by Beth Michele
After my breathing returns to normal, I raise my head. “You okay?”
Lily smiles, a little sleepy, a little edgy. “You’re a savage.”
Though she’s smiling, a pearl of fear settles into my chest. “Did I hurt you?”
“No. I’m ready for more.”
I chuckle at her enthusiasm. “You are, huh?”
She brings a hand to my face, fingertips brushing my eyebrow, my cheek, my chin, my lips. Her touch on my skin is like a drug. It makes me want to close my eyes and exhale all my worries, forget my responsibilities and take something for myself.
Then my focus drifts to the small clock on the table, reminding me my hours are limited. I have to get back on the jet to Canada later today. Back to my reality. A sense of urgency tears through me, and suddenly I want to squeeze everything I can into the time we have left. I want to hold her, I want to talk to her, I want to eat with her. To someone else, they probably sound like such simple things, but to me they’re monumental.
I kiss the tip of her nose. “Hungry?”
A renewed glow lights her eyes. “Ravished.”
“Good.” I roll off of her but stay close. “What do you say we order everything that looks good on the room service menu?”
“Sounds perfect,” she agrees, doing her best to hide a grin. “We’ll need fortification. After all, we do have one more condom. We mustn’t let it go to waste, Mr. Harlow.”
I slide off the bed to dispose of the current one and smile. “That would be a crying shame, Miss Conrad.”
Most amazing sex I’ve ever had in my life—check.
Most intense orgasm in the history of my life—check.
Head over heels with this guy all too soon—check.
We’re leaning against the headboard, blissfully sated and feasting on a variety of delicious foods. Jace’s dress shirt hangs low on my body while black boxers cling to his form in the most irresistible way.
“I think we went a little overboard on the fruit,” he says, eyeing two plates overflowing with it.
“Nah. Go big or go home, right?”
“I like that,” he says as I pluck a chocolate-covered strawberry from the plate and feed it to him. He takes a bite, eyes steady on mine. “That’s delicious.”
“Mmm.” I inhale the other half, the rich chocolate mixing perfectly with the sweet red berry. “So tell me, how does one go about becoming a billionaire?”
He pops a grape into his mouth, talking around it. “Aside from the obvious?”
“And that is?”
His expression turns childlike, and I can picture him as a little boy. I bet he was adorable. “An obsession with being the banker in Monopoly, of course.”
“Of course,” I tease back. “My best friend always had to be the banker,” I add with an exaggerated eye roll. “It was incredibly annoying.”
He settles his arm around my shoulders and pulls me close. He can’t seem to stop touching me, and I have absolutely no complaints. “Believe me, my siblings found it quite bothersome.”
“Are you close?”
“When they need money we are,” he says, but there’s no bitterness in his voice.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he assures me, fingers taking a lazy stroll through my hair. “They’re my flesh and blood, and if they need something, I’m going to be there, but I’m under no illusion that it’s anything else.”
My hand wanders to his and I join our fingers together. “So you’re not close with any of them?”
He stares at the way our hands fit like two puzzle pieces. “I have a good relationship with my older sister Soraya and my older brothers, Chaz and Thomas. Three out of eight ain’t bad.”
I lean my head against his shoulder. “Soraya—that’s a unique name.”
“Yes, well, she’s definitely unique.” Admiration fills his voice and piques my curiosity.
“Tell me about her.”
“I miss her,” he says, thoughtful, going on as if he didn’t hear me. “We don’t talk or see each other as often now that she lives in England. It seems so far, like we’re worlds apart.” He exhales a sigh. “She’s always so busy, as am I, and with the time difference, we end up missing each other. We’re there if the other needs anything, though.
“I went off on a tangent,” he adds with a chuckle. He rubs his thumb back and forth over my knuckles, contemplative. “She’s down to earth, very smart, adventurous. She’s traveled to forty states and lived in three other countries. She has wanderlust.”
“Wow, now my life seems really boring.”
“She wasn’t always like that,” he tells me, the lightness leaving his tone. “She was married for four years, until one day her husband decided he didn’t love her anymore and left.”
My stomach sinks. “That’s so heartbreaking.”
He lets go of a hard sigh. “She lived with me for two years after it happened, and then she picked herself up and started traveling. I tried to warn her before they got married. There was something about him that didn’t sit right with me. Call it a sixth sense, if you will, not to mention the fact that he cheated on her while they were dating.” I’m about to chime in when he continues. “But she was in love—a blind love, if you ask me—and there was no talking her out of it.”
“Love can make you do crazy things.” I stare up at his profile, pausing a beat before I ask, “Have you ever been in love?”
“Me?” He huffs like it’s the most ridiculous notion. “No. My whole life has been about getting to the next step, pushing myself harder. I’m not made for love.”
I don’t know why his statement bothers me so much, but my belly twists with sadness for him, and a sense of loss grips me. It makes no sense because you can’t lose something you’ve never had.
“Anyway, enough about me,” he says, and his eagerness to change the subject doesn’t go undetected. “What about you?” He angles his head to see me better. “Have you ever been in love?”
“Yes.”
“Who was the lucky guy?”
Warmth rushes over my skin. “Chris Hemsworth,” I say, trying to keep a straight face, though no one really can when thinking about him. “I mean, his acting ability is stellar.”
Jace scowls. “His acting ability, right. I’m sure it has nothing to do with his muscles.”
“Muscles, jaw, hair—who notices such things?” A laugh finally sneaks out. “I’ve only seen Thor about ten times, give or take.”
“Smartass.” He gives my arm a playful pinch. “Okay, moving on. Tell me something unusual not many people know about you.”
“Hmm.” I sit cross-legged then turn so we’re face to face, and Jace follows my lead. “I’m a list person. I make lists for everything, even actual physical ones with pen and paper.”
“That’s not unusual, Lily. Lots of people make lists.”
“But they’re not just any lists.” I finger-draw a square in the air. “I put boxes next to all the items and check them when I’m done, even if it’s only three things at the grocery store. I even do it in my own head.”
“That’s downright alien,” he says, lifting our twined fingers and pressing a sweet kiss to my hand. “What else?”
“My middle name is Rose,” I offer with a shrug.
“That’s very pretty, and it suits you. Now—”
“Wait, what’s yours?”
“Robert.” A teasing smirk. “But we’re not talking about me. Go on.”
“Let’s see…” I tap a finger against my mouth. “I have a vision board.”
“What’s that?” he asks, coming closer to kiss my cheek then feathering his lips down the line of my jaw.
My brain gets fuzzy because his mouth on my skin is very distracting. “It’s…it’s a board with pictures and words of some of the things I want for my life.” Another kiss. Soft lips. Wetness against my skin. “Jace, you’re making it hard for me to concentrate.”
“Am I?” he murmurs, puffs of air against my n
eck sending goosebumps marching across my flesh.
My eyes narrow though he can’t see my response. “You know you are.”
“So what specifically is on this board?” He delves further but doesn’t stop kissing me. I want to keep talking, but he’s making it a challenge, tempting me with that talented mouth of his. Part of me wants to say to hell with the conversation so he can put it where I really need it—between my legs. Instead, I tell my traitorous vagina to butt out.
“Places I want to travel around the world, like Paris, Italy, and Australia, and aspirations, like my dream of having my own gallery. There is something else.” I pause, and he catches my hesitation. He pulls his lips from my neck and sits back. The grimace on my face pulls a laugh from his chest.
“Don’t worry, there’s more of that coming,” he assures me, and my displeasure gets wiped away. “Now speak, woman.”
“I teach painting at a nursing home in Brooklyn,” I reveal, smiling like a crazy person. I bob my head back and forth. “Okay, I wouldn’t necessarily call it teaching. We listen to classical music and paint together. It’s very uplifting for them.” I shrug. “And me too.”
He appraises me for a long minute. “You’re very surprising, Miss Conrad.”
“I try, Mr. Harlow.” Then I point my finger his way. “Your turn.”
His gaze travels to the ceiling. “Something no one knows about me.” He clucks his tongue, eyes back on mine. “I’m a really good cook.”
“You are?”
“Yup.”
I take the last piece of pineapple from the fruit plate. “What’s your favorite food to make?”
He doesn’t hesitate. “Chicken tikka masala.”
“Translation?” I swallow the pineapple down, the tart sweetness assaulting my tongue.
“Chicken with garlic, ginger, turmeric, and heavy cream, as well as a host of other ingredients. I also use yogurt to make it tender,” he explains, nibbling on a small slice of cheese. “It’s actually a very complicated dish, but incredibly delicious.”
I’m hanging on to his words, listening intently as he shares pieces of himself. It seems as though it’s not something he does every day. The other thing I’m hanging on to? His hand. I wonder if I could superglue it to mine. I wonder if he’d mind.
“Did your mom teach you how to cook?”
He shakes off my question as if it’s ridiculous. “No. Soraya did. It was a good distraction for her while she stayed at my place.” He smiles with nostalgia as if recalling a fond memory. “I remember coming home from work and the kitchen looking like a bomb had gone off. She’s an amazing cook, but definitely a messy one. It drove me insane because I like to clean as I go. I can’t stand having dirty dishes and pots lying around.”
“I never have to worry about that. My cooking skills are a negative fifty on a scale of one to ten,” I admit, and Jace throws me an empathetic smile while trying not to laugh. “I’m the takeout queen, so my kitchen is spotless. Pizza, pad thai, and I are thoroughly and intimately acquainted—except when I have the rare late meeting with Alec, that is.”
Why is a glowering Jace even sexier? “I don’t enjoy hearing the words intimately and Alec in the same breath.”
“I have no interest in Alec,” I reassure him, my conviction coming through loud and clear.
“Good, because I need to be on a plane to Canada in”—he glances at the clock—“seven hours, and I don’t want to waste another minute talking about him when I could be kissing you.”
We both move forward at the same time. “You make a strong argument,” I mumble against his mouth, his lips already reaching for mine.
His other hand drifts up to caress my cheek, telling me nothing else matters in this moment except the two of us. “God, I can’t stop touching you,” he murmurs.
“You can make it your life’s mission and I won’t mind.”
Wait, what?
The words fly from my mouth, and crap, I didn’t mean for that to happen. He seems anything but displeased, though, grinning like I just gave him the best present ever. It’s a fabulous response to words that were supposed to remain locked up tight. Strange feelings that have no business in this scenario, and yet I can’t stop the way they flood my chest. Nor can I stop my hand from reaching up to stroke the scruff on his face, which I find irresistible, kissing one corner of his mouth then the other before ending with his lips. He groans at the contact, his hold on my face tightening as if he wants to control what’s about to happen between us. I’m fine with that, but first, I want to do some controlling of my own.
My mouth teases his with light butterfly kisses to his full upper lip. His bottom one gets more of my attention, tongue sliding, teeth nibbling. This seems to drive him crazy because he growls, and before I know what’s happening, his tongue pushes into my mouth, desperately seeking out mine. I’ve never been kissed like this, with such a mix of passion and urgency. His mouth fuses to mine as if he might not get this chance again, as if this is our last kiss.
I banish that thought immediately, moaning into his mouth and trying to figure out what to do with my hands, only knowing I want to touch him everywhere. I want to feel skin and hard muscle under my fingertips, want to learn the places that give him the most pleasure.
In the middle of our kiss, I press against his chest and push him down on the bed. I’m in the perfect position to yank down his boxers and ride him, but my mouth has been anxious for his cock since I got my first viewing.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
I toss him a lascivious smile and skim my fingernail down his chest. “Whatever I want.”
His eyes are a deep molten blue. “Take off the shirt.”
My finger circles his belly button then brushes the soft line of hair leading to his gloriousness. “No.”
He jerks beneath me. “No?”
One shoulder lifts and I inhale. “It smells like you. I want to keep it on.”
“Acceptable answer.” He grins like this pleases him immensely. “Unbutton it so I can look at you.”
My head lifts in mock defiance. “I guess I can do that.”
He watches as I open the shirt one button at a time and reveal my breasts. The tips are hard and grow tighter under his gaze. “Come here.” It’s the softest of commands, and I do as he says, bracing my hands on either side of him. I lean forward, and when he opens his mouth, lashing his tongue against my nipple, the pleasure goes straight to my core.
“Jace.”
His name comes out as a whimper. I can’t get enough. I’m shoving my breasts in his face, begging for more of his tongue while rubbing mercilessly against him. The folds of my sex are sensitive and wet, my breaths harsh and loud. He’s turned me into this sexual ball of need, and I can hardly think straight.
“That’s it, sweetheart, use my body. Take what you want.” He finds my clit, finger playing with me then slipping inside. The second he inserts another finger, pressing that spot deep within me, a fierce orgasm unlike anything I’ve ever felt trembles my body. It doesn’t seem to end, and when it finally does, I feel as if I’ve run a marathon. My body and emotions are spent, like I’ve given everything I have and couldn’t possibly give any more. “God, you’re so beautiful when you come.” Jace’s words are filled with awe, but then he shakes his head. “No,” he says more quietly. “You’re beautiful all the time, Lily.”
A tight lump gathers in my throat, an odd sensation stinging my nose. Maybe it’s Jace, maybe it was the power of my orgasm, or maybe it’s the startling realization that I want more than just to use his body. But a tear breaks free from the corner of my eye because…because I really like this man, and I want him to keep showing up for me.
“Lily, what’s wrong?” Jace’s hand cups the back of my head and he pulls me down to his chest. Then he wraps his arms around me, warm and safe, letting my tears soak his skin.
“I don’t know. Just…overwhelmed, I think.”
He doesn’t push, which I appreciate, i
nstead giving me exactly what I need. He gentles his tone. “Do you mind if I just hold you for a while?”
“I’d like that,” I answer, my words barely audible. He strokes my hair and the soothing rhythm forces my eyes closed, but then I remember I wanted to make him feel good. “I had big plans for your cock,” I tease through my tears, trying but failing to lift my head. “And we still have another condom.”
He chuckles softly, kissing the top of my head, arms holding me tight. “Something tells me there’ll be a next time.”
I send up a tiny prayer to the universe, because, God, I really hope there is.
I’m holding her.
The morning sunlight breaks through the curtains, pushing its way into our cocoon and alerting me to the fact that our time is running out.
Still, I’m holding her, this dark-haired angel in a red dress who came out of nowhere, and now she’s everywhere, chipping away at my resistance to reveal pieces of myself I never knew existed. It’s foreign, this feeling, the dread coursing through me when I think about leaving her. I’m enjoying her so much—and not just her body. I like picking her brain, engaging her sharp wit, watching her left eyebrow lift slightly when she’s about to tease me. The way she touches me, when her fingers meet mine and they twine together, as if…as if holding my hand is a privilege. Why do I feel like I’m the lucky one?
“Morning.” Her sleepy voice pulls me from the sunrise.
“Morning, sleepyhead.”
She rubs one eye and yawns. “How long have I been out?”
My fingers sift through her hair. “All night.”
“What?” She pops her head up, sounding panicked. “What time is it?”
“Five thirty-five.”
“Okay, good.” She breathes out. “I have to be at an eight o’clock meeting.”
