by Alexis Angel
I let go of everything, giving myself over to the moment.
I careen over a cliff of ecstasy, and he follows right behind me, my name falling from his lips in awe, just as his falls from mine. As if this is all we could ever want.
We lay in a tangle of limbs as we drift together. After a while, he pushes up and rolls to his side, tracing circles on my stomach with a little smile on his face.
Twining his fingers with mine, he kisses my knuckles.
“Perfect,” he murmurs, and I know what he means.
This is perfect. We‘re perfect together.
And when he grins and says, “How about that dessert?” there’s no doubt.
“Pizza, beer, sex, and dessert? Linc, it’s meant to be.”
He laughs as he rolls on top of me and tickles me again. “That’s just what I was thinking.”
I smile.
Yes.
Perfect.
Avery & Finn
40
Avery
Yet another stack of fliers almost done. I sigh, pushing my hair back off my forehead and step back to look at my work. Multi-colored pieces of paper line the walls of the 59th and Lex station, yet hardly anyone is paying attention. This is the third train stop I’ve canvased today, and I’m starting to feel like the effort is futile.
Fucking Finn Turner.
Thinks he’s a damn king and can do whatever he wants. Well, not if I have anything to say about it. And with any luck, the citizens of New York.
I mean, who the hell thinks they can just shut down the whole MTA? Seriously. He’s got to be the biggest narcissist ever. Spinning around, I catch a flash of reddish-brown hair sticking out above the crowd as the 6 Train pulls into the station, the speeding cars kicking up a breeze that scatters some of the fliers I’ve just worked so hard to tack to the wall in protest.
No way. My eyes narrow as I follow the tall man weaving his way through the crowd of morning commuters.
The man himself, the one I’ve basically declared my mortal enemy, is actually lowering himself to join the masses on the subway? I wouldn’t believe it if he wasn’t standing right there.
But yep. He turns around, and I see him straight on. Definitely Finn.
Grinding my teeth, I stride across the terminal, one goal at the front of my mind—to give him a piece of it.
But the crowd surges forward onto the waiting cars, and for a minute I lose sight of him. I push my way forward when I catch another glimpse of him, determined to get on that train.
I make it inside just as the doors start to slide shut. Scanning the crowded car, I spot him back and to the right.
“Excuse me,” I mutter, elbowing my way throw the tight space, ignoring the glares and grumbles passengers toss my way. I couldn’t care less what they say.
Then I’m there in front of him. Not knowing what to say. A little taken aback by the intimidating presence before. He’s way more captivating in the flesh. Not nearly as steely as the images I’ve seen in the media. But just as forbidding. Commanding. Sucking up all the air around him in a way that dominates everyone and everything around him.
Cocky bastard.
Steeling myself against the totally unexpected way my breath catches and my stomach flips, I thrust the rest of the fliers I’m holding up into his face.
“You think you’re going to get away with this?” I demand.
He arches a brow, cool and calm and oh-so-arrogant. I want to wipe the smugness right off his perfect face. Almost as much as I want to kiss it.
What the hell? I shove that aside, not sure where it came from. This man in his fancy designer suit and over-priced haircut, flashing perfect white teeth at me, is not going to deter me.
“You’re not,” I seethe. “I’ll make sure of it.”
Finn chuckles, a low rumble working its way through me in a way I don’t like in the least. He takes a flier from me and studies it, then his eyes meet mine, suddenly full of anger as he jabs his finger at the words. “You’re responsible for this?”
I smile humorlessly, glad that I have, in fact, wiped that smirk right off his lips. Lips that are now curved in a sneer. “Yep. That campaign right there is headed by yours truly.”
“Avery Samuels,” he says, and I don’t like the way my name rolls off his tongue at all. As if he loathes me. Well, buddy, the feeling is mutual.
I jut my chin out. “That’s me.”
His voice drops, so low and menacing. “You need to keep your nose out of my business if you know what’s good for you.”
Is he freaking kidding me? I bite out a laugh. “Threatening me, Mr. Turner? Sorry, but it’s not going to work. There is no way in hell you’re going to get away with shutting down the entire MTA.”
He smirks again, but I see the anger in his eyes. “Just try to stop me.”
“That’s exactly what I’m doing,” I retort, snatching the flier back from him. “And I will succeed.”
“You have no idea who you’re messing with, baby.” His voice is still low. Strained. That’s when I realize I’ve been yelling and everyone on the train is casting curious glances our way.
I raise my voice, looking around. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you, Mr. Finn Turner. The very man who wants to shut down the MTA and bring New York as you know it to a grinding halt.”
Dramatic? Maybe. But it’s effective because now everyone is staring at us, anger in many of the eyes I see.
Finn grabs me by the shoulders, leaning down until I can feel his breath mingling with mine. “Don’t do this, Avery.”
Again that flutter in my stomach. A race of chills down my spine. And not from fear. From the pure power of this man’s overwhelming presence, his voice and touch inciting a battle of conflicting feelings within me.
I gasp. How is he making me feel this way? I hate him. Like, really, truly hate him. He wants to singlehandedly destroy the infrastructure that makes my city thrive. Yet I can’t deny it. The pull I feel toward him is powerful and unexpected.
As if he could totally turn my world upside down in the very best way.
It infuriates me. “Oh, I’m going to do it. I’ll stop you, Mr. Turner if it’s the last thing I do.”
Like I said, dramatic. I may have a flair for it.
He clenches his jaw, the muscle jumping as he continues to hold my arms. The train screeches to a stop, and he releases me abruptly, leaving me feeling strangely lost when he whirls and strides toward the door, bumping into a couple standing near it and sloshing the woman’s coffee all over her companion.
A frustrated grunt rips from my throat as he just waltzes off the train like he doesn’t have a care in the world. No consideration for the destruction he leaves in his wake.
“Asshole,” I mutter, folding my arms over my chest, not liking the way it tightens one little bit.
41
Finn
I drag my fingers through my hair, making it stand on end, and push back from my desk to pace in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows that line the entire back wall of my office. The view is amazing, but I don’t see any of it as I stop and press my palms against the cool glass and stare out.
All I see is her.
Those flashing brown eyes. The long blonde waves streaked with purple. They swim in my vision until I’m grinding my teeth so hard it hurts. I haven’t been able to get her out of my head for two days. Two fucking days.
All that fiery fervor and fury. A temper that flares so high. I’m willing to bet she’s just as passionate with every feeling that goes through her.
Avery.
I spin around with a growl. I’d give anything to extinguish her from my mind. The way she felt as I gripped her close. The way she smelled as I leaned in, breathing her own air.
And that’s a serious problem. Because out of every person in the greater tri-state area, she is the last one I need to be thinking about. Unless it’s to shut her down. To get her to stop this grassroots campaign that’s taken on a life of its own.
/> That’s exactly what I have to do.
I pick up my phone and push the button for my assistant. “Betty,” I bite out when she answers, “find out how I can reach Avery Samuels.”
“Avery Samuels?” she repeats, her shock evident.
“That’s what I said.”
“Mr. Turner, I don’t think that’s a very good idea.”
“Betty, I don’t pay you for your opinions. I pay you to do what I tell you. And right now I’m telling you to get me in contact with Avery.”
“Yes, Mr. Turner,” she says quickly.
I slam the phone down, immediately regretting the harsh way I spoke. I guess it’s true what they say. Finn Turner is an asshole.
I scowl. Funny thing is, I’m not, even though my actions point to the complete opposite. I just know what I want, and I’m determined to have it.
And right now I want Avery Samuels in my office.
I try to convince myself its because I need to talk her down from this campaign, convince her to let me do what I need to, not because I just want to see her again, to watch those chocolate eyes flare with that intensity that matches my own.
Sighing, I pace again. She has no idea what I have planned. No one does. I’m sure she wouldn’t be pushing the issue if she really understood. But I can’t tell her that. Not yet.
Fifteen minutes later Betty is knocking on my door. I rip it open, trying to keep the impatience and turmoil off my face, attempting an apologetic smile. “Sorry for snapping earlier. This is just really important.”
She looks at me warily and holds out a piece of paper with an address on it that isn’t too far from my Midtown office building.
“What’s this?” I expected a phone number.
“I couldn’t find a number for her. Or a place of employment. That’s her home address.”
I frown. No number or job? My company has access to the latest technology, search engines that aren’t available to the public. A phone number should be the easiest thing to obtain. I shake it off and snatch the slip of paper. Oh well. This will have to do.
I grab my suit jacket from where it hangs on a hook behind my door and slip it on.
“Where are you going?” Betty asks, eyes wide.
“To talk to Avery.” I brush past her. “Cancel my afternoon appointments.”
“Mr. Turner,” she calls out. “It’s really not a good idea.”
I ignore her warning and punch the button for the elevator. Right now having Avery Samuels in front of me—in the flesh instead of in my ridiculous fantasies that I can’t seem to get rid of—sounds like the best damn idea I’ve ever had.
42
Avery
The knock on my door pulls me out of the focused frame of mind that I’ve been in for most of the morning. I sigh as I push from my chair and walk toward the door. This better not be my downstairs neighbor again. If I so much as drop something on the floor, they think they need to come complain about the noise. Yep, I live above the noise police. Ridiculous, considering the noise from outside is way louder than anything I do.
Sticking my pencil into the messy bun atop my head, I pull the door wide, opening my mouth to get ready to fend off the complaints. The words die in my throat. In fact, I’m totally speechless. Pretty sure I can’t even think, either.
Because standing less than two feet in front of me is Finn Turner, his huge body stretched over my doorway as he leans on his hands that are braced on my door frame. He towers over me, all strong and intimidating and too damn sexy.
Ugh. Not sexy. That’s not what I meant. But I’m only deceiving myself. Because this man is nothing if not sexy. He radiates sex, his hair darker in the dim light of the hallway, only faint traces of the red visible in all the dark, the strands slightly mussed as if he’s been running his fingers through it. Mine itch to dive in, too.
Shut that shit down, Avery.
Setting my jaw, I meet his eyes. Blue. “What are you doing here?” I’m glad to hear that none of the desire that’s flowing through my veins like a drug is echoed in my voice. Just what the cocky asshole needs—to think I’m interested in him. At least not in any way other than decimating his efforts to destroy the MTA.
“Now, that’s not a very nice way to treat a visitor, Ms. Samuels.” His lips quirk up in that same arrogant smirk he wore yesterday. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”
I lean against the door, gripping the wood as if it will steady me against the torrent of salacious thoughts that invade my mind. “I don’t think I will. But if you’re lost I can point you in the direction of the exit.”
He laughs, the smirk twisting into a genuine smile. “You’re quite the spitfire, aren’t you?”
It takes me off guard, the way he says it with something almost like admiration. This time when I repeat my question, my voice is a little warier. “Why are you here, Finn?”
“Are we on a first-name basis now? Good, I was tiring of the informalities.” He actually winks at me as he pushes off the door frame and breezes by me as if I actually invited him in.
I stare at his broad back, my jaw dropping to the floor at his nerve. He thinks he can just walk right in and make himself at home? I revise my earlier opinion. Cocky and arrogant don’t even begin to cut it. Finn has an ego the size of the five boroughs combined.
He walks toward the table where I was working on my campaign, and I hurry to shut the door and race over in front of him. I insert myself in between him and the table, spreading my arms wide and leaning back against the table, clutching the edges as if it will protect all my plans from his prying eyes.
Finn stops and runs his eyes over me. I barely got to him in time, and we’re literally inches apart, him hovering over me as I look up into his gorgeous face.
A slow smile spreads, his eyes glinting. “Why, Avery, if you want to get up close and personal, all you have to do is say so.”
A full-fledged battle wages in my mind. The part that hates him—knowing what this brash, rude man is wanting to do to my city—warring with the part that thinks getting close and personal is a fantastic idea.
Stupid hormones. I try to fight it. To not let him see the way he affects me. But my breath comes faster as he stays right there in my personal space. His eyes drop to my chest, and I’m mortified that it’s literally heaving. How cliche.
Scraping his teeth across his bottom lip, he looks back up at me. My eyes widen when his fingers reach up and wind around a strand of hair that’s fallen in my face.
I somehow manage to regain a scrap of composure and swat his hand away. “That is the last thing I want to do.” Needing room to catch my breath, because this man is sucking it straight out of my lungs, I place my palms on his chest and push him back.
But the hard planes of his body and the heat I can feel radiating under my hands catch me off guard, and my fingers involuntarily tighten into his shirt.
Wicked intent flashes in those blue eyes. “You sure about that? From where I’m standing I’d have to disagree.”
I scoff, shaking my head. “You’re unbelievable. Walking in here as if you own the place, invading my privacy. Then you have the nerve to suggest that I— That I—” God, I can’t even say it.
He rakes his eyes over my face, making me burn hot, then settles his gaze on my mouth. “That you…?”
I force myself to let go of his shirt and take a deliberate step away. “Enough, Mr. Turner. Tell me why you’re here, or get out.”
Disappointment flashes across his face briefly before it’s replaced by that damn cocky smirk. And dear God, why does it do things to my body that it shouldn’t? I needy, yearning pull grips me low in my belly, diving further south the longer he stares at me.
“Go to dinner with me.”
“What?” My eyebrows knit together at the abrupt change in conversation.
“Dinner, Avery.” Even though I’ve tried to put distance between us by reverting to using his last name, I can’t deny how much I like the sound of my name on his lips. �
�You know, the meal at the end of the day, sometimes shared with other people. Occasionally with wine and good conversation. Let me take you to dinner.”
“Why?” My suspicions suddenly rise above all the other crazy things I’m feeling. “What are you after?”
It’s clear he’s trying to manipulate me. I should have seen it immediately. He’s using his charm against me to try to make me stop the protests. To clear a path for him to do whatever he wants.
“What makes you think I’m after anything?”
My eyes narrow. “Men like you always have ulterior motives.”
He flinches, and for a minute I feel bad, though I’m not sure why. Does he feel bad about the kind of man he is?
“Just let me take you to dinner. After that, you can decide for yourself what you think about me.”
I can’t deny I want to. I want to see what he’s up to, maybe discover a weakness. But it’s more than that. I also want to spend more time with him. And as dangerous as that is—no, as fucking stupid as that is—I find myself nodding my head.
“Fine,” I concede.
The smirk slips again, revealing that genuine smile for the second time. “I’ll pick you up at eight.”
And just like that, he’s gone, leaving me wondering what the hell just happened.
43
Finn
Avery stares at me from across the table, her mouth hanging open, her eyes full of confusion and disbelief. I almost can’t believe it either.
I haven’t told anyone my full plan. Not even my assistant. Yet I just poured out all my secrets to a woman I hardly know. A woman who holds more power than she even realizes. Her movement has grown to epic proportions, and she could use this information against me.
Ruining everything. All my plans to bring New York into the future by making the MTA the most forward-thinking and revolutionary mass transit system in the world could blow up before they even get started.
