A slow burning anger started deep in Julia’s stomach. Between gritted teeth she said, “Sounds like you put a lot of thought into this offer.”
“I did,” he said, so calmly that she wanted to kick him.
“And never once did it sound offensive to you? I can’t believe I was upset because I thought you were going to say you didn’t want to see me again.” She threw her hair back over her shoulder. “You make me so angry I could strangle you.” She poked a finger into his suit-covered shoulder. “And not in some funky, paid-mistress way. I mean actually hurt you.”
He pulled her to him and the kiss they shared channeled her anger into a frenzied passion. Her hands flew to the back of his head and she ground against him, unable to deny the pull between them. His hands cupped her from behind, grinding her against his pulsing erection.
“Get a room,” someone said behind them, but the taunt wasn’t enough to pierce through their haze of sexual need. They stumbled backward against the side of a building, and Julia finally understood why people risked everything for this. There was something exquisitely, almost painfully, beautiful about giving in to a primal need and leaving the rest of the world behind.
His hand was sliding up her rib cage beneath her shirt when a camera flashed and someone said, “Got it.”
He pulled back. “Shit.” He reached for the photographer, but the young man was too fast and disappeared into the busy stream of people. His face tight with anger, and his eyes still storming with unfulfilled passion, he said, “This is exactly why we can’t continue as we are . . .”
Julia’s head was still spinning from the kiss. “I did not mean for that to happen.” She covered her lips with one shaking hand.
“I did.” He looked down at her intently and then, with his hand on the small of her back, guided her toward his office building. “Maybe now you’ll stop pretending we don’t want the same thing.”
She looked up at him sadly. “I don’t know what kind of women you’re used to dating, but I don’t want your money. I don’t need you to pay for an apartment for me. And I’m offended that you think I would.”
“Then tell me what you do want.”
Julia looked away and then back at him. She had difficulty forming coherent thoughts when he was around her, but if he cared enough to ask, then she felt he should get an honest answer. “All the normal stuff. Ask me out. Send me roses. I’m partial to pink ones.”
He didn’t look happy with her answer, nor did he flat out reject the idea. They reentered Cogent Solutions together. He walked her to the door of her station, not seeming to care that all eyes were on them as he did. “I don’t know what we’re doing, but God help me, I can’t stop myself when it comes to you.” After one final, deep kiss that left Julia sagging against the wall, he walked away.
Julia was still standing there, watching him go, when she heard Paul say, “See. When a woman is that beautiful, no man is immune.”
“Shut up, Paul,” Tom said.
Still floating from the kiss, Julia wasn’t bothered by the commentary. She returned to her station, sat down, and hoped no one decided to break into the building that night because her attention was definitely not on the monitors.
Back in his office, Gio sat down at his desk and picked up his phone. Years of erasing stories in the media had given him the contacts necessary to ensure that photo wouldn’t see print. It wasn’t an easy feat in this day of the Internet, but people rarely published anything unless there was potential profit in it. The trick to getting a story killed was to make sure that remaining silent was more profitable for the source; or safer for their career.
He preferred to keep things positive, but he’d go to whatever lengths he needed when it came to protecting what was his.
And Julia fit that definition, regardless of how she might try to fight it.
She would be his.
Even though she fought him at every turn. He closed his eyes as he remembered how he hadn’t cared who was around them on the street. He’d wanted her with such urgency that the photographer had done them a favor. A few more minutes and they might have started shedding clothing and given the press a story that even his contacts couldn’t squash.
He groaned. After years of judging Nick for chasing everything in a skirt and mocking his lack of control, Gio was coming to the humbling conclusion that he had his own Achilles’ heel—and her name was Julia.
And what did she want from him?
Flowers. He did a quick search on his phone for a flower shop, then placed an order that the florist repeated twice to make sure she’d heard correctly.
Would he like to include a message?
Oh, yes.
Chapter Eleven
The long-stemmed pink roses started arriving the next morning in an abundance that revealed Gio had no idea how small her apartment was. Once she’d packed them into her tiny kitchenette, the window sill, all of the floor space around her bed, and even put a few in the bathroom, she’d asked the delivery man to hand the rest of the vases out on the street below.
Yes, at night the neighborhood showed its underbelly, but during the day its sidewalks were filled with regular people who were thrilled by this unexpected gift: mothers walking their young children, couples who felt the flowers were a sign from fate, and some street vendors she’d never seen smile until the florist pointed up toward her open window and offered them a bouquet. After their initial suspicion passed, many of them had held up the flowers and waved to her in thanks.
The entire experience had put a lasting smile on Julia’s face. She hadn’t opened the envelope that had accompanied the flowers. She knew who they were from and she wanted to savor the moment. When the last bouquet was given away, she closed her window, waded through a forest of roses, and sat cross-legged in the middle of her bed.
She held the envelope to her chest but still didn’t open it. He’s doing what I asked him to, but what do I have in common with a man like Gio? It would never work out. He wants sex. Hot. Glorious. Repeated sex. And he’s willing to do anything to get me to agree.
That’s not love.
That’s late-night porn.
Something he’s already offered to pay me for. That’s what being his mistress would be. A socially acceptable payment for sex.
Even these flowers. One thousand long-stemmed fuck-me-please flowers.
I didn’t think he’d actually send them.
Or that I’d love the gesture as much as I do.
She picked one of the flowers out of a vase on the floor beside her bed and raised it to her nose, closing her eyes in pleasure as the scent filled her senses. The soft petals brushed against her bottom lip, reminding her how his mouth had fit so perfectly over hers. Her body didn’t care about the poor timing of this temptation; it flooded with heat at the memory of being pushed up against the side of a New York building with a passion that had robbed both of them of their inhibitions.
She opened her eyes and studied the envelope again.
Does it include an invitation to somewhere?
It doesn’t matter.
The flowers don’t actually change anything.
I’d be better off spending the day in the Diamond District trying to make a connection than being pulled, albeit willingly, into something I know is wrong for me.
Call him at work.
Thank him and politely refuse to take this further.
Don’t read the card.
Once you open that door, you won’t be able to close it.
You won’t be strong enough to say no.
She lay back on the bed and covered her eyes with the paper.
Her phone began to vibrate on the nightstand beside her bed. She rolled onto her stomach. Unknown number. She held her breath and answered it. “Hello?”
“Good morning, Julia,” Gio said, his voice warm and intimate.
She sat straight up in her bed and dropped the card. “Mr. Andrade.”
“We’re way beyond using last names and
you know that.”
Protectively pulling down her nightgown to cover her knees, Julia said huskily, “About that. Thank you for the flowers, but—”
“Did I wake you?”
“No, the delivery did that,” she said, then felt bad that she sounded ungrateful. This wasn’t going as she’d planned.
“So, you’re not on your bed? I have an image in my head of you there, surrounded by those roses.”
The heat from a blush spread up Julia’s chest and warmed her cheeks. She knew she shouldn’t, but she couldn’t help herself. She said, “I am on my bed.” Then she hastily added, “But only because it doubles as my couch.”
He groaned. “I refuse to sink low enough to ask you what you’re wearing, but if you want to describe it I won’t stop you.”
There was something irresistibly tempting about doing just that. Was it the knowledge that in that moment she had the same power over him that he had over her? The sense that he was fighting this as much as she was?
It proved too heady to resist. “I’m still in my nightgown.”
He let out a long breath. “If I were there it wouldn’t be on you for long. Take it off, Julia. For me.”
Her first response was to laugh and refuse, but his softly spoken order echoed through her and her body started humming with need for him. As she gave into it, it became impossible to deny him anything. She slid the nightgown over her head and lay back, fully naked on her bed. “It’s off,” she whispered.
The pained sound he made had her dripping wet and closing her eyes, imagining him there with her.
“Lick your thumb. Lick it, then circle one of your nipples. Imagine my tongue there. I wouldn’t be able to keep my mouth off you. What would you want me to do to them?”
What would have felt ridiculous with anyone else was somehow right with Gio. She did as he asked, gasped as the cold air tightened and puckered her nipple with pleasure. She imagined that her hand was his mouth. Her fingers were his teeth. She pinched herself lightly and moaned. “I’d want you to use your teeth gently. Like you did in your office. Tugging. Teasing. Oh, God, this is crazy.”
“You’re killing me, but don’t stop, Julia. I’m here with you. Right here. What would you want me to do? What do you like?”
She ran her hand up her neck and pushed her hair aside. “I love the feel of your hot breath on my neck, the feel of your lips claiming where I’m vulnerable.”
“I’ll remember that. I’ll start there and kiss my way down, slowly. I’ll kiss the curve of your waist, the silk of your thighs. I’ll want to dive into you, but I’ll make you wait until you’re writhing and begging for me to taste you.”
That would not take long, Julia almost said aloud.
“Are you wet for me, Julia?”
“Yes,” she said, giving herself to him fully in the safety of the situation. Her hand sought her own juices and she began to rub herself. “Oh, God, I am so wet.”
“Do you have a vibrator?” he asked and her hand froze.
I can’t tell him.
She did have one, but it was her guilty secret. One that she hadn’t even shared with her ex-boyfriend, even after sleeping with him.
“You do, don’t you? Are you shy about it? Sex is a natural part of life, Julia. There is nothing shameful about knowing how to please yourself. In fact, I want you more now. I want to watch you make yourself come. I want to lie next to you, caressing you as you bring yourself to climax. But for now, let me hear it. Take yourself to where we both want to go.”
Frantically, Julia flung out a hand and opened the drawer on the nightstand beside her bed. Her hand closed on the six-inch toy she’d never admitted to owning. With a quick twist she turned it on and brought it to her eager clit.
“That’s it, Julia. Oh, God, you are so hot. Dip it inside of you. Deep inside. That will be me. Soon.”
She drove the toy deep inside her with one thrust and called out, “Gio.”
“Oh, yes. Say my name. I want to be on your lips. I want to be in your head. When you come, I want my name to be what you call out.”
With increasing speed, Julia plunged the vibrator inside of her and pulled it out, sliding it against her throbbing nub as she did. In and out. Faster and faster, until she dropped the phone next to her, grabbed the comforter next to her with one grasping hand, and cried out Gio’s name as she surrendered to her shuddering, glorious orgasm.
Neither of them spoke. As Julia came back down to earth, she grew self-conscious, as if he could see her. She pulled the comforter over her head quickly and stashed her vibrator back in the drawer.
She groaned. What am I doing?
“Julia.” He said her name like it was a command.
She’s not here.
She buried her face in a pillow for a moment. No wonder he thinks he can offer me money for sex. What is wrong with me?
“Pick up the phone or I’m coming over,” he said in a determined voice, and Julia knew he meant it.
With her face still buried in the pillow, she held her cell phone to her ear. “I am so embarrassed. I may never leave my apartment again.”
“You? I’m sitting at my desk with a hard-on the likes of which I haven’t seen since puberty. If I had known this was how I would start my day, I would have locked the door and joined you. I almost did, but lately someone would have walked in, and everyone is pretty sure I’ve lost my mind already. Because of you I’m going to be late for my meeting. I want to appear excited about the project, but not this excited.”
Julia chuckled reluctantly, but she wasn’t coming out of hiding yet. “I spent the morning rehearsing how to tell you that I’m not interested in whatever you wrote on the card.”
“You didn’t open it?”
“No, I was trying to remain strong.”
This time he chuckled, and she threw the pillow across the room as if he were there to get hit by it. “It’s not funny. I don’t do stuff like this. I’m really a pretty boring person once you get to know me. You need a woman who . . . someone who . . .”
“Stop talking, Julia, and open the card.”
She sat up and did as he asked. Well, asked was putting it nicely. He was back to using the authoritative tone that made her want to defiantly stick her tongue out at him.
But not more than she wanted to know what he’d written. She tore the envelope open.
“Pick any dress you want and wear it for me tonight. We have a reservation at Le Loire at eight.”
Without thinking, she said, “I’m working tonight.”
“I already covered your shift.”
“You did what? Without even asking me?”
“The outcome was never in question.”
“It most certainly was . . . I mean . . . is.”
“I’ll pick you up at seven thirty.”
“I haven’t said yes.”
“If you’re not dressed for dinner I’ll assume you want to spend the evening alone with me . . . in your bed.”
“What if I’m not here?” she asked, desperately trying to regain control of the situation.
“I’ll find you. You can’t run from this, Julia, any more than I can. Go to the address on the card and get yourself something nice. On me. Something you know I’ll enjoy taking off you as much as you’ll enjoy wearing.” He hung up.
Julia held up the business card of a small, elite boutique on the Upper East Side.
I would tell myself that I’m not going dress shopping today, but I am really bad at saying no to this man.
Two hours later, Julia was craning her neck to see how the back of the sleeveless floor-length black gown she was modeling shimmered in the changing-room mirror. She would have gone out into the main area, but she didn’t want to talk to the clerk. Talking about the dress meant she was actually doing this. She was letting a rich man buy her a dress, take her out, and then most likely take her home.
She wasn’t ready to defend that choice yet.
But she had to admit, the dress fit her per
fectly.
If she was the kind of girl who did something this spontaneous, this was definitely how she’d dress to do it.
The light caught the gemstones in her gold necklace and brought its floral design to life. It wasn’t an overly expensive piece, but she’d used real metals to make it. She’d worn it to help her remember what was really important. Family. Duty. Finding a buyer and going home to save her father’s company.
She spun in front of the mirror.
This was nothing more than a distraction from that.
But what a wonderfully magical distraction it was.
She and her parents had always lived a modest life. Even when business had been good, her parents hadn’t been the type to care about material things. She’d grown up in a beach town, spending most of her free time in the summers on the beach in a bikini and shorts, or serving ice cream to tourists. During cooler weather, she’d holed up in her jewelry workshop, which her father had created for her at his furniture factory. It didn’t matter to him that it didn’t make sense to do it. He’d done it for her. Just like he’d added a jewelry section to his showroom floor. Not because it was good for business, but because he thought she was talented and her work deserved to be displayed.
Oh, Dad.
Is this how you felt when you met Mom? Or am I making the biggest mistake of my life?
I know I should walk away from this situation, but I can’t.
I want to see him again.
The clerk’s voice rose and broke into her thoughts. “Mrs. Rockport. I didn’t know you were coming in today. I’d close the boutique for you now, but I have a woman in the back trying on some dresses.”
An older woman’s voice answered curtly, “As long as she’s not some simpering, preening fool I’m sure I’ll be able to overlook her presence.”
Come Away With Me Page 8
