by Romi Hart
She frowned. “I’m not a feminist. I’ve just been independent for a very long time.”
“Well, allow me to pamper you a little then. You can go back to your independence when we part ways tonight. Let me get you something nice to keep you warm. Please.” His expression softened, his eyes alight, and she couldn’t say no.
Relenting, she shrugged, looked around, and grabbed a cream colored shawl sweater. It was thin but plenty to warm her for the evening, and it would go with everything. When he looked at her in question, she told him, “I’m not much of a shopper. I tend to get more than enough satisfaction with that from work.”
As they made their way to the checkout counter, he asked, “What do you do?”
“I’m an interior designer and a party planner.” She hadn’t meant to talk about herself. She would think before she spoke next time, choosing what details to share more carefully.
“That’s interesting. I bet you meet a lot of people that way.”
“I network.” She let him slip the shawl over her arms, and she wrapped it around her, reveling in the extra layer as they exited the building. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. So, if I wanted to redecorate my place, how would I go about hiring you to take care of it for me?”
“I’m not working for you, Marc.” Something about extending this little foray into spending time with a celebrity – one known for being a womanizer, despite his objections – made her uncomfortable. Reesa would put an end to it tonight, after she fulfilled her promise to get to know him and gathered enough details to satisfy her best friend’s fantasies.
He sighed heavily, and his eyes clouded. “What do you have against me, Reesa? You barely even know me. Just because you see my face on an interview or watch a game doesn’t mean you know anything about who I really am.” His frustration rang clear, and for a moment, Reesa regretted her attitude.
“You’re right, I don’t know you.” They rounded the corner, and the jumbo screen flashed blues and reds over their faces. How could she explain to him why he didn’t appeal to her when she couldn’t tell him the details of her past? And she certainly wouldn’t admit to her overarching attraction to him. “Listen, don’t take it personally. I don’t like a lot of men.”
He snorted. “And you’re not a feminist?”
“No!”
“Or a lesbian?”
“Definitely not,” she shook her head. She had plenty of friends who were, but she’d never had interest in women.
“So, tell me something about yourself. Something meaningful.” He sounded intrigued, even eager.
But Reesa didn’t know what she could possibly share with him. “If you’re expecting me to say that I like candlelight dinners and long walks on the beach, I’m going to disappoint you.”
“I have no expectations, and I don’t think there’s anything you could say that would disappoint me.” She kept walking, but he took her arm and brought her to a halt. She glanced at his fingers, wrapped around her upper arm, and then at him, raising a brow. “Come on, Reesa. Give me something. I’m trying really hard here, and I just want to know a little about you. I’m not asking for your deepest, darkest secrets.”
She considered him for a long time, searching his face, and she found nothing but curiosity. And maybe a little hesitancy. Good. No man should be that much in control of his self-assurance. Drawing deeply from the air scented with street vendors, sulfur, and everything that was New York, she searched for something that would satisfy him without divulging too much. She needed to keep her distance. After all, tonight was a one-time occurrence, and she didn't want him to believe they stood a chance at anything more.
As her tension eased, he let go, and they started walking again, allowing her to focus on something other than his questioning eyes and handsome features. She watched people walk past and began, “I was born in Brooklyn, and my mother was a seamstress. She hand sewed and sold some of the most beautiful dresses you’ve ever seen. I love fashion, but I never had the same eye for it. Plus, I hate sewing. So, I decided to design spaces instead.” She paused, some of the memories flooding back to her as she thought of school much less pleasant than others.
Swallowing past it, she forced herself to continue. “To pay for school, I started working for one of those party rental places, with the bounce houses and fog machines. Their ideas bored me, and I decided to try my hand at planning real parties. It took off by word of mouth, and I loved it so much I never gave it up, even when I started getting jobs decorating.”
"So, you're an artist, with a mind for business and a good sense of people in general," he concluded with a wink. "It sounds like you're very accomplished, and I admire that. I have no idea what I'm going to do when I retire from soccer. I don't have any real-world skills."
“If you invest your money, you can do anything you want because you can go to school or even just live off the investments and become a philanthropist. You know, give lots of time and money to charity,” she teased.
Marc laughed, and when he reached for her hand, she didn’t pull away. Suddenly, his touch comforted her, and walking with him in one of the busiest areas of Manhattan felt companionable. At least, as long as she didn’t look at him. That stirred something much deeper than a casual companionship, and even if she had wanted to take things to a physical level, she didn’t want her thighs getting sticky from her arousal while they strolled aimlessly for the next hour or so.
“How about some coffee?” he asked, breaking the silence that loomed between them.
Reesa bit her lip to hide her grin. “Does every New Yorker have to be a coffee addict?”
“Everyone in Seattle is,” Marc countered, just as taunting. “Besides, you can have coffee, tea, soda, a shake, whatever you want. You name it, it’s yours.”
That was quite an offer. Damn, she had to stop thinking in that vein! It wasn’t an innuendo. He was just talking about getting something to drink in a quaint little coffee shop, a public place where he could pretend to be a gentleman while she pretended to care.
Maybe she should have gone a different route. Who would have really cared if she acted like some wanton one-night-stand? The answer came immediately – she would care. It wasn't Reesa's style, and she had no intention of changing who she was just because some devastatingly hot guy stepped into her life. Or because she would be the envy of everyone around.
Realizing she’d stayed quiet longer than she meant to, she cleared her throat and told him, “Actually, I happen to be a coffee fiend, so that works for me.”
"Great! I thought we might hit Greggory's, if that's okay with you." She nodded, seeing relief on his face. "Truthfully, I just flew in earlier today, and I've got really bad jet lag. I could use the caffeine."
He meant it, too, ordering a cappuccino with a triple shot of espresso. “Sounds good. I’ll have the same,” she told the barista.
Marc raised an eyebrow at her. “You do drink a lot of coffee, don’t you?”
“Watch this,” she told him and produced two full reward cards, getting both of their drinks for free. With a triumphant smile, she said, “Now, I feel better about the sweater.” Taking her cup while Marc grabbed his, she followed him, surprised when he chose a small table right at the window. “You don’t mind people seeing you and coming to get autographs?”
He shrugged. “There aren’t that many people who recognize me. And the point of sitting here is to be seen with you because you catch every man’s eye who walks by you.”
She could feel the heat in her throat and cheeks, a deep flush, as she turned away from him. Reesa focused on her coffee, not sure she believed him but not really wanting to find out if she did draw that sort of attention, either. "You shouldn't be embarrassed of a compliment." He spoke softly and reached across the table, taking her hand again. She told herself she let him because her fingers ached with cold when, truthfully, his touch heated every part of her in a way that had nothing to do with external temperatures.
&nb
sp; Rather than respond, she took a deep breath and changed the subject to something she knew would get him talking. “So, tell me about the team. I don’t really follow soccer all that much, but I know the Sounders have a very loyal fan base.”
She'd chosen well. Marc grinned broadly and launched into a lively explanation of his teammates, the sport, the coaches, traveling, and everything soccer. Reesa found herself engaged in the conversation, too enthused by his contagious energy to sit back and just listen. She was almost reluctant to finish her coffee, not quite ready to call it a night and knowing she needed to head home from here. Friday nights didn't necessarily have to end early, but she didn't want to find herself out late with someone like Marcus Winters. She tended to grow more impressionable as it grew later.
When she couldn’t stretch it any further, she drained her cup and noticed that, despite all the talking, Marc had finished his long ago. His eyes twinkled as he watched her frown at the empty paper cup. “Did you want another one?”
Reesa seriously considered it, but she shook her head. “No, if I have another, I’ll never get to sleep tonight.”
“There’s always decaf,” he said in a sing-song voice.
She couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re a bad influence. Thanks, but I really should get home. I have an early meeting with a client tomorrow.”
He nodded, looking reluctant. “I’ll get a cab then and take you home.” He gathered the trash and walked her to the door, a hand at the small of her back guiding her. A shockwave of pleasure coursed up and down her spine, making her lightheaded and tightening things low in her belly. For the hundredth time tonight, she cursed her traitorous body for reacting to him.
Marc had no trouble flagging down a taxi. "174th and Grand Concourse,” she told the cabbie as she scooted across the seat so he could climb in.
“You live in the Bronx?” he asked.
She nodded. “I like the neighborhood. I came from humble beginnings, and Brooklyn’s gotten a little rich for my blood. Where do you live?”
“Central Harlem,” he told her.
It surprised her. “I pictured you as a Midtown or Washington Square sort of guy.”
He chuckled. “I’m not spoiled. I’m reasonable. And like you said, I like the neighborhood. When I’m in New York, I want to feel at home. I have too much traveling to do to want to live anywhere I don’t feel at home.”
They grew quiet, and Reesa stared out the window, deep in thought, letting Marc absently toy with her fingers on the seat between them. She had trouble trying to determine just how she’d gotten here, in a cab with one of the country’s most eligible bachelors, headed toward her apartment. This didn’t add up to her usual MO, and she couldn’t reconcile her behavior with the way she felt about men like Marcus Winters.
Then again, he didn’t seem so bad after all, but he was on his best behavior, she was certain. In fact, that was probably the only assurance she had about anything that had happened since he first walked up to her in the bar. Nothing else made much sense, and for a moment, she let herself live in the euphoria of it all, the joy of being a woman sought after by a rich, handsome, famous man. She’d come back to her senses when she got home.
They reached her apartment all too soon, and Reesa didn’t miss the large tip Marc gave the driver. She pointed to the brick façade across the street. “That’s me.”
“I’ll walk you up,” he said before she could say her goodbyes. For some reason, her stomach clenched, and she wanted to tell him she could go by herself. But when had she last allowed someone to walk her up to her place? It was a kind gesture, and she knew she’d just feel lonely and anxious until she made it into her place if she walked away now. it was stupid to drag this out, but she wasn’t ready to let the illusion go just yet.
He took her hand, letting her guide him across the street and into the building, where she debated whether to take the stairs to the third floor or wait for the elevator. The door slid open, her upstairs neighbor smiling at her and tipping his ball cap as he got off, and she shrugged, figuring she might as well take the elevator.
The close quarters had her heart pounding as Marc’s scent filled the air, his nearness making the small space hot. Or maybe it was just her. Somehow, she gravitated toward him, and he slid an arm around her waist, pulling her closer still. Her lips parted, her breath coming in short, shallow spurts, and she tilted her head back to find him lowering his, lips poised an inch from hers.
An intense yearning filled her, and Reesa pushed up on her toes, bridging the gap. His lips were soft, and she could smell the coffee on his breath. She moaned and pulled away, but Marc chased her, kissing her again. This time, there was urgency in the contact, and Reesa’s back hit the wall, pinned by Marc’s hard body. She squealed but not in protest, her chest heaving against his as her heart tried to escape her ribs and her lungs begged for air.
But she didn’t fight, the sensation overwhelming and delicious as his tongue licked a line over her bottom lip. She opened to him, sighing as their tongues touched, savoring the taste of cinnamon and spice and bitter coffee. Of their own volition, her fingers found their way up to thrust into his hair, fisting in the silken locks, while his slid down to cup her butt, squeezing with just the right amount of pressure. He pulled her hips forward, grinding an obvious erection into her pelvis with a grunt. God, she wanted him!
The elevator door slid open, and the spell broke. Reesa gasped and ducked from under his embrace into the hallway, trying to catch her breath and knowing her face must be bright red. She felt like she was on fire, and yet, all the color seemed to have drained from Marc’s face as he followed her out.
They stood there, staring at each other for a long time before Reesa cast her glance to the side, unable to handle the intensity of his gaze any longer. Her embarrassment overwhelmed her arousal, and she bit her lip, instantly regretting it as the taste of Marc's lips hit her once again. He finally spoke into the silence, his voice gruff and ragged. "I hope you aren't angry with me."
She gave an airy laugh, her heart still racing and her head swimming. What had just happened? “How can I be mad at you? I kissed you first.” Taking a chance, she looked up from under her lashes and saw his green eyes still darkened with desire. “Listen, it was a heat of the moment thing, okay? I apologize. And I also digress. You’ve been a perfect gentleman all night, as promised, and you’ve proven you aren’t some caveman with no moral ground.”
A wry smile crossed his lips. “I guess I can take that as a compliment, under the circumstances.” He held out his hand. “Can I walk you to your door now?”
She didn’t want to reach out to him. Her hands trembled, and she couldn’t let him see that. Gathering her strength and resolve, she forced her fingers to still and wrapped them around his, walking the short distance to her apartment. Digging out her keys, she turned to him with a hesitant smile. “Thank you for a nice evening and the lovely sweater.”
“And thank you for the pleasure of your company.” Reesa could feel Marc’s disappointment, see it in his eyes, but she gave him credit for not pushing anything. She thought he would turn away, but instead, he pulled his phone out of his back pocket. “Would you be willing to give me your phone number? I’d like to see you again.”
This was a bad idea. Then again, it didn’t really matter, did it? Marcus Winters could have any woman he wanted, and he spent so much time away from New York he’d never call her. She’d just be another name and number in his phone. Shrugging, she gave him the number.
He leaned in and kissed her on the forehead, and Reesa fought the temptation to tilt her head back and get one more kiss out of him. Drawing back his crooked smile curled his lips and placed that single dimple in his cheek. “Maybe next time, we can go to my place. I live on the eighth floor. It’ll give us a little more elevator time for the heat of the moment before you run from me.”
Righteous indignation removed the last vestiges of arousal that lingered in her blood, and she crossed her arms ov
er her chest. “Look, Marc, I had a nice time with you, but don’t get the wrong idea, okay? I wish you the best and good luck with the game.”
Both eyebrows hit his hairline. “You don’t expect to hear from me again, do you?”
Reesa shrugged carelessly. “It wouldn’t be the first time a guy took a number and never used it. Besides, you’re a busy man.”
His smile faded, and his jaw muscle twitched. She’d wounded his pride with that statement, and for some reason, she felt a little guilty for it, even if Marc deserved to have his ego a little deflated. “We’ll see about that,” he said in a somber tone. “I’m not every other guy, and you’ll learn that, eventually.” He ducked his head, pressing a firm kiss to her lips that left her shocked and appalled, and then he headed down the stairs without another word. Reesa reached up, pressing her fingers to her lips where they stung and ached for more, and then she stomped her foot like an upset child before unlocking her door and slamming it shut behind her. Thank goodness this was a one-time thing. She didn’t need temptation and drama in her life today. She’d had enough of that for all eternity.
Chapter 2
Reesa pushed the rice around on her plate with her fork as Kylie gaped at her. “I can’t believe you didn’t invite him in! You obviously had chemistry.”
She should have kept some details a secret, she realized too late. "What's the point? So he can put another notch in his bedpost?"
“And you’d have a glorious one to add to yours!” Kylie burst out, exasperated. “Come on, Reesa, it’s Marcus Winters, for crying out loud. You could have put an actual notch in that headboard of yours and had him autograph it.”
Unable to hold back a laugh at the outrageous idea, Reesa shook her head. “Yes, it was Marcus Winters. Yes, there was chemistry. But that’s not enough reason to drop my panties on a dime.” Or a thousand of them, since the sweater she wore cost closer to that much. “Look, we had a good time, and in another life, we might have been friends. Admittedly, even I got a little lost in the fantasy. But that’s not who I am or want to be, Kylie. It’s not like I’ll ever see him again.” She thought back to his words, his claims he would prove her wrong. Well, she’d put Kylie off for two days before inviting her friend over for dinner, and she hadn’t heard a single word from him. So much for that claim.
