by Beth Michele
I nod, appreciating her honesty. “What makes you laugh?”
“Ellen DeGeneres.”
“What makes you smile?”
“Cocoa Puffs,” she answers simply, green eyes sparkling in the sun.
Then I kiss her.
Softly at first. A sweep of lips over hers, once, twice, once more before she invites me inside. The moment I get that first taste, I’m addicted. The moment I hear that first whimper, I’m gone. Overcome by her scent, like flowers in a garden. Taken by her tongue, velvety and wet as it teases and tangles with mine. A hint of coffee flavors our kiss, along with something sweeter I can’t place. My mind draws a blank, all manner of thought disappearing as I explore every inch of her mouth. She gives as good as she gets, eager, curious, forging her own path of discovery.
Flowers drop to the concrete and she curls her fingers into the lapels of my jacket. She’s pulling at me like she can’t get enough, like she doesn’t want to let go.
Don’t let go.
The thought barrels into my brain without warning. It’s a ridiculous one—unrealistic, even—but this feels important somehow. I barely know her, but the desire to is there. Sexually, hell yes, but it’s not just that. I want to learn everything there is to know about Lily Conrad.
My mind won’t stop racing as my lips enjoy her, but then her grip loosens and I feel her backing away. “I have to go,” she says breathlessly, bending to pick up the flowers.
She walks away then, a wordless goodbye, and…I’m not a man who needs reassurance, but right here, now, I need it more than I need to breathe.
“Still no regrets?” I call out, and she spins around, her smile larger than life. I don’t need the words now, but she gives them to me anyway.
“None.”
That extra spring in my step as I stride toward the town car? Yeah, that’s all her.
Once inside, Scottie, my driver, turns to meet my eye. “Back to the office, Mr. Harlow?”
I stare out the window at the hustle and bustle of the city, at the bright sun illuminating a clear blue sky. “No. I’d like to go to Central Park.”
“Central Park, sir?” he asks with a quizzical expression.
“Yes.”
“But you don’t—” He pauses briefly. “Is that a joke, sir?” He focuses back on the road, navigating his way through the bane of city traffic.
I slip my cell from my pocket. Almost a hundred new email notifications and fourteen text messages in less than two hours, albeit non-urgent. Five from Ron, six from my chief financial officer, and three from Cynthia—a glaring reminder of how big of a joke that really is.
I can’t stop thinking about him.
It’s foolish and ridiculous and a slew of other words I’m sure would fit this scenario. When was the last time I sat at my desk and daydreamed? Daydreamed. The answer? Never. The few men I’ve dated weren’t worthy of the starry eyes, the dazed look, the staring off into space—so what’s different about Jace?
Everything.
Maybe it’s the flowers he brought, the remorse in his eyes over his comments about my painting. Little does he know, I don’t get offended that easily. Maybe it’s the way he wanted to know about me before he laid his lips on mine. That kiss? I can’t stop obsessing over it, the tender way he held my face, and those lips—God, they were so soft and wanting, hungry.
I definitely want to kiss him again, and I want to have sex with him; there’s no doubt about that, in spite of the tiny voice in my head screaming disapproval. It isn’t my voice, and I do my hardest to push it away. I’m a grown woman, and if I want to be intimate with a man I just met, I can do that. In fact, I can do whatever the hell I want. It doesn’t make me a slut any more than it makes a man a whore for doing the same thing.
The fact is, I enjoy sex. I’d have it every day if I found someone who made me feel that spark. I ignore the butterflies in my belly at that thought. I don’t want to get ahead of myself. I’ve seen him twice, for heaven’s sake, but there’s no denying the attraction. It was palpable between us, and for the first time in a while, I’m excited about a man, more excited than I am about my daily cookie habit—which is saying a lot.
I want to know more about him. I want to know everything. There was so much behind those kind eyes: knowledge, life, experience. If his company is one of our competitors—something I should’ve known—then like Alec, he’s worked hard to get to where he is and amass his fortune. There wasn’t an ounce of conceit, though, only confidence. He isn’t someone who takes it for granted, not like Alec. I hide a smile from my colleague. Of course, everyone knows Alec’s a douchebag, but he pays me well and I’m saving up for my own gallery, so sacrifices must be made. I’ll never sacrifice my integrity, though, and Alec knows better than to speak to me the way he does to others. I’d flip him the bird and walk out the door so fast it would make his head spin.
But I don’t want to think about Alec right now, not when my mind is consumed with Jace. My secret smile is back. I feel…alive, energized, and I’m fidgety. A restlessness is present where there was none before. My eyes wander to my cell phone, teeth digging into my lower lip. I want to see him again, and I don’t want to wait weeks to do it.
With my heart pounding, I slide my cell closer and punch in my password. It takes a second to find his name and then I type out a message.
I have questions
I’m shocked when his response comes so quickly.
Jace: and I’m dropping everything to answer them
I press my lips together to contain my smile.
what’s your favorite food?
Jace: a cheeseburger
favorite color?
Jace: blue
what makes you laugh?
It takes him several seconds to respond, and I start to wonder if he will.
Jace: comic books I used to read as a child
For a minute, I get stuck on his words, but then I keep going.
what’s your biggest fear?
Jace: that I’ll never see you again
I let out an audible gasp and my heart takes off running. It’s a crazy gallop accompanied by skin that tingles and a brain scrambling for a way to see him tonight. The gallery event starts at seven. Maybe I can see him after? Or… I hold my breath as another text comes in.
Jace: so will I?
will you what?
Jace: see you again? or was that really a goodbye kiss?
Every part of me rejects that notion. The thought of saying goodbye to Jace? I’ve hardly had a chance to say hello.
do you want to come to the gallery event with me tonight?
Still not breathing.
Jace: that depends
on?
Jace: will you be wearing a red dress?
I knew he liked my dress. He couldn’t stop staring. My legs rub together under the desk, that restlessness returning.
green tonight
Jace: to bring out your eyes
I’m about to type my appreciation when several consecutive pings sound.
Jace: I enjoy your eyes
Jace: and your lips
Jace: and your smile
Jace: I’d like to discover more
My nipples tighten against the silk of my blouse at the thought of more with Jace.
so will you come?
Jace: oh I will most definitely be coming
I bark out a laugh.
you sound a little too sure of yourself
Jace: do I?
I picture his eyes when he says that, see them locked with mine as he backs me up against the wall. His confidence is sexy as hell, and I get the sense he would be demanding sexually. I’m game for that.
LOL. it starts at 7 and the gallery is in midtown
Jace: can I meet you there? I have a meeting uptown that will go until at least six thirty
sure
Jace: great. text me the address please
will do
Jace: I can’t wait to see you again, Lily. u
ntil tonight then
So much promise in those three words.
until tonight
Tonight can’t come soon enough.
I stare at my reflection in the gallery bathroom mirror, pleased with what I see. Normally, I don’t take as much time primping before an event. Tonight, I’ll admit, I spent extra time on my eyes and applied a little more blush and lip gloss than usual. I don’t look overdone, though. After all, I don’t want to appear like I’m trying too hard. A laugh slips out of my mouth. I simply want Jace’s eyes to pop out of his head.
My chin drops to the sweetheart neckline of my emerald green dress. There’s a nice bit of cleavage showing, and with it being off-the-shoulder, I’m exposing quite a lot of skin. I clamp my lips together to conceal a smile. The thought of all that rough stubble scraping over my flesh sends tingles up and down my arms.
After regaining my composure and combing through my dark waves one final time, I exit the bathroom. A few of the artists catch me on the way out and make small talk. It’s only a little after seven, so patrons are just arriving. I take advantage of the quiet and stroll by the art, appreciating the diversity of the pieces.
Minutes tick by as more people filter into the gallery, milling around at a leisurely pace and inspecting various works of art. But there’s nothing leisurely about the way my skin ripples with anticipation. It’s almost like I’m seventeen again, waiting for that first glimpse of my then boyfriend Nick to appear on the football field. Two times I’ve been in Jace’s presence—two—but does time really matter when you make that connection? No. Nothing matters except getting more of it.
My eyes travel to the door for the tenth time then to the bangle watch on my wrist. Seven thirty. A sigh escapes my throat, and I can’t help the disappointment filling my chest.
Another jingle at the entrance, but still no Jace. I try to talk myself down, ignore the negative voice in my brain saying this is par for the course. He said he’d be here, and that kiss we shared told me he meant it. I hang on to that and try to distract myself by listening to various artistic debates, but it’s no use. My skin itches and I’m pacing the floor like some kind of wild animal. I’m also upset with myself. When was the last time I was this anxious over a man? Probably not since Nick, but when you’re seventeen, that’s acceptable behavior. In your late twenties? Not so much.
One of the artists calls my name and sends me a wave. I return it, forcing myself to smile. Another glance at the time indicates it’s seven forty-five. I’m sure Jace got tied up in his meeting. Yes, that’s it. As that last thought filters through my mind, the hair at the back of my neck prickles, awareness slipping over my skin like silk.
I turn around.
All the air is suddenly sucked out of the room, and it’s as if we’re the only two people that exist. My heart thumps wildly in my chest, and that seventeen-year-old girl is back, the one who wants to look away because she feels shy and doesn’t know what to do with the butterflies flitting around in her chest.
I pull in a shallow breath and direct my legs to move, demand they stop shaking. His smile alone, the way one side of his lips curves higher than the other propels goosebumps to dance along my arms. I’m not sure what my expression does to him. It’s somewhat contrived, because I’m lightheaded, too busy concentrating on making it across the room without tripping over my feet. On getting my lungs to perform as nature intended.
My swallow is clumsy and loud as I get closer. He looks good. Hell, that’s the understatement of the year.
He looks handsome, sexy. A crisp white shirt and a pair of gray dress pants cling to his body like they were created specifically with him in mind. His lean-muscled form is on full display, dark brown hair disheveled in the sexiest way as if he’s been running his fingers through it—something I hope to do very soon—and his eyes a deep, fathomless ocean, eating me up during the short walk it takes to reach him.
“Hi,” I say, trying not to sound as breathless as I feel.
“Hi yourself.” He steps in and presses a kiss to my cheek. Soft breath whispers against my skin. “You look stunning.” My body warms to his words, his light touch, and the scent of his cologne. He smells like sun and tanning lotion, like he’s been walking barefoot along the beach—my favorite place. He backs up enough to see my pleased expression. “First I insult your painting, and now I show up late.” He offers me an apologetic smile. “I’d say I’m making quite the impression.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” My gaze sweeps over his body. “I think you’re doing just fine,” I reassure him, and his shoulders seem to lose some of their tension.
His blue eyes are intent on mine. “Thank you for understanding.” He holds out his arm. “Shall we?”
We stroll through the gallery arm in arm, stopping periodically to examine the artwork. When we reach the last painting, Jace pauses. “This is yours.”
I raise a single brow. “What makes you think that? The finger painting look familiar?”
He taps my chin. “No, actually. There’s something about the brushstrokes I recognize.”
My head tilts to appraise him. “Brushstrokes? Now where did you learn such a big word?”
A knowing grin sits on his lips. “I have quite an extensive vocabulary, I can assure you.” Then he adds, more serious this time, “I was doing a bit of reading on the painting process. I know a fair amount about art, but not what it takes to create it.”
My heart pitter-patters in my chest and I tell it to stop. It doesn’t listen, of course. “You were?”
He clears his throat, glancing away before meeting my eyes again. “I wanted to learn more about you, and this seems to be a big part of that.”
With my heart still beating like crazy, I reach up, my hand curving around his jaw. Luckily, my heels give me the height I need to reach him. I press my lips to his, lingering against his soft, full mouth.
“What was that for?” he asks when I find the willpower to separate from him. “Not that I’m complaining by any means.”
I ignore his question and stare up at him. “Where did you come from, Jace Harlow?”
How can I know a man for all of forty-eight hours and feel so drawn to him, like we’re connected by some invisible string? That only happens in books and movies, never in real life—at least not in my life. I almost want to laugh, but there’s nothing funny about my thundering heartbeat or the way he sets my skin on fire with just a look.
And I am definitely on fire.
The need to rub my legs together to get relief is strong. Serves me right—that’s what I get for abstaining from sex for this length of time. But with my schedule during the day and painting at night, it hasn’t been a priority. Plus, the men who’ve shown interest have been colleagues of Alec’s, and that’s a big fat no for me.
Needless to say, pleasuring myself with my little pink friend only goes so far. I want lips, hands, and tongue—and not just anyone’s. I want Jace’s.
God, when was the last time I had a man’s cock in my mouth? Tasted the salty tang of his arousal? I’d like to remedy that right now, thank you very much. Unzip Jace’s pants and drop to my knees, swirl my tongue around his swollen head. Take him in my mouth and pleasure him, watch his muscles tighten, his head fall back. I bet he’s absolutely beautiful like that.
“Lily? Where did you go?”
The amused sound of Jace’s voice brings me out of my sexual fantasy. “What?”
A soft chuckle. “You disappeared. Wherever you went, it must have been enjoyable.”
Red blooms on my cheeks while desire pools between my legs. My panties are already damp and I’m wondering if he can scent my pussy, if he can smell how much I want him. I’m certain he can see the hard points of my nipples through my dress. His gaze drops then and a sexy smirk overtakes his full mouth. “Do you need something, Lily?”
I know my answer is probably too forward, but I’m not one for playing games or wasting time. Life is too short, and Jace could decide tomorrow he’s no lon
ger interested, that I’m not worth the effort. Still, my blunt honesty surprises even me. “Yes.”
He looks around before leaning in, his lips brushing my ear. “Tell me what you need, sweetheart, and I’ll give it to you.” Already, hearing him talk in that raspy tone, calling me sweetheart—it puts me over the edge. And when his tongue darts out against my skin, just that smallest touch has me whimpering.
“Please.”
“Just say the words,” he murmurs, dragging his nose along my neck. “Jesus, you smell good.”
“I need…I need…”
“What, sweetheart? What do you need?”
That endearment, God, it makes me weak in the knees. The way he says it doesn’t sound forced, like he’s trying to manipulate me to get what he wants. He actually sounds sincere, as if he has genuine affection for me. The latter isn’t real, I know, but it’s enough.
And that bolsters my courage.
“I need your mouth on me.”
He edges back slightly, a carnal spark in his eyes. “I need my mouth on you, too,” he admits, the corner of his lips hiking up. “Desperately.”
I exhale my frustration, knowing I can’t leave just yet. “I need to stay and mingle a bit longer. Is that all right?”
A genuine smile. “Of course. Take all the time you need.” He lifts my hand and kisses the inside of my palm, sending more tingles along my flesh. “Trust me, I’m not going anywhere.”
“Good,” I say, his sincerity knocking me for a loop. I need to go with it, so I admit something of my own. “I’m really glad you’re here.”
“Me too,” he says, threading his fingers through mine. “Shall we mingle?”
“Let’s.”
As we walk through the gallery, I try to keep my smile in check. A few of the women stare—not at me, of course. It’s hard not to look at Jace. Physically, he’s very attractive, but it’s more than that. It’s the way he carries himself, a confident swagger that happens to be sexy as all get-out. For me, it’s also the air of kindness that surrounds him.
Hands off, ladies. He’s all mine—at least for tonight.
