A little something to brighten your day.
—Sebastian
A giggle escapes my lips. It’s so ridiculous since I’m alone, but this guy has totally gotten under my skin in the best way. I place the flowers closer to the window and throw out the excess paper. Then, I snap a picture to send to him.
A beautiful display of flowers just arrived.
Looks like you have an admirer.
Shame for him because I met this very handsome,
very loyal lawyer who has whisked me off my feet.
Sounds like a catch.
If not a little cocky. ;-)
I’ve heard cocky can be very good …
My teeth are gripping my lower lip as I let out a frustrated growl. Sebastian put the brakes on us fooling around, and it’s all I can think about. I’m usually not the one who is desperate to jump into bed with a man, but this wild and crazy energy has taken over me lately, and I’m dying to move things to the next level with him.
I’d love to see you tonight.
I’m making truffles … are you interested in trying them?
Death by chocolate and a beautiful woman.
How can I say no?
You can’t.
I’ll even whip you up my famous lobster bisque.
I’ll bring wine.
Make it a champagne blanc.
And I’ll come to you. My place isn’t the best for company.
Lucky for you, my place is.
See you at eight.
There’s a knock at the back door as I slide my phone into my back pocket. I lean over and open it, only to try to close it immediately when I see Hardin on the other side.
“What the hell, Amy?!” Hardin pushes his palm against the door, halting me from closing it fully. “Are you trying to take my hand off?”
I let out a deep, exasperated breath and reluctantly open it up. “You’re lucky I haven’t tried to cut something else off. What do you want?”
He’s standing in the alley, looking devilishly rugged, wearing a black leather jacket over a blue T-shirt, and his dark hair is styled back, which is kinda cute.
“I’m here because Gerry won’t return the security deposit.”
I balk at the audacity of him coming here with this gripe. He’s flustered, too, like he can’t imagine why the landlord would hold on to our funds.
“You skipped out on two months’ rent.”
“So?”
“And you trashed the place!”
“It wasn’t trashed. That sink was old as fuck. I called him and told him it fell off the wall. He’s the landlord. He should deal with it.”
I place a hand on my hip while the other runs up and down my face, flabbergasted by his reaction. I try to hold back, but I can’t.
“You rat bastard!” I’ve been dying to yell at him. I suppose now is as good a time as any. “Get it through your thick skull that you can’t bail out on rent, especially when the lease is in my name. You haven’t a clue what I’ve been through to save my credit from getting destroyed because of your carelessness.”
He places his arm on the door and tries to taunt me. “You didn’t do a good job. He kept the money.”
My hands spread wide, my fingers outstretched, as I shake with how dense he is acting. “Go home, Hardin.”
“Not until you give me my half of the security deposit back.”
“Why would I pay you?”
“You lived there too.”
There’s a skillet hanging on the wall. I grab it and lift it, ready to hit him over the head with the steel pan. I’m not really going to hit him—at least, I don’t think so. I’m just so angry that I need a physical show of how much I want him to get the hell out.
“You are such an asshole! You cheated on me with the dog walker!” I cock the skillet back like it’s a bat ready to crush a ball.
He holds his hands up. “Calm down. You’re acting like a lunatic.” His dark eyes widen as he backs up a little.
“In my own bed!” I step closer and pull the pan back a few more inches.
“We have a connection. These things just happen.”
I move closer and force him back into the alley. “I want my dog back.”
“No. Mindy is really attached to her.”
I swing the skillet in the air, missing him. It was on purpose, but if I accidentally hit him, I wouldn’t be too upset. Mindy, the dog walker, is attached to my dog—that was the straw that broke everything.
“I want Lady Featherington back—now,” I demand.
“Not gonna happen.”
“Fine. What do you want for her?” I ask, and his hands drop to his sides.
He narrows his eyes and shrugs. “Ten grand.”
Of course he’d put a price on her. He doesn’t love her nearly as much as I do. She’s just a pawn in his game of taking whatever he wants.
“Jerk! You damn well know I don’t have that kind of cash.”
“Five.”
“Are you fucking serious, Hardin?”
“If she means that much to you, you’ll figure out a way.” He saunters over to his car like a peacock, looking proud of his accomplishment.
The man came here for money. He didn’t get it, but he sure seems to think he’s gonna get it one way or another.
I can’t believe I once loved him. He strolled into my life with a bad joke and a devilish smirk that I fell for like a fool. Our first date was tacos from a food truck, followed by a wild night on the lower east side. We drank and laughed, and I was foolishly led into a life that I thought was filled with love.
He nursed me when I was sick and was there for me when my grandmother died. My dreams were big, and he never shot them down. Hardin believed in me, and yet … he never helped.
When he needed money to pay off medical bills, I gave him my savings, which had been for a new stove. He bought himself a car instead. He never worked, and yet every time I asked for help on a delivery, he was busy. His friends, his car … the dog walker. Everyone was more important than me. I didn’t see it then, but I do now.
He just used me.
I’d rather burn my car to the ground than give him a dime.
Maybe I can kidnap her, I ponder. I bet Charity would help me.
No. I shake my head, realizing I’m just not that kind of girl. I should be though. I should go and take what is rightfully mine. Instead, I’m the one who has to do everything the right way. Damn my parents for raising me right.
Hardin starts his car and drives away.
I slam the door shut, dead-bolt it, and then hang the skillet back on the wall. While that visit from Hardin was shitty, the sight of Sebastian’s flowers sitting in the sunlight, cheerful and happy, brightens my mood.
My shoulders fall, and I breathe a little deeper.
It’s good to know there are decent men in the world. At least I know Sebastian Blake won’t break my heart.
At least, I hope he won’t.
Don’t let me down, Sebastian.
Chapter Eight
Knowing how Sebastian dresses and after seeing his office, I assumed his apartment would be in a luxury high-rise. I’m a little surprised to see he lives in a brownstone in Rittenhouse Square.
I walk up the stone steps and look for his name on the directory for the proper bell to ring. Only there is no directory. Just a lone doorbell. I ring it and wait.
He appears at the door, looking as dapper as ever. His dress pants are still on from a day at the office, and his shirt is buttoned up with his tie tight. Those chocolate eyes are molten, serious, taking my breath away.
“Am I dressed appropriately?” I motion to my jeans and beige sweater with a suede-and-metal buckle on the collar.
He stares at me for a beat before giving a closed-mouth smile. “Yes, of course. You look great. I just got home. Much later than I had hoped. Something came up, so I had to meet a friend, and the time got away from me.”
I follow him into the vestibule, which leads right into a living r
oom with beautiful, intricate woodwork. There’s a staircase to the left and a kitchen in the far back.
“This is your place?” I surmise. Obviously, it’s his place. He invited me over. I’m just shocked because everyone else I know who lives in a brownstone rents a floor. “I’ve never known anyone who lived in a full brownstone before.”
“Yeah. It’s a lot of home, but I like the space.”
“It’s extraordinary. The ceiling moldings are gorgeous.”
“Thanks.” He hands me a glass of white wine that he grabbed from the kitchen and brought back to me quickly. “I had a company come in and renovate the space back to its original architecture. The last owner had wallpaper everywhere. Pastel pink and golds. It was … interesting.”
I giggle as I brush my hair behind my ear. “I’m sure it was a sight to see.”
He’s staring at me, smiling, yet there’s almost a hint of sullenness behind his eyes. “I’m going to get changed. Make yourself at home.”
A gray dog about twice the size as Lady Featherington comes running up to me and places his paws on my knees.
“Duke, down,” Sebastian commands in his deep vibrato, but I wave him off.
“That’s okay. I love dogs.” I rub Duke’s head and say hello to him. “You are a very handsome gentleman, Duke. Hopefully soon, I’ll have a friend for you to play with.”
I grin up at Sebastian, who is staring at me with a blank expression. I raise a brow and tilt my head. He gives me a small smile in return and then jogs up the stairs.
I rise, Duke at my heels, and take a moment to familiarize myself with Sebastian’s home. The walls are cream with walnut moldings and millwork throughout. His couches are leather, but there’s softness to the space from added throw blankets, pillows, and a wingback recliner in the corner, next to a built-in bookcase.
The fireplace is in the center of the room with a mantel full of photos—Sebastian with his father at a football game in one frame, he and his mother on a beach in another. There are various family and friends in other pictures. From the smiles on their faces to the way their arms are around each other, the laughter, and even the one of him dancing with a group of people, it’s easy to see he’s a family man. Someone who loves and is very much loved.
I bring my tote bag into the kitchen and place my wineglass on the granite. I brought the soup in a giant Tupperware, so I search through the cabinets for a pot to warm it up in. In minutes, I have the bisque heating, and I’m taking the makings for a Caesar salad out of my bag.
It’s nice, being in Sebastian’s house. He has a candle burning and music playing low. I take a sip of my wine while I add all of the ingredients into a porcelain bowl I found.
Once everything is in place, I lean back on the counter and start to wonder where Sebastian ran off to, as I assume men can change out of work clothes pretty fast. I take a second to see if I hear a shower running, but there’s nothing.
Just when I’m about to start heading his way, I hear footsteps coming down the stairs, so I pick up the spoon to make it look like I was busy and not sitting here, thinking I should go search for him.
“Sorry that took so long. I, um …” He clears his throat. “You seem to have made yourself at home.”
“I know my way around a kitchen, so I was able to find all I needed.”
His eyes crinkle as he steps toward me, placing one hand on my hip and pulling me into him with his other splayed on my back.
“I’m really glad you’re here,” he breathes as he leans down to briefly kiss me.
His lips are warm, his hands firm, yet there’s a pause in his purpose. There’s something different about this kiss. Our last was pure lust and passion. This isn’t an invitation, like I felt before from him. It almost feels like a question.
If he has to wonder how I feel, then I’m not showing him enough. How we ended our date had nothing to do with alcohol or horniness. It was all him, and I want every inch of what he has to give me, as I plan to give him every inch of me.
I wrap my arms around his neck, bringing him closer to me. My chest is pressed up against his firm one. My fingers dance in his hair and work their way down the side of his neck and glide onto his pecs. I bounce on my toes, lightly lining my groin up with his, moving up and down ever so gracefully, so he knows exactly what I want from him tonight.
He kisses me long and hard, the kind of kiss that leaves me breathless.
Until, suddenly, he pulls away.
“We’re going to burn the soup,” he says.
I pause in question and then turn back to the stove, where my bisque is still on a low simmer. “Oh. Yeah. It’s okay. I don’t have it too high. But it’s probably ready. Can you grab some bowls?”
He walks over to a cabinet on the other side of the kitchen. His side profile is on display as he grabs the bowls. I look for that dimple, the one I’ve come to adore, but I haven’t seen it since I got here tonight.
“How was the rest of your day?” I ask, seeing if I can get a glimpse into his mood.
He said he got home late tonight. Maybe a horrible client has his mind distracted.
He fumbles with the bowls, nearly dropping one of them. “Almost had a chance to show off my juggling skills for you,” he jokes awkwardly.
I let out a heavy breath, feeling like something’s up. He smiles lightly, and it relaxes me a little.
“You know how to juggle?”
“I have a few party tricks up my sleeve.”
I smile and stir the soup, talking loudly as he walks into the dining room with the bowls, “Perhaps after dinner, you can show off a bit. I’ve never met a man who could juggle, aside from the performers near the carousel in the summer. Shawn loves to walk over and is just dying for the day they drop something. I keep saying he’s wasting his time, but I think the guy is just a giant kid who wants to watch the performers without admitting he likes them.”
I laugh at my own remark, and it trails off into silence. My long tirade goes without a response.
I set the spoon I’m stirring with down and walk into the dining room. Sebastian is standing near the table with his hands on the back of a chair. I watch as he takes a deep breath. His back is arched as his head faces down.
“Everything okay?” I ask, placing my hand on his arm.
He looks up, seeming surprised that I’m standing here. His face is drawn, and his eyes have lost a little of that sparkle. He stands up tall at the sight of me and gives a sad smile.
“Sorry. I have a lot on my mind,” he says, not in the sure tone he normally has.
I take a step away and stand near another chair. “If you had a shit day at the office, I don’t want to pry, but I hope you know I’m here if you need to vent.”
A small smile graces his lips as he takes a large breath in and then exhales deeply. I wait as he stares over into my eyes. He’s not just looking; he’s searching, seeking something from this connection we share, yet I’m not sure what he needs from me.
“Do you …” I point toward the front door. “Do you want me to go? It’s okay if—”
“I don’t want you to go.” He takes a step toward me and grabs my hand.
“Okay. Then, what’s going on?” I tilt my head to the side and place my hand on his cheek.
His jaw has a light stubble that is coarse under the pad of my thumb. I lean into him, making sure he knows I’m here if he needs to talk.
His chest rises and falls.
He drops his head.
He grips my hand tighter while his other weaves into my hair as he caresses my face.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve felt the kind of connection we have, especially this soon into a relationship. Last night, at dinner and then at the club”—he closes his eyes, tilting his head to the side, smiling before opening them back up and looking at me—“that was the best date I’d had in years.”
I return his grip, pulling him into me. “I feel the same way. In fact, I wanted to jump your bones last night. You’re
the one who stopped it.” I try to lighten the mood.
He lets out a soft chuckle and stands up straight, glancing down at me so I can see his face. “I kicked myself the entire way home for doing that.”
“Is that what this sudden mood change is about? Do you think we’re moving too fast? Are you not used to these kinds of feelings?”
He closes his eyes and takes a deep inhale before opening them again. “Opposite really. This is what—you are what—I’ve always wanted in my life.”
There’s a pause, and I lean back, realizing I’m about to get a but thrown in my face. Every second that passes, my stomach knots even more, like it’s wringing out a towel and every last drop is being expelled with nothing else left to give.
“I got a call today,” he finally says as he drops my hands, making the words he just said sting even though I have no idea what they mean.
I step back, realizing there’s no reason for me to still be this close to him. “Is everything all right?”
He raises his eyebrows in a wishy-washy way as he takes an inhale. “Yes. No.” He shrugs. “It all depends.”
I place my hands on the table behind me, needing to do something with them. This feels like a very intense conversation, yet I barely know this guy. “Depends on what?”
“I got a call from my ex-girlfriend.”
My breath hitches. There’s only one reason why a man would let a woman know he got a call from an ex-girlfriend. At dinner, he made it seem like his last relationship had fizzled out. From the look on his face, there’s clearly unfinished business. She wants to get back together, and he’s willing.
As a woman who has already been cheated on, I’m not ready to hear the words he’s about to say.
He hesitates for a second before standing tall, lifting his chin, and declaring, “She’s pregnant.”
Okay. Maybe there are two reasons he’d get a call from an ex. I did not see that coming.
I purse my lips as I take a slow inhale through my nose, letting those two words wash over me.
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