by Sarina Bowen
And I cannot fucking wait until tomorrow night.
19
Rebecca
May 22, Brooklyn
“That’s it. I can’t eat another bite.” I set down my fork on the dessert plate and lean back in my chair.
“Quitter.” Nate uses his spoon to scrape the last of the chocolate raspberry soufflé we’d shared into his own mouth.
Splitting desserts with Nate is something I’ve done before.
Sitting alone with him in a fine restaurant in a dress designed to show off my cleavage is not.
We’re at the River Café, where Nate slipped the maître d’ a C-note to ensure this perfect table against the windows. We just had one of the best meals in Brooklyn, with nothing but the lights of Manhattan and the East River as our view.
A lit-up yacht glides past the window as I watch Nate sign the check. “Nice pick, Nate. But I would have been happy with anything.”
“What?” he raises his eyes to me, and they look even darker in the candlelight. “You with the deep opinions about falafel?”
“Okay—fine.” I smile back at him. “Not just anything. But you don’t have to impress me with gourmet extravagance.”
He makes a face that says, oh please. “You think I don’t know that? You’re fun, Bec. Next month I’m going to China with Lauren, and she won’t eat the street food I’m going to want to try. You’ve always had a good sense of adventure. I love that about you.”
My face heats at this compliment. I’m not used to hearing things like this from him. This evening has been both utterly familiar and completely strange. Conversation was never tricky because we know all the same people and we can’t help ourselves from talking about hockey all night. Meanwhile, Nate held my hand under the table.
I liked it. A whole lot. Even now I have the urge to climb over the table and kiss him. And yet a month ago I wouldn’t have been thinking that at all. “You know…” I clear my throat. “This is its own kind of adventure.”
“Exactly,” he says, closing the bill folder. “And that’s why we’re here tonight and not at the falafel shop. I’m not trying to wow you with the twenty-dollar dessert. Although it was exquisite. I’m only trying to show you that tonight is not business as usual.”
The waiter comes by to pick up the check. I don’t give it a second glance. I don’t bother trying to pay half, because Nate has more money than God, and he wouldn’t let me.
That doesn’t mean I’m not conflicted about seeing Nate. But my hesitation is far more complicated than the dinner check.
And yet here I am.
I pick up my champagne glass and drain the last drop. I ordered a half glass just to piss Nate off.
And he didn’t say a word. Smart man. “Okay, adventure guy.” I set down the glass. “Are you ready to go?”
His smile says, am I ever.
We retrieve my coat and walk outside. It’s a cool night, but there are lots of people milling around the pier where ice cream is sold, and there’s a brilliant view of the Brooklyn Bridge. But Nate leads me up the street, away from the crowd.
Back toward his place.
I don’t argue, even though I feel a riffle of nervous anticipation in my belly. “Where’s Ramesh? Are you giving him the slip?”
“No.” Nate reaches for my hand and gives it a squeeze. “I gave him the night off.”
“Really? Can you do that?”
“Sure. I mean—some other member of my security team is likely watching a dot move on a screen somewhere, tracking my movements. There is always someone paying attention.” He stops walking and turns to me. “That’s not a selling point, is it?”
“What?”
“Surveillance is so sexy.” He lifts my hand up to his mouth and kisses my palm. His sexy mouth is hidden from view, but his eyes lift with a gaze so hungry that I feel it like a blast of heat. He kisses my palm again, and his scruff enlivens all my nerve endings.
Wow. He’s only touched my hand, but I want to scale him like a tree.
He speaks again, and it’s a struggle to make myself listen. “Ramesh has the night off because I knew if I asked him to drive us back to my place, you would have trouble looking him in the eye.”
I probably would, too.
“…I also asked one of Lauren’s minions to make our dinner reservation, because if I had asked Lauren, she would’ve made me tell her who I was dining with. And you made it clear how you feel about office gossip.”
“That’s very thoughtful of you. And lovely of you to remain my dirty little secret.” I punctuate this little barb by stepping sideways to hip check him.
He puts an arm around my waist. “You can do that now without losing your balance. Well done.”
It’s true, although I’m a little surprised that Nate noticed. “I’m never stepping out on that ice again. Just saying.”
His arm stays around me the whole walk home. I get increasingly nervous, though, as we approach his mansion. He opens the little front gate and holds it aside for me.
I walk through, because even if I’m apprehensive, I still can’t help myself.
Nate taps in his security code at the door, which clicks open for him. I follow him into the grand foyer, wondering what happens next.
“Evening, Nate!” Bingley calls out.
“Evening,” he replies. He slips my coat off my shoulders and hangs it up. “I put some of that Mexican soda you like in the den refrigerator.” He points upstairs. “Want one?”
“Sure!” I say brightly. My knees feel a little shaky, and I can’t blame my health. I actually have the jitters. It’s so unlike me, too. “God, I can’t wait until I can just have a glass of wine like a normal person.” I’m babbling now.
Nate just smiles and holds out a hand for me to walk upstairs with him.
Upstairs. Where his giant bed is.
I stop climbing on the fourth or fifth step.
“This is probably a bad idea,” I whisper. Weirdly, it’s the same thing I say in my very frequent Nate fantasy—the same one where he ignores it and then fucks me senseless.
That’s not what happens now.
Nate sits down right there on the grand stairway. He pats the thick carpeted runner beside him.
I sit.
“Everything okay?” he asks.
“Yes and no,” I whisper. “I just want to do the smart thing. And sometimes it’s not easy to know what that is.” Nate probably won’t understand, though. Everything he does is smart.
“You think I’m a bad idea. You’re right.”
“I am?”
He puts an arm around me. Leaning in, he kisses my jaw. Slowly. So that I feel every brush of his whiskers against my face, and the softness of his lips. All the hair stands up on the back of my neck as he whispers in my ear. “Very bad. Because I want to do bad, bad things to you. Naughty things. And if you’re not on board with that, better say so now.”
“What kind of things?” I ask as my nipples harden.
“I could tell you,” he continues, his voice low. “If you have a half hour or so. Because I’m very detail-oriented. In fact, there’s a PowerPoint presentation I’ve put together…”
My nerves get the better of me and I start to giggle.
“Not too long,” he says, rubbing my back. “Fifty slides or so.”
“Are there charts and graphs?” I try to ask. But unfortunately I let out a snort-laugh, too.
Nate keeps his poker face, but his eyes are smiling. “There are four diagrams, drawn from my fantasies. And also specs and performance estimates.”
“Oh, Nate,” I gasp. “Don’t ever change.” I’m on the brink of hysteria here. I want him but it’s so hard to just give in. We spent so many years not doing this…
He kisses me—just leans right in and takes my mouth with his.
It takes me about 1.5 seconds to get over my surprise. Maybe less. I wrap my arms around him and just hold on as he breeches my lips, then slides his tongue into my mouth. He tastes like chocolat
e and confidence. Two great tastes that go great together. And I’m a goner.
Forgetting my earlier hesitation, I sift my fingers through his hair and tug him closer. With a groan, he slides his hand slowly down my body, leaving shivers in its wake. And then that naughty hand skims up the inside of my thigh. I’ve forgotten how good that feels.
Maybe he would have paused there, except Nate discovers I’m wearing thigh-high stockings under my dress. His fingertips find skin, and he makes a noise of happy surprise. Since I have no self-control, I relax my muscles, giving him better access.
His next kiss is deep and slow, and his thumb strokes over my lace panties, right between my legs.
I give a desperate moan into his mouth, startling us both.
Nate must be very startled indeed because I lose his hand and he yanks my knees together and sits up suddenly.
That’s when I see Ramesh standing right inside the door, his pistol drawn but pointing down at the floor. I let out a little shriek of surprise. Or embarrassment. Probably both.
“Seriously?” Nate says, his face red.
Ramesh looks up at the ceiling and shakes his head. “Two heat signatures. If you were on, say, a sofa right now, I wouldn’t have been confused. But on the stairs? Looked like a struggle. And you didn’t engage the security systems like you always do.”
“Forgot to,” Nate sputters.
I put my face in my hands.
“Bye,” Ramesh says. “Lock up after me. We’ll discuss security protocols tomorrow. You can tweak some things.” He disappears. The door closes again.
Nate lets out a frustrated groan. “I’m sorry…”
“I know,” I say, cutting him off. “This will probably be funny eventually. But I need a minute.”
“I’ll bet,” he sighs.
* * *
Nate
I’m so frustrated. Sexually and otherwise. I have enough trouble with my own awkwardnesses. I don’t need any help ruining the moment from my security team.
Rebecca slowly rises to her feet, looking pained and unhappy.
I shoot up, too. “You okay?”
“Yup. Just sore. This morning I went to a Pilates class that Ari recommended. My abs and glutes may never forgive me.”
That gives me an idea. “Come on, there’s something I want to show you. And it isn’t a security feature.”
She gives me a rueful smile, but then she takes the hand I’ve offered her and follows me back down the stairs, through the parlor and into the kitchen.
“Evening, Nate!” Bingley says again as we pass through the parlor. “Evening,” I reply. “Engage all security systems.”
“Roger, Roger!”
“So I’m not leaving tonight?” Becca asks as we enter the kitchen. Bingley turns on the lights automatically, so she’s blinking up at me with big eyes.
“Do you want to?” But I don’t let her answer the question. I cup the back of her head and pull her into a kiss, right there in front of the refrigerator. And her mouth melts under mine. It’s glorious. And it means I haven’t ruined everything.
Unfortunately, Bingley doesn’t get the memo. “Hullo, Rebecca!” he says. “It’s good to hear your voice, lass!”
“Mmm,” she says against my smile. “Hello to you, too.”
Laughing, I pull back. “Soda?”
“Sure, why not.” She shrugs.
I reach into the fridge and take a couple of drinks out. “Follow me.” I open a door that leads out the back, but also down to the basement.
“Where are we going?”
“You said something about muscle pain? You’ll see.” I flip a switch, and the stairs to the lower level are illuminated.
“Nice basement,” Becca says, following me down.
“It’s not really below ground.” But this level really is swank. To our right is my home gym. But to my left is where I’m bringing Becca—the spa room. One wall is sliding glass doors, but those are locked for the night and covered with heavy curtains. And there are two lounge chairs facing my combination hot tub and lap pool.
I have it on the hot tub setting presently, so I can hear the jets bubbling away as hot water is pushed into circulation. I step on a button on the floor, and the cover retracts automatically.
“Oh, wow,” Becca says. “Fancy.” She toes out of her shoes and walks toward the edge. Then she hesitates. “I still don’t always trust my balance. If I fall in, don’t laugh.” She carefully dips a hand into the water. “Nice.”
I grab a towel off a waiting stack of them and toss it onto the edge. “You can sit and put your feet in.”
She’s wearing a short little knit dress that’s been making me crazy all evening, so it would be easy enough for her to strip off those stockings, sit on the towel, and drop both feet in.
And that’s what she does. She eases one stocking down over a smooth knee and tugs it off.
I don’t want to stand there staring like a middle-school boy. Okay, I do want to. But I don’t want to make her uncomfortable. So I go over to the sound system instead, and I set my phone on the speaker and cue up a really old playlist. One she’ll recognize.
When I turn around again, she’s seated on the towel, both legs hanging down into the churning water. “Ah. Wow.” She looks up at me, her eyes sparkling. “Nice place you got here.”
“Isn’t it?” I toe off my shoes and kick them to the side.
The first song comes on, and it’s a Macklemore tune that we used to play far too often in our first office. Rebecca laughs immediately. “You didn’t! I haven’t heard this playlist in forever. But I’ll bet I still know every transition. Lady Gaga is next.”
“She sure is.”
Rebecca kicks her feet, making a splash. “I have a little confession to make.”
“What’s that?” I loosen my tie and slide the knot out.
“Well…” She grins up at me. “I used to have a crush on you. Back in the early days.”
My hands freeze on the tie silk. “Get out of town. You did not.”
“No, I really did.” Her cheeks are pink. “That first year especially. But you were taken, and you were my boss. Those two things made it pretty easy to tamp down, when you’re a practical girl like me.”
I walk over and drop down beside her, my back to the water, though, because I’m still wearing trousers and socks. “So how does that work, exactly?”
“What?” She gives me a sidelong glance, but then looks away again and won’t meet my eyes.
“How do you stop wanting someone? I’m a practical person, but I don’t see how that makes it any easier. Nothing seems to mute the raging attraction I have for you.”
Her chin turns quickly toward me, and I seize the opportunity to kiss her. And it only takes one kiss—one slide of my lips over hers, and I’m on fire again.
We’re facing opposite directions, so it’s awkward as hell. But I don’t even care. I take greedy sip after greedy sip of her mouth, until she pulls back to stare at me. Her color is high and her eyes are bright and happy. “This is like Twister.”
“It’s better,” I correct. Lady Gaga comes on, just as Becca said she would. “Are we getting into this pool or what?”
Becca kicks a foot in the water. “I’m tempted. But I don’t have a bathing suit.”
“Oh, snap.”
She smiles and shakes her head. “Are you really getting in?”
“We don’t have to.” I’m never going to pressure her.
Her fingers trail across the surface of the bubbling water. “But this is an adventure, right?”
“Right.” I stand up and remove my socks. She’s watching me. And I can’t read her expression. “What?”
“Just wondering what else you’re going to take off.” She smiles.
“Come here.” The order rolls off my tongue.
But Rebecca doesn’t blink. She gets up and turns toward me, curiosity in her eyes.
“You tell me. What am I taking off?”
She puts two
hands tentatively on my chest, and I make myself be patient. Everything I ever wanted is on the other side of this moment. I just need us to break through this awkwardness—the “will we or won’t we” tension.
Her fingers find the top button of my shirt. “I’m not getting in the water unless you are.”
That’s a compromise I can live with. I find my lower shirt buttons and work upwards, until we meet in the middle. She pushes the two halves of my shirt apart and runs a hand down my bare chest.
My inner caveman stands up and cheers.
I lean forward and kiss her jaw. She smells like flowers, and a bolt of pure lust races down my spine. One of my hands finds its way onto her lower back, and I whisper into her ear. “Undo my belt.” I punctuate this request with a kiss on her neck.
The hot tub jets are making the only noise in the room, but the inside of my head is as loud as a stadium concert. My pulse thumps like a bass guitar as her hands work open my belt. My heart beats out an eager rhythm as she unzips my trousers.
Christ. Rebecca is undressing me. I may not survive it.
I lift her hand to my mouth and kiss her palm. But it’s not enough. So I bury my face in her silky neck and kiss it again. Once. Twice.
Her hands shove my shirt off my shoulders. “You dressed up for dinner,” she whispers. “No hoodie tonight?”
My mouth finds hers, because I can’t not kiss her. “There’s a different outfit I’d rather wear when I’m with you,” I mumble against her lips. My hands skim down the stretchy fabric of the dress she’s wearing, landing on her ass.
I take it further, until I find the smooth skin of her thighs. And I hear her breath catch.
“Can I take this off of you?”
“Yes,” she breathes.
I lift the dress right over her head and toss it onto the chaise where my suit jacket waits. And then I get a look at the black lace she’s wearing and it almost kills me. “Jesus,” I breathe. The fabric is see-through, and there’s something wonderfully dirty about her rosy nipples so poorly concealed from my hungry gaze.
This is the second time I’ve been leveled by her choice of lingerie. If I’d had half a clue all these years that Becca favored sexy underwear, I don’t think I could have made it through the day at the office.
