Now I’m annoyed. I may have committed to a lifetime of casual sex, but that doesn’t mean I think women are interchangeable or disposable. Is that what she thinks of me? I lower the pizza and step closer until we’re toe to toe. “I’m not okay with it,” I say slowly, “because I intend to spend the night doing everything I can to get you to scream my name. How’ll that work if you don’t even know it?”
She swallows, and I love that her cheeks are now as red as her neck. “I’m going to be naked in front of you,” she says. “Do you really want me to have pizza and beer before that?”
“Yes.” There’s no way she’d look anything other than svelte, and even if she did, I know myself—I wouldn’t care. Once the clothes come off, it’s game on. “You’re a beautiful woman, and I’m keeping my hands to myself because we’re in public.” A runner passes us, throwing a look over his shoulder at Amelia. I don’t blame him. “And yeah,” I go on, “I was staring at your tits earlier. But I’m finding you sexier by the minute, and it doesn’t have as much to do with your body as you might think.”
Amelia shakes her head but I’m doing something right, because she finally takes the plate. “Pizza? Really?”
I open a can, hold it out to her, and grin. “And beer. There’s literally no better match in the world.”
FOUR
Amelia moans a little with each bite. Eating pizza shouldn’t be sexy, especially considering she has tomato sauce on her cheek. But she’s enjoying it almost as much as I’m enjoying watching her, which is a lot.
“Thanks for forcing me to do this,” she says, licking the corner of her mouth as we wander through the city.
“You missed,” I say. “A little higher.”
She sticks her tongue to the side and tries unsuccessfully to get the glob.
Containing a laugh, I lean over and suck it off her cheek.
She stops walking. “What was that?”
“There was no other way.” I hold up my hands, which, like hers, are full of food and drink.
“Well, that was—”
“Sexy?” I ask right as she says, “Disappointing.”
My mouth falls open. “Disappointing? Why?”
“For a first kiss—”
“That wasn’t a kiss. It was . . . a taste.”
“I’m just saying, as far as first kisses go, that ranks pretty low.”
Though we’re in the middle of a crowded sidewalk on Broadway, I set my beer and pizza on the ground along with her bag o’ shit.
“What are you doing?”
“It wasn’t a kiss,” I say, taking her beer and pizza from her to place them next to mine, “and certainly not our first one.”
“Okay, I was just teasing,” she says. “You don’t need to—”
I wrap one arm around her waist and the other around her shoulders, dip her, and plant a hard kiss on her lips. She doesn’t respond. I don’t fault her that. I’ve never kissed a woman in public this theatrically, but there’s no way she isn’t melting in my arms right now. People ooh and ahh around us. I draw my head back and look at her. “Now that was a kiss.”
“Put me back,” she says, and I realize her entire body is tense.
“Not until you admit that was good,” I say. “I work out, Amelia—I can hold you like this all night.”
She looks from side to side and lowers her voice as if she doesn’t want anyone to hear. “Fine. As far as second kisses go, that ranks pretty highly.”
I inhale a deep breath. “Not second kiss. First.”
She wriggles in my arms, but I tighten my hold. While she’s looking for an escape, I kiss her again, and this time, I go for the tongue. She stops squirming. Her mouth tastes like every man’s dream—pizza, beer, and a promise of what’s to come later.
“I’ll keep going,” I whisper against her mouth.
She rolls her eyes, but her body relaxes just a hint. Again, I wonder how she’ll be once I strip her down and have her at my mercy. Will she keep up this futile struggle for control? I look forward to finding out.
“All right,” she concedes. “You’ve won me over. What an amazing first kiss. Put me back.”
“Not yet. Ask me my name like you’re dying to know it.”
“I told you, I don’t take orders from anyone.”
“Neither do I.”
We engage in a full-on stare down. Suddenly, she sighs and slides her arms around my neck. “If we’re going to do this, let’s do it right.” She shocks me with a slow, sensual kiss, the kind reserved for long-lost lovers recently reunited. Her back arches, and her tits press against my chest, right over my heart as it starts to pound. My cock nudges against my fly. With a groan, my arms go to jelly, and I slide a hand down her lower back, toward her sweet, sweet—
She shoves me off, leaping back. “Ha!” Her expression is smug. “Getting you to cave was easier than I thought it’d be. Who’s in charge now?”
Empty-handed, out of breath, and sporting a tent for pants, I narrow my eyes on her. “All right,” I say to appease her. I’ll prove her wrong later, but first I need to get her in bed. “You’re in charge.”
“Thank you.”
As I retrieve our things off the ground, she mumbles something.
“What was that?” I ask, standing.
“The first first kiss?” she says. “I lied. It was pretty up there too.”
I let my grin happen slowly, just to make her squirm. “So you were tricking me into a real kiss.”
“I don’t play games.” She takes her food from me and continues walking. Over her shoulder, she throws, “When I want something, I go after it.”
With a few long strides, I’m at her side again. “It’s Andrew, by the way.”
She looks over at me. “I guess that’s more convenient than calling you Sadie’s brother.”
Shit. Sadie! She and Bell should be at her apartment by now. I toss my empty beer to get out my phone, but I have no missed calls, no texts. Nothing.
“Is that Sadie?” Amelia asks, assuming I have a call.
“No, sorry.” I put my cell away, even though I’d like to check in with them. I can wait a little longer. Can’t I? It’s barely been an hour. That’s a whole hour without thinking about my daughter, and I’m not sure how to feel about it. Even when I’m working at the garage, I still wonder what she’s up to at school.
“Tonight stays under wraps,” she says.
I return my attention to Amelia. “Sorry?”
“This.” She nods between us. “I don’t want Sadie to know. I’m not only her boss—she also knows a lot about my history with Reggie.”
“Oh.” I rub my eyebrow as my mind shifts gears again, but not without some creaking. I’ve been at Bell’s beck and call for almost four years straight, ever since her mom left. Doesn’t that earn me a night off? I’m not sure it does, or that I even want one. “I don’t really keep things from Sadie,” I say.
I finish off my pizza and trash the plates. Then again, Sadie gave me about six months after Shana left before she got on my case about dating, even though I’ve repeatedly told her I’m done with relationships. For that reason, I don’t want her to know about Amelia, or she’ll make something out of nothing. “But yeah. I agree. That’d be best.”
“Thanks.”
“What does your history with Reggie have to do with it, though?”
Amelia shrugs. “I’ve confided in Sadie a lot. She knows how I feel about men.”
“Not good, I’m guessing.”
“I may have said some things about your gender, but nothing you didn’t deserve. I doubt she wants me anywhere near you.”
“Good thing I’m a grown man and can decide for myself.”
She bumps me with her shoulder and holds up her beer. “Want the rest?”
“You sure?”
She nods. “I’ve proven myself, haven’t I?”
I take her beer, swig the rest down, and throw out all our trash. “Dessert?” I ask.
She groans. “
Give me a break.”
I laugh. “Come on.”
“I have something else in mind for dessert,” she says. “And besides—we’re here.”
I furrow my eyebrows. “Where?”
“My apartment.” She stops and looks up, so I follow her gaze up the high-rise.
“I didn’t know we had a destination. I thought we were just wandering.”
“I don’t wander.” She opens her purse and gets out a key fob. When she holds it up to a black pad, it beeps, and the door unlatches. She looks back at me. “Coming?”
I glance into the building. A uniformed man behind a desk reads The New Yorker. The marble floor is shiny enough that I can see my reflection from where I stand. I don’t exactly live in a palace, but I like my familiar, comfortable home that’s a little too worn in, a little too kid-friendly. “This is exactly the kind of place I pictured you in,” I say.
“All right.” She shrugs. “So?”
I put my hands in my pockets. I’ve been out of the game awhile, and aside from the girls I meet in bars, this is easier than I remember. “So nothing. We just go up and do it?”
She gives me a funny look. “Isn’t that what you want?”
“Yes. I just want to make sure it’s what you want.”
“It is. Don’t worry. I’d tell you if it wasn’t.”
I believe her. “Should we at least pick up some wine or something?”
She takes the plastic bag of things from me and nods toward the door. “I’ve got it covered. Come on.”
I get the door for her. “By the way, isn’t this his job?” I ask, nodding at the man in the lobby.
“It is absolutely his job,” she says, not bothering to lower her voice. “Isn’t it, Frank?”
Frank looks up, widens his eyes, and jumps out of his seat. “Miss Van Ecken. I didn’t hear you come in.”
“It’s too late now. We’re already inside.” Her heels echo in the lobby as she strides toward his desk. She stops in front of him and waits. “Well?”
He looks to me, and I shrug. “I’m sorry?” he asks.
“I should’ve had a dress delivered today,” she says.
“Oh. Of course.” He fumbles the magazine, drops it, goes to pick it up, but decides to leave it. “One moment.” He hustles over to a door, opens it, and pulls out a long garment bag. “Here you are,” he says, shuffling back toward us. As he does, his shoe catches the bottom of the dress, and he stumbles.
“Careful,” she reprimands. “This is Givenchy, and it’s worth, well—more than you are.”
I cough into my fist to hide my amusement. This guy is more my crowd, and maybe that means I should interfere, but I don’t need Amelia turning her wrath on me. Not when I’m this close to getting in. Slowly, he passes her the bag. Through a small plastic window, I see a flash of red. It’s my favorite color on a woman, and I wonder where she plans to wear it. She drapes it over her elbow. “Thank you. You might as well get back to your job reading a magazine.”
She pivots on her heel and walks away. The doorman—Frank—gives me a sympathetic look before I turn and follow. I try to reach the elevator before her, but she beats me to it and hits the call button.
“I don’t get it,” I say, when we’re out of earshot. “You want him to get the door for you, but you won’t let me pay for your four-dollar salad?”
With her back straight, she waits by the elevator, watching the digital numbers tick down.
“Do you want to be your own woman, or do you want men to do things for you?”
She looks abruptly at me, as if I’ve voiced some unspoken understanding between her and the universe. “I don’t need you to get me, just like I don’t need anyone to do anything for me. The beauty of being independent is I get to decide what I want from whom. Is that wrong?”
I consider it. Without being a mind reader, it could potentially be difficult to make someone like her happy. “I guess not, as long as you get what you need. How do I know what you want, though?”
“I’ll tell you.”
A woman who tells me outright what she wants and needs—it’s unlikely. If one existed, though, Amelia might be her.
“Don’t you do the same?” she asks. “Why shouldn’t everyone do what’s best for them?”
“Some of us have others to consider,” I say.
“And you always put them first?”
“Bell, yes. Obviously. Sadie and Nate too when I can.” Sadie’s my baby sister, and I’ve always been protective of her, especially considering we grew up with an alcoholic father who liked to pick fights. As an extension of her, and one of the few men I get along with, Nathan’s pretty much a brother to me.
“What about work?” she presses. “What about sex?”
Automatically, I think of Shana. It would be easy to say I had always put her first, but it wouldn’t be true. She made it hard. “You don’t understand” she would say, or “You never listen,” or “You don’t care about anyone but yourself.” She pushed back for no other reason than to irritate me. I may not have always understood, but I listened, and I cared. She knew it too.
I push Shana out of my mind. She and Amelia are opposites in physicality, personality, and purpose. I loved Shana. I want to fuck Amelia. That’s where my need overpowers my sense. If I could stay away from women completely, I would. I’m not fool enough to think Bell doesn’t move me around like a pawn, but that right is reserved for my little girl.
Amelia boards the elevator first. “What happens if you and I want different things?” I ask.
The elevator takes off smoothly, but she grabs a railing, steadying herself. “What? No. We have an agreement—tonight only. If you’re having second thoughts, we have to stop this right now.”
If I’d had any doubt about her intentions tonight, they’d have vanished with the look on her face. One thing remains true—the fact that she’s so composed makes her fun to mess with. I reach for the elevator’s emergency-stop button. “Right now?”
“No—” She can’t do anything. She has the dress in one hand, the key to the building in the other, plus two bags and her purse. “Are you insane? I’m talking about us. We need to stop.”
I chuckle, dropping my arm back to my side.
“This can’t ever continue past tomorrow,” she says.
My smile fades, and I deepen my voice. “I’m not talking about tomorrow. I’m talking about tonight.”
The elevator ride is calm, effortless. It doesn’t rattle or sound like it’s working hard to ascend. “I don’t understand,” she says.
I stalk toward her, and she backs up into one corner. “I’m asking what happens if we disagree tonight,” I say, licking my lips. “What if I want to fuck you one way, and you want it another?”
She sucks in a breath. Mission accomplished. There’s no rush quite like catching her off guard. Getting her up here has been easy, but part of me is looking forward to the fight I know she has in her. The elevator dings. The doors open. Neither of us moves.
“Well?” I ask.
“I guess we’ll find out.”
“I think we will,” I say, stepping aside to let her pass.
I follow her down a white hallway to her apartment. If I’m not mistaken, she’s hobbling a little bit. She runs a hand over her hair, patting it into place. When we reach the door to apartment 11D, she turns and faces me. “You sure you want to do this? You’re not going to fall in love with me?”
“I won’t if you don’t.”
She shakes her head firmly. “I won’t. I’m serious, Andrew.”
I drop my eyes to her lips. Most of her lipstick has rubbed off, and I look forward to kissing away the rest. Now that I’m this close to her, I see the perfect, smooth black lines of her eye makeup. The gunk on her lashes. Shana wore a lot of make up too, but never this neatly. Sometimes it smudged under her eyes. Sometimes she wore dark lipstick to shock people. I liked her best completely nude. I don’t want to be thinking about Shana-fucking-Lanzo right now, but thi
s is the most turned on I’ve been since she left. Left—and never looked back.
I lean in and drop the act so Amelia knows I’m serious. “I won’t. If you have even the tiniest hope that I will, I’ll leave. I like you. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I have no hope,” she says without hesitation. I hear the dryness of her throat, the determination in her voice. She wants nothing from me as badly as I want nothing from her. We’re a perfect match.
“Then let me in,” I say.
She does.
FIVE
Amelia’s apartment is clean, and not just tidy. The walls are so white I wonder if they were recently painted. There aren’t any marks on the blonde wood flooring. She has two great windows, but because this isn’t one of the top floors, the view is mostly of the apartments across the street. As dusk settles, lights flicker on in neighboring buildings.
“Drink?” she asks from the kitchen.
“Sure.” I stick my hands in my pockets and look around. The Upper West Side apartment is bigger than any I’ve been to in the city, but still significantly smaller than my house. From where I stand in the living room, I can see into the kitchen and her bedroom at the same time. She makes good use of the space with a large mirror propped against one wall, and a slim, gray couch that faces an empty space on the wall. I might’ve guessed she wouldn’t have a television. She doesn’t seem like the type to embrace guilty pleasures.
“Nice place,” I say.
“Still think I’m a prissy city girl?” she asks.
“More than ever.”
“Good.”
In the center of the coffee table sits three glass globes of varying sizes. I lean closer for a better look. The bottom halves are sloping layers of white rock and soil. They’re topped with green, blooming succulents edged in purple and pink. Each vessel has an opening large enough for a hand. I have space for a garden in my backyard but no interest in cultivating it. Bell has asked for roses, not that she understands anything beyond the fact that they’re pretty.
“Where’d you get these plants?” I ask.
Slip of the Tongue Series: The Complete Boxed Set Page 40
