by Beth Michele
Jace gives me a quizzical look. “You don’t like it?”
“What?”
“Your ravioli,” he clarifies.
My eyes scroll to my food then back up. “What is it about my nearly empty plate that gives you that impression?”
He chuckles. “Yes, there is that, but you had an odd expression on your face. Are you okay?”
“I’m more okay than I’ve been in a very long time.”
“Yes,” he says, softer now. “I kind of know how that feels.”
I sigh, my gaze drifting around the intimate space. “I love it here. It feels like we’re actually in Italy.”
“Yes, it does.” He lets go of my hand to break off a piece of warm, crusted bread and offer it to me.
I lift both hands in surrender. “I can’t eat any more bread or I won’t have room for dessert.”
“Ah, a woman after my own heart.”
He has no idea the truth in his words.
Another forkful of ravioli and I nearly moan because it’s that good. “Have you been to Italy?” I watch him carefully spread roasted garlic over soft, flaky bread. God, I love his hands, the long fingers, the manicured nails. He has kind hands, if there is such a thing.
“I have, a few times,” he says, the bread disappearing into his mouth.
“It seems like such a magical place.”
“There wasn’t much magic for me, I’m afraid.” And I think I hear disappointment? Longing? “I’ve only been there for business. Never for pleasure.”
“A gondola ride in Venice is on my vision board, so I’m game if you ever want to go.” My words are friendly and laid back, but there’s nothing casual about thoughts of me and Jace on a gondola, his arms around me as we gaze up at the stars.
“Okay.” He devours another mouthful of pasta with his bread. His face is passive, leaving me guessing as to whether the idea excites or nauseates him. But then he looks away, and I could swear a smile attempts to break through.
One last bite of ravioli and I set down my fork. “I’m curious about something.”
He finishes chewing, grinning around his pasta. “And I’m more than happy to assuage your curiosity.”
My responding groan seems to amuse him. “Remind me never to play Scrabble with you.”
Jace lifts his wineglass for a quick sip. “Why is that?”
“Because you’re a wordsmith, and I’m a mere mortal.”
His laugh is like blue skies and sunshine. “You’d actually have an advantage. I’ve never played Scrabble before,” he says, and my brows lift. “Don’t look so shocked.” The base of his glass hits the table. “I don’t have time for games.”
I touch my napkin to my lips before placing it down. “You should make time. It’s fun.”
Something flashes in his gaze before it disappears. “Maybe I will. Now what was your question?”
The waiter comes by to clear our plates and I wait until he walks away. “I already forgot since you were wooing me with your big words.”
“Jesus, I want to kiss that witty mouth of yours.”
“What’s stopping you?” I challenge.
He kicks his chair back and my heart does an anticipatory flip. When he reaches my side of the table, he leans down but doesn’t give me the kiss I’m yearning for. Instead, he cups my jaw, caressing my cheek with the smooth pad of his thumb and staring deep into my eyes. “I haven’t laughed like this in a long time,” he whispers. “Thank you.”
Then I get his lips, thank the heavens.
Soft, yet deliberate. Persistent, yet somehow playful. His mouth circles mine, his breath a warm wisp against my skin. I want to inhale this man. I open to do just that, but he pulls away, rubbing his nose softly against mine before he stands.
“I know what you’re thinking, Lily,” he says, and I keep silent and wait for him to continue. “That was the G-rated kiss. The R version comes later.”
“I certainly hope so,” I reply, serving up a seductive smile, but it’s a mask. I don’t feel seductive right now. I’m off balance. My legs are shaky and I’m sitting down. The way he touches me, the way he holds my face—it’s more intimate than a kiss.
“Did you hear that, Fred?” A woman’s voice comes from behind us. “Take a lesson.”
“Oh my God, that woman was hilarious.” We’re still laughing as we exit the restaurant, Jace immediately latching onto my hand once we reach the street.
“She had to be about sixty years old,” he says as we round the block.
“Sixty-year-old women are still passionate. The flame doesn’t burn out just because the number goes up. Not that I know anything about being a sixty-year-old woman, but still.”
“You’re what, twenty-six?” he asks.
“Good guess. Twenty-seven, actually. You?”
“Thirty-two, and you’ve got a ways to go, I’d say.” He leans in to smack a kiss on my cheek, and now I’m smiling like a loon.
We weave our way in and out of various boutiques on Mulberry Street, Jace obliging me whenever I tug his hand in another direction. He seems so relaxed and happy, and he’s hardly looked at his phone, which must be challenging given the weight of his responsibilities.
“Where’s your driver tonight? Did you give him the slip?”
His husky chuckle encourages a bigger smile from me. “No, I gave him the night off. I wanted to take my girl out the old-fashioned way.”
His girl.
I turn my head from view because my smile is out of control. I’m not sure I’ve ever wanted to be someone’s girl before, but Jace might be changing that.
We turn the corner and there’s yet another store I want to venture into. “You’re being such a good sport,” I tell him as the door jingles behind us. I drag him through rows of handmade items, ending at a glass case filled with jewelry from local artisans. My eye gravitates toward a hand-painted unicorn pin. “Oh, wow. I have to get that for Mona. She loves unicorns.”
“Mona—that was the woman in the picture, right? At the nursing home?”
“Yes,” I answer, distracted, the glint of a silver necklace catching my eye. I tap a finger on the glass. “Look at that necklace. It’s a calla lily. How pretty.”
His gaze follows mine. “And so fitting. Let me buy it for you.”
I glance up. “No.”
“Why not?”
My mind searches for the right answer. “Because…because it’s four hundred dollars.”
And that’s not it.
“Lily,” he starts in that admonishing tone, “I can afford it. Please let me do this for you.” He turns his baby blues on full blast, but I stand my ground.
“No. Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should.”
He growls. “You’re trying my patience, woman.”
“I’ll tell you what.” I move closer and whisper conspiratorially. “If you really want to buy me something, you can buy me dessert.”
He pulls a breath in then lets it out. “Exasperating.”
While Jace stews, I pay for Mona’s gift. The salesperson places it in a lovely velvet pouch and then we’re off.
“Okay, I’m ready.”
Jace is quiet as we leave the store, and I’m having a hard time reading him. Since I’ve never been one to assume, I opt for the direct approach. “Hey.” I tug on his sleeve until he looks at me. “Are you mad?”
He breathes out a sigh. “No, Lily. Of course I’m not mad. But what’s the point of having all this money if I can’t buy you something special?”
“I’m sorry, I just…” I drop my eyes to the sidewalk, taking a moment to gather my thoughts. “I’m not sure how to explain it. Material things don’t mean much to me, maybe because I got a lot of them as a consolation growing up. As a substitute for what I really wanted, what I needed. My parents, they…” I start to explain, still keeping my gaze pinned to the ground. “They were always working, and in lieu of being there for me, they bought me things. I remember this one time when I was a freshman in hig
h school, I won an art competition. There was this big show where my work was displayed, but, as always, my parents couldn’t make it. The next day I woke up to a sticky note with an apology, a new easel, and a thousand-dollar check that I proceeded to rip into shreds.” I let my gaze reach up to find his. “I don’t want you to buy me things, Jace. I just want time with you.”
He steps toward me, cupping a hand behind my head and pressing a kiss to my forehead. “I can do that,” he whispers against my skin. “I promise you.” Sincerity fills every syllable of his words. I hear it like the sweetest song, and for the first time, I believe him.
A fat drop of wetness hits my cheek and breaks the moment.
“Uh-oh.”
We raise our heads to the darkening sky as a few more drops dampen our skin. “Come on,” Jace urges, pulling on my hand, but it happens in a matter of seconds. The sky opens up and rain falls, a torrential downpour that comes out of nowhere. Jace is like the rain. The thought is so random, yet so true it makes me laugh.
“What’s so funny?” Jace’s voice reverberates over the assault of heavy rain.
“I love the rain,” I shout, almost delirious. From the drops cooling my skin, from the warm hand in mine, from this man I’ve been gifted with.
I’m still laughing when Jace shoves us under the awning of an abandoned store. “I think we’re beyond the point of needing an awning,” I tease. “We’re soaking wet.”
A few soggy strands have escaped my braid and he pushes them behind my ear. “Even soaking wet, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
Then I’m not laughing anymore.
He dips his gaze to my breasts, which are completely visible through my white bra and drenched t-shirt. His hungry stare coils desire in my stomach, firms my nipples into tight points, stirs the want between my legs. He closes in on me, like an animal about to eat its prey.
“I’m wet,” I repeat, his predatory gaze robbing me of words.
“You said that already.” He loosens his grip on my hand and brackets my face, holding me where he wants me. The rain may be cold, but his proximity is all heat. Fire licks up the back of my neck and cascades shivers down my spine. “Now about that kiss…”
For once, there are no smart comebacks lying in wait. I want that kiss, and I won’t let anything stand in the way. So, I close my eyes, rainwater dripping over my lashes, the cool drops sliding down my heated skin but unable to smother the flame. I’m burning up, my body an inferno, my heart a loud thump against my ribs. Even so, I can still hear Jace, his short, quick breaths, tiny puffs of air that mist over my cheek. I can smell the rain on him, clean and crisp, fresh like that first hint of spring. He dips his head, licking the water from my lips, tracing my mouth with his tongue. My hands reach for him and I latch onto his wet shirt, needing something to ground me. His kisses are dizzying, but I’m not so out of it that I can’t feel the cotton clinging to his skin, all that defined raw muscle under my fingertips.
“Sweet Lily,” he hums against my mouth, slipping his tongue between my lips and possessing me, though I’m not sure there’s anything sweet about my thoughts right now. How as he pins me against the building with his hips and I feel the hardness of him through his jeans, I want to fall to my knees on the rough sidewalk and take him in my mouth, watch his handsome face tangle with desire as I torture him with my tongue.
One hand leaves my face and drifts lower, lower still, until he finds my nipple. He rubs his thumb back and forth over the hardened nub and my fantasy fizzles. My brain is mush, too focused on where he’s pleasuring me, on the moans leaving my mouth and trying to grind against him.
“If I reached inside your panties,” he murmurs, voice rough against my ear, “would I find you wet for me?”
My head falls back, my whimper louder than it should be on a public street. “Take the gamble,” I mumble, daring him to touch me.
“Lily.” His breathing is harsh as he groans out my name, and I wait, hoping he’ll pop the button on my jeans and have his way with me. But I can sense his conflict.
“I have an idea,” he finally says, and as long as it involves his hand between my thighs, I’m on board. “Stay here.” He leaves the shelter of cover to hail a cab, the rain still not letting up. When the taxi pulls to the curb, he gestures me over and I make a break for it.
I slide into the car, huddling against his side. “Where are we going?”
He bends his head, mouth close to my ear. “Somewhere I can enjoy you without interruption.”
My whimper is muffled against his shoulder. “Yes, please,” I respond with an urgency that makes him grin.
He rests his head against mine. “I like it when you say please.”
“I can be very polite when I want to be.”
“And apparently an exhibitionist,” he teases, and my cheeks warm. He’s right, and it leaves me to wonder who this Lily Conrad is. She’s definitely someone I don’t recognize, but I kind of like her.
And I definitely like him.
Jace Harlow, billionaire, and gorgeous mystery woman arrested for lewd behavior on Mulberry Street.
I was that close to getting top billing in the Times. For someone who manages to keep a fairly low profile, I almost blew it, and I wouldn’t have wanted that for Lily.
What is the matter with me? Before this date started, I told myself it would end with a kiss—and only a kiss—but seeing her rain-soaked and beautiful, I lost all my willpower. She brings me to my knees, makes me want to bow to her every whim, though she doesn’t have many. What I’ve discovered about Lily Conrad is she takes very little but gives with her whole heart.
It’s not long before we arrive at our destination. The taxi pulls around to Hotel 50 Bowery and Lily’s head pops up. “Why are we at a hotel? We could’ve just gone to your place or mine.”
“This was closer,” I counter, paying the driver then ushering her out of the car and into the lobby.
“But…”
I quiet her with an index finger to her lips. “Don’t say a word.”
“Mr. Harlow, long time, no see,” the hotel manager greets from behind the front desk.
“Yes, Frank, it has been a while.” I hand him my credit card. “Just one night, please.”
He glances at Lily’s chest and I stand in front of her to block his view. “A suite, sir?”
“The city-view king will be just fine.” My voice is cooler, a subtle way of telling him to keep his eyes where they belong.
“Of course.” Frank hands back the plastic and a keycard for the room. “Please let me know if you need anything else, and enjoy your evening.”
I fully intend to.
We start for the elevator then another idea takes shape in my mind. “Be right back.” I cross the lobby to have a quick chat with Frank before returning to Lily.
“What was that about?” she asks as we step into the car. “You’re smirking.”
“Am I?” I pat two fingers against my lips. “I don’t feel any different.”
“So that’s how you want to play it,” she says as I stalk toward her, backing her up against the elevator wall. “I can play dirty too.”
I can’t hide my desire or my amusement. “I certainly hope so.” Then I circle her wrists and pin them above her head. Her back arches, bringing her chest flush with mine. The hard tips of her nipples poke into my shirt and lengthen my already rock-solid erection.
She tries for friction, rubbing up against me and prompting a groan. Her gaze is smoldering. “Is that painful, Mr. Harlow?”
I get close to her mouth, letting our breaths tangle. “It won’t be as soon as your lips are fully secured around my cock, Miss Conrad.”
That pink tongue flicks out as if she’s dying for a taste. “You seem a tad bit overconfident.”
“Certain is more like it.” The doors open to the seventeenth floor and I release Lily’s wrists. She only gets two steps in before I hurl her over my shoulder, her purse whacking me on the arm.
&
nbsp; “Jace Harlow,” she protests on a laugh, “put me down!”
“No can do, buttercup.”
She pounds on my back then stops suddenly. “Oohhhh.” I feel her head swing from side to side. “Look at those paintings.”
“They’re quite something, aren’t they?” I set her down when we reach the door. “All of them were done by a stencilist and painter based in Beijing.” After inserting the keycard, I hold the door open and she walks through. “Wait until you see the interior.”
The door closes behind us and I stand back, watching her take everything in. “I love the whitewashed oak floors—oh, and the muted grays and golds with the contemporary lighting. What a perfect complement.” She drops her purse and walks in farther, studying the paintings above the bed. “And the artwork…it’s so unique.” Her gaze finds mine over her shoulder. “This is classic, yet modern and cozy. It has all the elements I love. It’s so—”
“You,” I finish for her, and she nods, eyes still wandering around the room. My chest fills at her reaction, and once again, I’m a king.
“Yeah.” Another glance my way. “That’s why you brought me here, isn’t it? You knew I’d love it.”
“Maybe.”
“Hmph.” She flips me a knowing smile, smoothing a hand over the bed then crossing to the full-length windows. “Holy wow. Come look at this view, Jace. I can see the Empire State Building and Governor’s Island.”
I join her, looking out at the city. “It is breathtaking, I’ll admit.”
“I feel a little like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman,” she says, and I peer over at her.
“Soraya, to my dismay, forced me to watch that movie when she lived with me. I’m not understanding the connection. You won’t even let me buy you anything.”
A laugh of surprise bubbles to the surface. “That was funny. Are you actually developing a sense of humor?”
“I have my moments,” I shoot back, pulling her in front of me and wrapping my arms around her waist. Her hands cover mine and she leans back into my chest.
“Look at all those twinkling lights.” She breathes a happy sigh. “Like tiny little stars filling the night sky.”
