by Beth Michele
Maybe I’m getting ahead of myself, but it certainly doesn’t feel like it. His eyes don’t stray from me, even as I introduce him to the other artists, even as women try to catch his attention. It’s exhilarating.
Some of them are more persistent than others, however. Take Kate, for example. She barrels right up to us, zooming in on Jace as if I’m not standing right next to him. “I’d love to show you my work, Jace, and get your thoughts.” I don’t doubt there are other things she’d like to show him, but it won’t be happening for her because his face will be between my legs this evening.
Jace looks to me and I smother a knowing grin, loosening my grip on his fingers. “Go ahead, enjoy.”
He glances back as Kate steers him toward the other end of the gallery. I keep smiling, though, because I don’t hold claim to him. Plus, this gives me a chance to socialize with the other patrons and ramble about my art, which I love to do.
By the time I’ve done my due diligence and talked about my painting ad nauseam, I’m more than ready to go. I see Jace nearby, still with Kate, who is flipping her hair and batting her fake eyelashes while she chats his ear off. He looks past the point of being bored but is gracious enough to go along with it. Time to save him, and I don’t think he’ll mind.
“All set?” I ask, and his head swings my way, a relieved smile appearing on his lips.
“Yes.” Then he turns to Kate. “It was a pleasure to meet you, and thank you for the lovely conversation. I wish you all the best.”
Her expression falls at Jace’s formality, and then even more as he takes my hand. She covers it quickly with a wooden smile. “Good night.”
“Thank you,” he whispers as we walk to the exit. “That was grueling.”
I brush my fingers across his shoulder. “I think she left some drool on your shirt.”
He chuckles. “She kept going off topic, told me her entire life history, including the fact that she was engaged but then decided to break it off.”
“She definitely had eyes for you,” I inform him, a little bit of green blurring my vision. I have no right to be jealous, but that doesn’t change the fact that I am.
“And my eyes are elsewhere,” he replies, turning his head to meet my gaze.
“Good thing,” I say, chin held high as we reach the sidewalk. My stomach growls, reminding me that the bagel I ate for dinner on the fly wasn’t enough.
“A little hungry?”
“Actually…” I glance down the street then back to him. “You know what I really want?”
His hopeful brows lift. “What?”
“A cookie.”
“A cookie,” he repeats, as if he expected a different response. “Okay, and where can we get said cookie?”
“At Not Just Cookies, of course, which happens to be right around the corner.”
He breezes over to a black car that seems to appear out of thin air, giving some instructions to the driver before returning to me. “Okay. Cookies first.”
I look at him, a smirk playing hide and seek on my lips. “First implies there’s something after.”
“There is most definitely something coming after,” he retorts, gaze full of promise and heat. He draws me close as we begin our stroll, thumb trailing back and forth along my bare shoulder. That singular touch sends a zing of pleasure coursing through me. Fireworks crackle and pop in my belly. Usually, those are reserved for Dean’s double chocolate chip cookies. But tonight? Something else has taken their place.
It’s only a short walk to the shop, but Jace manages to make my knees wobbly in that time. “I really enjoyed being there with you, watching you in your element. I want to know how the great Lily Conrad came to be.”
I snort a laugh. “Great is debatable. But I love to paint, so there’s that.”
“Where did you learn?” he asks, holding the door open for me. Warm chocolate, sweet butter, and coconut scent the air once we step inside, and my stomach rumbles in approval.
Before I have a chance to answer, Dean, the owner of the shop, sends me a big smile and a wave. “Hey, Lil! Double chocolate chip today?” he calls out, and I give him a thumbs-up. His gaze sticks for a beat longer and I realize he’s never seen me in anything but jeans and a t-shirt. “And may I say, you look absolutely beautiful.”
“You may say,” I reply with a small bow. “And thank you,” I add, feeling Jace’s attention heavy on the side of my face.
“Who’s that?” he asks, the hint of jealousy in his tone catching me off guard. Dean is adorable with his floppy dark hair, thick black glasses, and big personality, but he’s not someone I’ve ever been interested in. We’re friends and that’s all, and there’s also the fact that he has an equally adorable girlfriend.
My stomach groans again, sensing that cookies are near. “That’s Dean, the owner.”
His amused glance drops to my belly then up to me. “And you’re on a first-name basis?”
“That’s what happens when you have a cookie addiction. I’m here every day.” Sometimes twice, but I leave that part out.
“Then I guess you can tell me what’s good.” We step up to the register and Jace eyes the sweets behind the glass. “I’m not sure what I want.”
“You can’t go wrong with any of them, if I do say so myself.” Dean extends a hand to Jace across the counter. “I’m Dean. I own this joint, and any friend of Lily’s gets a cookie on the house.”
I nudge his shoulder and point to the far corner. “You gotta go with the double chocolate chip. They’re to die for.”
Jace nods at Dean. “The lady said double chocolate chip.”
“She sure did. Would you like a scoop of vanilla with that?”
“Why not,” Jace responds dryly. Meanwhile, I’m frothing at the mouth over here.
“You won’t regret it.” Dean winks at me. “For you also?”
“Yes, please! Thanks, Dean.”
“You got it,” he replies, glasses dipping on his nose as he gets to work preparing our dessert.
A few short minutes later, we carry our sweets to the table and sit. I slap a hand against my chest. “Your lack of enthusiasm is breaking my little cookie-addicted heart.”
“To tell you the truth,” Jace says, setting his plate down, “I’m a bit ambivalent about cookies, but these do smell good.”
“How can you be ambivalent? Who doesn’t like cookies?” My eyes stretch in time with the last word, because cookies deserve a lot of emphasis. “In fact, I’ve never met anyone who doesn’t.”
“You have now,” he answers freely and without remorse.
“Prepare for your world to change then, because trust me, once you’ve had one of Dean’s cookies, there’s no going back.” I break off a corner of the chewy deliciousness and pop it into my mouth, the rich chocolate melting on my tongue.
“Is that so?” he challenges, eyeing his plate and then my face.
“Yup.” I lean against the seat and wait for him to try it when all I want to do is inhale my cookie. “Take a spoonful of cookie and then a dollop of ice cream and eat them together.”
His laugh is full of amusement. “Now you’re instructing me on how to eat it? I’m well versed in the art of eating, thank you.” His grin turns devilish. “All sorts of things, actually. I know how to enjoy what I eat, take my time…savor every flavor that touches my tongue.” He drags out the last few words, increasing my suffering. Then he pushes a piece into his mouth and, for added effect, tongues a bit of chocolate at the edge of his lip.
Completely aroused—check.
Panties soaked—check.
“Why do I have a feeling we’re not talking about cookies anymore?” My words come out choppy and I do my best to swallow back the desire threatening to spill out. Maybe we could have sex on one of these tables. Why wait?
He moves forward a bit and lowers his voice. “Oh, we’re definitely not talking about cookies anymore.” He takes another bite and I’m mesmerized by his lips. I so want to be that cookie right now. To di
stract myself, I scarf down my own—anything to stop me from thinking about the building ache between my legs.
His eyes flicker with delight. “Okay, you were right—these are pretty amazing.”
“Uh-huh,” I mumble around a mouthful of sugary goodness. Not very ladylike, but then again, I was never one to stand on ceremony.
“So you never did answer my question.”
“Which one was that?” I ask, spooning more ice cream into my mouth.
Now he’s the one who’s watching me. “I like how you enjoy your food,” he comments, suddenly distracted. He gestures toward my plate. “Would you like another?”
“Oh gosh, no.” I press a hand against my stomach. “One is more than enough.”
He nods, satisfied. “My question?”
My face scrunches as I try to recall it. “What was it again?”
A soft laugh. “Where did you learn to paint?”
It touches me that he continues to dig deep, to learn more about me. Not many people take interest in my creative side, including the woman who helped me discover it.
“My mother, actually,” I say in a strong voice, hoping to hide my disappointment. “She used to paint with watercolors at the beach. She did it to relax, she said. I’d always watch her, fascinated by the way she moved her hand on the sketchbook, the way her brush floated across the page.” I dab a napkin across my mouth, wanting to change topics. “Do you like the beach?”
A boyish excitement skitters across his face. “Love it, actually.”
“Which ones do you go to in the summer?”
His energy from a second ago withers. “I don’t.”
“Why not?” I ask, chasing the final crumb on my dish.
He shrugs it off like it doesn’t matter. “My work takes precedence, end of story.”
I crumple my napkin and drop it onto my plate. “Maybe you should change your story,” I say lightly, and Jace stares at me like I’m loony tunes. “That’s one of the reasons I took the job for Alec. With two assistants,” I explain, “my counterpart does all the overtime and late hours, and I only work an eight-hour day, business trips being the exception.” He still looks like he can’t grasp the concept, so I let it go. Besides, the beach is a more interesting topic of conversation.
He slides his empty plate to the center of the table. My mind drifts, and I picture the two of us splashing naked in the waves. We’re not just splashing, but…
“What’s making you happy right now?”
My honest-to-a-fault mentality is going to get me in trouble, but that’s not enough to stop me. “Thinking about skinny-dipping in the waves.”
His eyes spark a bright blue. “You offer a very persuasive argument for a change in behavior.”
I laugh out loud, eyes flicking to my wrist and catching the time on my bangle. “Oh, wow. It’s ten o’clock.”
“And…”
I chew on the corner of my lip, knowing I have an early flight tomorrow but not wanting this night to end. “I probably have to get home soon. I need to get up at the crack of dawn to get to the airport.”
His pleasure morphs into disappointment then resignation. “Okay, then we need to make the most of the time we have left.” He takes my plate and throws it in the nearby trash along with his before giving me a sheepish glance. “You might’ve made me a cookie convert.”
My grin is too wide for my face. I do know my cookies. “I’ll spare you the embarrassment and won’t say I told you so.” I look over my shoulder as we leave. “Bye, Dean, and thank you,” I yell out, and he offers me a one-fingered wave between customers. Then we’re off to…I don’t know where. I just know I want a little more time with Jace.
His driver is, of course, waiting outside. Jace pauses on the sidewalk, seemingly deep in thought. The light from the shop casts a glow of uncertainty on his face. “You have to be up early…would you like Scottie to take you home?”
Disappointment squeezes my chest and all my other body parts. “Do you want to take me home?”
He shakes his head. “No. There are a lot of places I want to take you, but home isn’t one of them.”
For a split second, I wonder what going home with Jace would be like. Curling into his warm chest on the way to sleep and waking up to his strong arms pulling me close…it would never happen, but still, it’s a nice thought. I smile, something that’s becoming a habit around him. “Okay. Then I appreciate your thoughtfulness, but no, I’m not ready to go home.”
“I like that answer.” He takes hold of my hand, but instead of leading me toward the car like I expect him to, he continues to walk. “Do you mind?” he asks when he registers my confusion. “I thought maybe we could just talk for a bit.”
As anxious as I am to get in his pants—and vice versa—my limbs soften as if I’m a rag doll. This feels like a real date instead of a means to an end. I could get used to this.
“What are you smiling about?” he asks on a sideways glance.
“This is the best night I’ve had in a long while.”
Now he’s smiling. “You’re giving me all the right answers tonight, Miss Conrad.”
“And the night is young, Mr. Harlow,” I volley back, catching sight of his tongue as it swipes across his bottom lip.
I want that tongue.
A brief pause, and then, “So tell me…” His voice grows tight. “Why Alec?”
“Why not?” Instead of waiting for him to answer, I go on. “A friend of mine introduced us at a fundraiser last April, and the rest is history. He was looking for a secretary, and I was looking for a new job. The pay was amazing and it allowed me to continue to live in Manhattan.”
“Secretary,” he ponders. “That’s such an old-fashioned word. Executive admin is the title used at my company but, to be honest, even that’s not enough. I prefer partner.”
“Partner?” I question, glancing past him as we bypass a street vendor, the smell of warm peanuts floating under my nose and making me hungry again.
“Yes. There’s no way I could survive without Cynthia. She organizes my meetings, my paperwork—my life, really. She’s the reason I can be successful. She gives me the room and the bandwidth to do my job. It’s a vital position, and one I’m willing to pay a hefty salary for. Without her, I’d be a drowning man in a river.”
Hearing his level of appreciation for my role lifts me. Being an admin can sometimes be a thankless job, and while I know Alec appreciates me, he doesn’t see me as an equal—definitely not a partner.
“I like your philosophy, especially since I know one misstep, one incorrect entry on Alec’s schedule can throw off everything.”
“Alec is an asshole. Have I mentioned that?” He throws me a taunting grin. “You need to come work for me.”
I stop in my tracks. “We’ve been over this, haven’t we? And you already have…” I pause, trying to recall her name.
“Cynthia, yes.” He tugs on my hand to continue walking. “But Cynthia is sixty-four and getting ready to retire.” The right side of his lip curves. “She’s also got gray hair and spectacles. I think I’d much rather enjoy looking at you.”
“You’re only thinking of the fringe benefits,” I say, giving his side a gentle elbowing.
“I would imagine there might be some perks,” he replies, trying to hide his enthusiasm at the idea. “But I think we’d work well together. And Partner has such a nice ring to it, don’t you think?” he adds with a very persuasive white-toothed smile. “You don’t have to answer right now, just ruminate on it.” He stops at a vendor and pays for a small bag of peanuts before handing them to me.
“What’s this for?”
He shrugs. “You were looking longingly at them before, so I surmised you might want some.”
He’s trying to charm me with peanuts and big words. And it’s working, my brain says. It also says, Stop doing nice things for me. Stop paying attention. Disinterest I know how to handle, but this…
As if he knows where my mind is headed, he pr
ompts, “They’re only peanuts. It’s not a proposal.” A tilt of his head. “Well…”
“As appealing an offer as that is—and it is appealing—I couldn’t leave Alec high and dry like that.”
He shakes his head on a little huff of air. “Your loyalty is admirable, but believe me, Alec would survive. He always does.”
I dig my fingers into the bag. “I can see you’re his biggest fan.”
He meets my sarcasm with a groan. “Precisely.” We resume our stroll along the crowded sidewalk. “Do you know I’ve never bought a bag of these before?”
My loud gasp makes him chuckle. “Say it isn’t so!”
“Oh it is so.” I hold the bag out for him but he makes no effort to reach for it. “No, I’m good. I don’t do peanuts.”
I look over with a know-it-all smirk. “You didn’t do cookies, either, and look how that turned out.”
He makes a gesture with his hand like he’s ringing a bell. “First point goes to Miss Conrad.”
“Second point, too.” I force the bag closer to his face. “Try one.”
“You’re pushy.”
“You have no idea. Now come on.” I nudge. “Just one.”
“Fine.” He rolls his eyes as if he’s bored but takes a few and pops them into his mouth.
“First cookies, and now this? I would think you’d be more worldly. I mean, aren’t you a billionaire?” I say in the worst French accent known to man.
A near snort flies from his mouth. “Yes, well, as I alluded to earlier, I don’t get out much unless it relates to work or business travel.”
“You’re out now, and that’s all that matters.”
Even from the side, his smile gets to me. “Yes, you’re right about that.”
“So what’s your favorite place? That you’ve traveled to?” I clarify.
“Easy answer,” he says without a second thought. “Paris.”
“Why?”
“It’s a beautiful city. The architecture, the fashion, the language.”
“Do you speak it?” I ask in between shoving peanuts into my mouth.
“Fluently.”
“Say something,” I demand, as if he’s a trained dog. Easy, Lily.
“Tu es la femme la plus envoûtante que j’ai jamais eu le plaisir de connaître.”
