Play Right: Older Man Younger Woman Romance (Manhattan Bachelors Book 2)

by Matilda Martel

  “Wasn’t your husband quarterback of his high school football team? Haven’t you repeatedly confessed how much that turns you on? Didn’t you jump at the chance to let him knock you up?” I point to the evidence.

  She shields her belly. “Leave my baby out of this. Byron went to Yale. He’s an engineer. I never said there was anything wrong with a little of both. And don’t give me your professionalism speech. You’re dying for a slice of Georgia. Admit it.”

  “I will not. She’s just the talent. I’ll admit I think she’s pretty.” I search the room for my coat.

  “Pretty?” She raises an eyebrow.

  “Okay. She’s beautiful. But who said I’m interested in being a father? When the hell did I mention ever wanting children? I’m not father material. I don’t want to be one of those dopes pushing prams and chasing rugrats in the park. Do I look like someone who wants to live in the suburbs with a house full of kids?” I grab my phone, sling my computer bag over my shoulder and head towards the door.

  “You don’t fool me, Ajax Easton. If it involves Georgia Madrid, you can’t wait to be that dope. But don’t wait too long. I like her and I’ll need someone to drag to all those Mommy and Me classes.” She returns to her edits and waves goodbye without looking up.

  As I walk out, I hear her call out one last time. “She lives on Central Park West, near the museum. On 75th. Be nice or I’ll kill you.”

  “Shut up, Tabby.”

  Six

  Georgia

  There are a few weeks in New York when winter shifts to spring, the flowers bloom, the sun shines brighter and it feels like everyone emerges from their cocoons. I love this time of year. Everything’s fresh. Everything feels new and full of possibilities. And that’s what I want. I want something new. Something real and warm. Something that makes my heart sing.

  But most importantly, something that fits.

  I guess that’s my problem. Nothing feels like it fits anymore. I’ve outgrown the life I’ve built in Los Angeles. It’s chafing me like a pair of undersized skinny jeans. Everyone’s fake. No one wants to be your friend because they like you. It’s all about what you bring to the table. What can you do for me? What can I get out of you?

  Maybe New York is the answer. Sure, people are pricks here, too. But they don’t pretend to be your friends. If they don’t like you, they’ll say it. They’ll proclaim it. Sometimes louder than necessary.

  Did he really think I was a self-centered, spoiled brat?

  Why does that bug me? Who the hell is he? I’ve been called worse. But he didn’t have to resort to name-calling. This is a professional relationship and if a writer can’t handle a bit of professional criticism and feedback, he needs to grow a thicker skin.

  Charging past a group of tourists, I weave into the crosswalk and race towards my building. I need to shake this off. That man is nothing but problems. He might smell nice, but he’s too heavy-handed with his cologne. If it wasn’t such a nice fragrance and mixed so well with his natural body scent, he might have singed my nostrils.

  But that’s not the point. Sure, he’s a handsome guy. I know tons of great-looking men. He has nice, sinewy hands. Of course, I noticed. I like thick fingers. What woman doesn’t? They were nicer than you’d expect for someone who spends all day writing. Despite his qualities, I refuse to walk on eggshells. If we’re going to work together, he needs to hear my voice.

  I won’t be pushed around or bullied into submission. I won’t sacrifice my integrity over a cool blue pair of bedroom eyes. Georgia Madrid is an artist and she won’t tolerate any funny business.

  “Georgia... I’m glad I caught up with you.” Seconds before I enter my building, the voice I’ve been replaying in my mind reappears behind me. It’s him. Fuck, it’s him.

  “May we speak? Alone? I’d like to apologize for earlier.” His soft gaze meets mine, and visions of blue-eyed babies flood my brain. Damn him.

  I take a step towards the door, then back away. My fluttering heart skips a beat. I can’t invite him in. I don’t trust myself. It’s been too long and that sports coat’s a teensy bit too tight. I’m not sure I noticed before. I’ll bet he works out. My eyes graze over his broad chest and the Adam’s apple peeking out of his perfectly starched dress shirt. Stuffy and hot. This man is a contradiction in motion.

  I take a deep breath and sigh. Focus, damn you. “There’s a coffee shop around the corner. I hear it's nice.”

  He nods, then hesitates. “Will they leave you alone? Won’t people recognize you?”

  “It’s New York. If they know who I am, they’ll pretend they don’t.” I point in the café's direction and lead the way.

  Seven

  Ajax

  “Thank you for joining me. This is last minute, and I appreciate...” I temper my breath. As the smell of her perfume floats into my brain, I draw a blank and struggle to remember the next word.

  “I appreciate your time. Forgive me.”

  She slides her coat off her shoulders and hangs it on a nearby hook. When she returns to her seat, a pair of rock-hard nipples say hello.

  Jesus Christ.

  My eyes freeze. For thirty seconds, I stare slack-jawed at her round, supple breasts, barely hidden beneath the sheer fabric of that poor excuse for a blouse. My jaw tightens with a sudden spark of rage. How many men saw what I’m seeing now? How many assholes in this café are eye-fucking her while she innocently stirs her cup of tea?

  “I apologize for saying I hate the ending. That was harsh. I only meant I felt it was a let-down. You had me rooting for Veronica and James and lulled into a fall sense of security when it looked like things were moving in the right direction. Killing him was rude and wholly unnecessary.” She sighs with grief and my heart stings with remorse. My reaction was rude. I should have heard her out instead of calling her names.

  Sensing my desire to interrupt, she holds her hand up to silence me. “I understand it’s your art. This story lived with you long before I read it, but if we work together, I hope you acknowledge that I’m not a two-dimensional being who simply memorizes lines. Acting isn’t easy.”

  She releases a long breath and brushes a few strands of hair off her beautiful face. I want to say something warm and meaningful. If I wasn’t so attracted to her, I don’t think I would have taken it so personally. “I think you’re exceptionally talented. I’m honored you’ve agreed to play Veronica. When I close my eyes, you’re the only person I can see playing this character. You bring her to life in my mind.”

  Her huge eyes grow wider and her full lips curve into a sweet smile. “Really? Did you know I also grew up in Brooklyn? Isn’t that a coincidence?”

  I take a sip of coffee and shake my head. “Did you?” A blatant lie. I know everything about her.

  “That is a coincidence. I grew up in Prospect Heights.” I smile and take a sip, hoping she’ll pick up on how much we have in common.

  She squeals, pats her feet on the floor and leans in. “I grew up in Park Slope! We were practically neighbors. Do you still live there?” She takes a sip and nervously shields her face.

  “No, I live on the opposite side of the park. Not too far from here. I moved away for college and rushed back as fast as I could. Don’t you miss the city?” My voice shakes with the awkward tension of a teenage boy as I lose myself in her deep brown eyes. She’s hypnotic. A thousand times lovelier than I imagined, and I imagined plenty.

  She nods. “So much. Most of my friends have moved away, but my family is still here. Sometimes I think of moving home. You don’t really need to live in L.A. anymore. It’s not like I need to make myself available for last-minute auditions. Filming takes place all over the world.” She looks away, ducking her head as she takes a slow sip.

  “Is something wrong?” I glance behind me and notice a young man staring us down. He’s among friends and hardly intrusive, but the look on her face speaks volumes.

  “I’m sorry, do you want to leave? Are you uncomfortable?” I instinctively reach fo
r her hand and when she reaches back, the last piece of my heart, the one I’ve kept hidden from the world, melts away. The loud beat slows to a dragging thump as my future unfolds in my mind and collides seamlessly with hers. I don’t know where we’ll be. But I’ll be with her. I can’t be with anyone else.

  “No, I’m sorry. It’s nothing. He’s not... oh, here he comes.” She tenses and shifts in her seat. A nervous grin appears, but it never reaches her eyes. I can’t stand to see her this way. She looks like a scared deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car. My need to protect her rears its ugly head. It’s primal. Her frightened expression stabs at my soul and I jump out of my seat to confront the asshole approaching our table.

  Before I say a word, he speaks. “Ajax Easton? Oh shit, I knew it was you. Sorry to bug you on a date. Excuse me, ma’am.” He nods at Georgia, oblivious of her fame, and returns to me. “I’m a big fan. My brother Carl worked as your set designer before he moved to London. We met years ago, but I don’t expect you to remember me.”

  My guard instantly drops, and my head grows two sizes. “Holy shit! Carl Newman! You must be Jason! Little Jason. You were a kid last time I saw you! How are you, man?” I pat him on the arm and smile from ear to ear. His brother was the best set designer on 42nd Street until the West End offered him a better deal.

  We shake hands and I quickly introduce him to Georgia. First name only. She smiles but appears stunned she’s not the center of this fan love fest. We chat briefly, and when he tells me he’s just finished studying set design and looking for work, I hand him a business card and tell him to contact my office.

  “Sorry about that.” I settle into my chair and greet her with a smirk.

  “Now, I feel foolish.” She ducks her head and chuckles. “I thought I was being stalked and he didn’t even recognize me.” An adorable blush travels from her chest to her apple cheeks and ultimately rests on her hairline. She’s beet red and it’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen.

  “I’m sure he’ll kick himself later. He’s young and needs a job. Never mind him. Tell me more about you. I know you grew up in Brooklyn. I know you’re a great actress. But not much more.” I lie. I’ve stalked her online for years.

  “Tell me something no one knows.” I smile and stare into her soft gaze.

  “Really? I’m not sure anyone’s ever asked me that before.” Her face brightens at my suggestion. She sits taller and wiggles her bottom with enthusiasm as she tells me about her mother, the pediatrician who still lives in the same brownstone in Park Slope her parents purchased the year they married.

  “Do you have siblings?”

  She nods. “One sister. Gina’s two years younger, but she’s always acted ten years older than me. She’s a hoot. She married a doctor, some neurosurgeon bigwig at New York Presbyterian, whom she met when she shared a dorm with his daughter in college. Can you believe that scandalous shit?” She covers part of her mouth with her hand and whispers. “He’s twenty years older, but it works. They’re crazy for each other.”

  She takes another cup of tea from the waitress.

  “They bought a house just down the block from mom and now that she’s retired, they’re as thick as thieves.”

  “I’m not so sure I can live so close to my parents. I need a bridge and a borough to separate us.” I chuckle and her eyes grow with amusement.

  “We’ve always been close but now that my sister’s expecting, they’re tighter than ever.” She doesn’t say it out loud, but her voice is heavy with regret. Moving away made her lose her bond with the only family she has left.

  Although she hesitates at first, I’m touched when she opens up about her father, her namesake, who died just before her fifth birthday. “He was handsome. Movie star handsome. I don’t think my mom ever got over his death. She never remarried.” She sighs while her eyes drift longingly towards the ceiling. “I used to think it was romantic. But I wish my mother would find a nice man. She’s in her fifties. There’s still time to meet another great love.” She inadvertently slurps her tea and tenses with the noise.

  “There’s always time to meet a great love. I don’t think people should ever give up.” I lean into the table and let my fingers graze hers.

  “Ajax?” Her eyes nervously dart across the room while she takes a sip of tea. “Why haven’t you ever settled down? Are you not interested in that kind of stuff?”

  The hairs on my arms stand on end. I don’t want to lie, but I can’t be completely honest. No way. I can’t blurt out details of my obsession. It could endear me to her, but it might also send her running for the hills. Before the silence becomes uncomfortable, I stall with a quick sip of tea and swallow the lump in my throat.

  “I am interested. I think about it all the time. But it needs to be right. I don’t want children for the sake of replicating my genes. I want to start a family with the right woman. A woman I love. A woman I can’t live without.” It’s not a lie for her sake. I mean every word. I just don’t tell Tabitha everything.

  In a long slow motion, her eyes lock onto mine and her trembling hand places her teacup on the table. “Really?”

  My eyes burn into hers. “Really.”

  Eight

  Georgia

  I’m not sure how this begins. A walk home. Steps. Keys. I fumble to open the door and before I know what I’m doing, I give him the look. You know the look. It’s overt. Wanton and audacious. He gets the message.

  Goddamn, does he get the message.

  His hands reach for my waist, possessively smoothing down the curve of my hips and I melt like hot caramel into his hard body. I’m boneless. Shameless. There’s no resistance. No words of refusal emerge from the trembling lips that ache for his kiss.

  Typically, I put up some struggle for the sake of propriety. I’ve got years of practice keeping up my good girl illusion for the first few dates. Georgia Madrid is no slut. Sure, I’ve been around the block twice, but always in established relationships. I’m not sure I recognize the tramp standing in my foyer with Ajax Easton’s hands on her ass, but when his full lips crash into mine, my resolve instantly falls away.

  “Forgive me.” His raspy growl vibrates against my lips, sending shock waves into my core.

  “For what?” My eyes take him in seconds before his mouth covers mine, and the dizzying feeling returns. I can’t think.

  For the love of God, stop talking before you make me think.

  “I can’t help myself. But if I’m too bold...” He pauses, winds his hands into my hair, jerks my head and seals his lips to mine in a sizzling kiss that sends tingles into parts unseen. My head falls back. My knees give out. I rip the nuisance glasses off his face and toss them across the room. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to mind.

  “Georgia, you’ll have to tell me to stop.” His tongue fills my mouth while our bodies mold into a tight embrace. His arms lift me off the ground. My hands wind around his neck, seeking purchase, seeking his warmth, his scent, anything to fill the void that’s been empty so long. Why have I gone so long without this? Where the hell has this man been?

  “I can’t. I can’t say it, Ajax.” My voice squeaks out as his soft lips ravage my neck, sending me into the outer limits of bliss. This is too good. I’m too wet. Too hot. My breath retreats and words fail as I struggle to give him a sign of my approval, but he takes my cue nonetheless.

  “Where’s your bedroom, baby?” He charges forth towards the back of the house, up the stairs, instinctively finding the way to my bedroom. With his lips on mine, I point towards the door on the right. I need him. I need this. I don’t care that it’s far too early. I don’t care that we’ve yet to experience three full dates. I have needs.

  His giant hands are kneading my ass, my panties are soaked, and I feel his kiss down to my toes. Dear God! This man is getting head. This man is getting puss. This man is getting whatever he wants.

  Just keep kissing me like this and the fucking keys to the kingdom are yours.

  “Sweetheart? Are yo
u sure?” He lays me down on the bed and tears off his jacket.

  When he unbuttons his shirt, I feel a shudder rip through me. Good lord, I feel like I’m in a dirty movie. Nothing’s ever moved this quickly. Nothing’s ever felt so hot. My eyes scan the room for a camera. An occupational hazard. And without a hint of reluctance, I nod. “Yes, I’m sure.”

  Without hesitation, he reaches for my foot and yanks off my boot. Then the other. I drag my ass to the edge of the bed and throw my arms around his neck. I need to feel him close. My lips yearn for his kiss. My body longs for his warmth. I don’t know how he’s pulled me in so quickly, but this isn’t the way I love. Love terrifies me. Until now, no one has ever made me want to surrender my heart.

  This feels real. This feels like it fits.

  Through kisses and caresses, he undresses me slowly, peeling off layers of clothes while my shy fingers try to unbutton his pants and pull off his shirt without looking like the total tramp I’ve become. It’s not easy, but I manage.

  While my mouth moves along the edge of his collarbone down the hard line of his chest, I tug his shirt off his arms and feast my giddy eyes on the rippling muscles of his abdomen.

  What in the world? This man writes plays!

  Mesmerized with the obscene beauty and brazen masculinity of Mr. Ajax Easton, I do the unthinkable. I take a long slow lick down the center of his sinful eight pack and shamefully let his incredible erection slide between my scantily concealed cleavage. Not once. Not twice. But three times.

  It’s thrilling. Erotic. And oh my, does it do the trick. Without delay and without the slightest bit of shame, I hastily pull down his pants to get a closer look at the heavy erection struggling against the fabric of his trousers, but my efforts are cruelly sabotaged.