taking care of you, not me taking over you. Got it?” He kissed her forehead, then the tip of her nose, until his lips hovered over hers. “Got it?” he asked again, then pressed his lips to hers before she could finish her answer.

  “Okay,” she whispered when he released her.

  “Okay what?” he asked, toying with her.

  “Sir?”

  He gave a quick laugh and shook his head.

  “No, you don't have to call me that, unless you want to. I meant, okay, you’ll get your stuff, or okay, you got it?”

  “Oh.” Her face flushed. “To both I guess.”

  Alyssa went to the closet and pushed the mirrored door to the side. The door creaked just before it popped out of the top rails and fell forward. Alex rushed toward her, catching the door before it hit Alyssa. She cried out and shrank to the floor with her hands over her head. Alex worked the door out of the bottom track and rested it against the wall.

  He helped her back to her feet.

  “I take that back. You aren’t living here at all. Pack a few things for now, and I'll have the rest moved for you when we find you a better place.”

  “I don’t think—”

  Alex turned a hot glare on her.

  The effect was immediate. Alyssa didn't say a word and went about packing a bag. Her closet wasn’t very full, and she managed to pack almost all of her clothes into the one bag.

  “I already paid for three months’ rent.” She slid her feet back into her sandals. “It was the only way the guy would give me the apartment because I didn't have a job yet. I couldn’t afford the hotel plus come up with first and last month on another place.”

  Alex took the bag out of her hand. “Don’t worry about it.” He placed his hand on her back to get her going toward the door. He wanted out of there before something crashed down on them.

  She pressed the elevator call button.

  “Uh…no, thanks. We’ll take the stairs,” he said, shoving the stairwell door open.

  Chapter 12

  What the hell was she doing?

  Alyssa stared at herself in the bathroom mirror. When they’d gotten back to Alex’s apartment, she’d told him she had one stipulation: she’d stay with him for a few days if she had her own space. Staying in apartment was one thing, but if she was nesting in his bedroom—that was an entirely bigger ball of wax.

  He’d given in easily. Maybe too easily. Maybe this was a mistake. Even a few days, living in his place could cause problems. What if he decided he didn’t want to pursue anything other than a friendship with her and she hadn’t found a new place to live yet? Would he just toss her out? She could always go back to the matchbox apartment, but would it cause friction between Paul and Alex?

  No, of course he wouldn’t. He’d do the polite thing and let her stay no matter how awkward everything became.

  “You’re an idiot,” she told her reflection.

  A knock on the door startled her, effectively stopping her lecture.

  “Alyssa, you okay?” His voice seeped through the door.

  “I’m fine.” She pulled the door open to find him standing in a pai
r of cotton pajama bottoms and a white t-shirt. All of it worked for her.

  The bottoms hung loosely from his trim waist. His well-worn t-shirt hugged him. Was it possible to be jealous of a piece of fabric?

  She’d tossed on a similar outfit, old sweats, and an over-worn shirt, though she doubted she looked nearly as edible as Alex.

  His gaze swept over her, and his lips parted as if he were about to speak.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, looking down at herself. Did she have a hole somewhere?

  He shook his head. “Nothing,” he assured her, slipping his hand around hers. “I thought a movie might be relaxing.” He tugged her down the hall to the living room.

  “Not some action flick,” she groaned, plopping down on the couch while he grabbed the remote.

  “Well, it’s sure as hell won’t be some chick flick.” He pressed a few buttons on the remote, and the screen went black. She laughed when the opening music of Goonies began to play through surround sound. “You like?” He took a seat next to her on the couch.

  “I love. One of my favorites.” She beamed. “It has everything. Romance, action, and the Coreys!” She leaned toward him and rested her head on his shoulder. His arm wrapped around her, pulling her closer to him. Damn, he smelled good. Warm and spicy. Masculine. She nuzzled closer.

  Snuggling him on the couch, watching an old movie…it felt normal. Like they’d done this a million times before. By the time the movie finished, her eyelids were heavy, and she fought off sleep.

  “C’mon. I think it’s time for bed.” He laughed and nudged her shoulder. Half asleep already, she didn’t fight him. He walked her back to her room, his arm wrapped securely around her waist, holding her against him.

  “I need to set my alarm,” she yawned, reaching for the phone on the nightstand.

  “I’ve got it. What time?” he asked, picking up the phone.

  “Five. I picked up the breakfast shift.” She yawned again and leaned back against the plush pillows.