by Maya Rodale
The elevator doors opened. We walked through them, and strolled silently down the hall. Duke put his hand on my ass.
“Really?” I asked, meaning to sound sarcastic but actually sounding breathless.
“Really.”
Duke unlocked the door, I stepped in behind him and it softly clicked shut behind us.
“Hey,” he said softly.
“Hey,” I whispered. My heart was pounding. God, I was nervous.
“Now where were we?” He asked with a wicked gleam in his eye.
He gently tied the silk around my eyes. It wasn’t what I’d expected—I thought he’d bind my wrists and do all sorts of wicked things to me while I was helpless to resist. Then again, the night was still young.
He unzipped my dress, and it fell with a whoosh to the floor. Taking my hand he led me away from the door. With my eyes closed I was at his mercy. For all I knew he could be recording this or taking pictures or—
I felt his jeans pockets for his phone. It was there.
“Much as I would kill for pictures of you like this, I won’t take any,” he murmured.
“I would kill you.”
“You know, Jane, you could ruin me with this secret of ours. Remember that.”
I could, couldn’t I? He might have been the billionaire, and I was getting a favor out of this. But in the meantime, vulnerable as I was in this moment, I was not powerless in this relationship. If that’s what it was. Stop overthinking things, Jane.
“Take this ridiculous T-shirt off,” I said.
He laughed and I reached out and felt that his shirt was gone. His skin was warm to my touch. Palms flat, I explored his chest, broad, flat and strong. He sucked in his breath as my fingers gently caressed his nipples.
He kissed my smile. Hot, possessive, rough. As if this was something that he’d been wanting for days. If I was being honest with myself, I’d been craving this since the moment I first set eyes upon him at the Hush party. So I melted into the kiss I had craved. I tried to memorize the taste, the sounds, the feelings as if I knew deep down this wouldn’t last. But then his hands pushed down the strap of my bra and he expertly unhooked the clasp. I sighed, feeling free.
He took my breasts in his hands, big and strong and his mouth, hot and wicked. I gasped. I sighed. I moaned. I was like That Girl in the library, but louder. I thought I’d die from this alone.
I was already ready for him. But he still wore his damned jeans and now he was—
“Never thought I’d say this, but I wish I had another tie,” he murmured as he firmly clasped my wrists behind my back and sank to his knees before me.
“Oh,” I sighed. His mouth, there. Me, in some sort of heaven. I exhaled slowly and allowed myself to surrender to all the sensations rocketing through me.
“Oh God,” I moaned as his tongue traced slow, lazy circles around and around and around while a heat inside me started to build. My knees started to feel weak. I needed to touch him, run my fingers through his hair, hold onto to something because I was slowly but surely slipping away into that sweet oblivion. The pressure was building. Heat rising. I was gasping for air and couldn’t get enough.
He didn’t stop, no. Hell no.
“Duke . . .” He just kept doing that thing with his tongue and I really couldn’t stand or breathe for very much longer. I was hit with that crazy, just-about-bursting desire. He released my wrists. Then he did wicked things with his fingers, his mouth, me, there and I was gone . . .
I cried out, loudly. I sank to my knees. He caught me in his arms.
And that was just the beginning.
He removed the tie, threw it aside, lifted me up and tossed me onto the bed.
Throw down, as Roxanna would say. Sam did not have throw down. And that was the last I thought of Sam all night.
Duke stripped off his jeans and everything else before joining me on the bed, settling his weight on top of me. I felt him, hard, pressing up against me and I was ready, oh so ready. “Jane,” he whispered as if to ask permission, as if to ask if I had any second thoughts. As if I could stop now.
“Yes.” Dear God, yes. I needed this, and I needed it now. I was so wet, so ready. He reached over to the bedside table, pulled out a condom, ripped open the foil, and put it on. My heart was still racing. My desire only increased. I moaned as he slowly pushed himself inside me, making me feel full, complete and totally at his mercy. I closed my eyes. Then he began to move with long slow thrusts that left me intensely aware of every sensation . . .
His stubble, rough against my neck. His breath in my ear revealing how much he wanted this and how much going slow was killing him too. His hands, holding mine, pinning them to the bed. I fought back at that . . . I needed to touch him.
Desperate for more, I wrapped my arms around his back so I could feel him deeper inside me. Deeper and deeper, harder and faster. His mouth crashed on mine for a fierce, urgent kiss. I couldn’t think anymore, I couldn’t breathe I couldn’t do anything but feel that insane pressure intensifying until I just. Could. Not. Take it. Anymore. I cried out, oh so loud, he gave a shout and we collapsed, catching our breath.
And that was just the first time. That night.
Chapter Eight
* * *
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THE NEXT MORNING we woke up in each other’s arms. I nestled into the warmth, having missed this kind of intimacy. For all the ways of connecting these days, nothing beat skin to skin. Nothing like a kiss, nothing like him slowly entering me, nothing like not being sure what was real and what was still a dream. It wasn’t long before I was crying out in pleasure and it wasn’t much longer after that before he came, too.
While he got up to shower and check email, I stayed in bed.
“Order room service. Go shopping. Write your novel. Whatever you want,” he said, kissing me quickly on his way out. “I’ll be in meetings all day.”
I ordered a pot of coffee, French toast with whipped cream and a side of crispy bacon. Then I started writing. Maybe, just maybe, I could finish this story and make an honest woman of myself. I indulged in a fantasy of showing up at the reunion with a published novel, and Duke on my arm. I may have fled the wreckage of my life and all the curious bystanders, but I could return triumphant.
The plot of my novel was ripped from my real life. But it was a romance novel, so I could be pretty sure Duke would never read it. He’d never know about the hero, the Duke of Ashbrooke, who was based upon him, including that wicked grin, the way that he moved through a crowded room like he was Somebody and the whole world got out of his way until one too many scandals and one fake engagement announcement changed the game.
I switched from my word doc to Google. Some research was in order. Fingers hovering over the keys, I thought about typing in DUKE AUSTEN. Did I want to know? Of course I did. But did I want to know from the Internet or from the man himself?
I texted Roxanna.
Jane Sparks: Is it wrong to Google Duke?
Roxanna Lane: I can’t believe you didn’t already.
I typed in the letters of his name, one by one, and clicked search.
Results came instantly. Duke, on every social network. His website, which included links back to his bio on Project-TK’s webpage and more links of how to connect with him. His Wikipedia page was much more forthcoming with the information I sought. Even more revealing were the profiles and interviews with him in Vanity Fair, Fast Company, Forbes and Time.
The headlines alone were revealing: Third Time’s A Charm? Can Silicon Alley’s Resident Bad Boy Redeem himself?
From Wikipedia:
Duke Austen, American tech entrepreneur, was the founder of two notable, but unsuccessful startups. His first startup, Findr.com, failed after questions were raised about its legality and the company declared bankruptcy from its legal fees—but not before Austen made and lost a billion dollars, earning him the name “the bad boy billionaire.” His second company, Friend.ly, was named “one to watch”
by Fast Company but lost its users to rival startup Facebook at an unprecedented pace. The failure is attributed to many missed opportunities and alienating potential investors and business partners by Duke Austen’s failure to attend meetings, adhere to deadlines or maintain cordial business relationships.
Vanity Fair covered his early years with a six-page article, complete with glossy photographs of Duke in his apartment with the Manhattan skyline lit up behind him and with a bevy of gorgeous, scantily clad models draped all over him.
After his parents died tragically in a car accident (which Duke miraculously survived), he went to live with his aunt, Ada, who was a professor of computer science at the local university. When the boy showed signs of a genius level intelligence—and a series of disciplinary problems—she taught him to code and gave him increasingly difficult projects in order to keep him out of trouble.
It worked. To a point.
From the New York Times:
We would like to apologize for a recent security breach that resulted in an offensive article being published on our website. The perpetrator, a juvenile, has been apprehended by the FBI and will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.
There were then pages and pages of pictures, featuring everything from stylized photographs for glossy magazines to blurry shots taken by camera phones at parties. Nearly all of them with girls, models, actresses . . . The kind of Done Up girls that made mere mortals feel so very not quite.
I was so not his type.
Which was exactly the point of this fauxmance.
Which was something I really ought to keep reminding myself. I glanced down at the sparkling hunk of rock on my left ring finger.
It’s not real, Jane.
It doesn’t mean anything, Jane.
Two words, Jane: Cubic Zirconia.
With a troubled heart, I clicked away all the articles and images and returned to my novel more determined than ever to make a success of since it was clear that Duke and I had no real future.
I wrote for hours. When I needed a break, I flipped through the hotel TV offerings and watched The Hunger Games, which totally sparked my imagination and sent me back to my story.
My room service meals came and went. I took a break to shower and dressed in a pair of skinny jeans, my grey sweater set (which I actually needed since it was crazy cold in San Francisco even though it was summer), black patent leather ballet flats and, just to drive the point home, a pair of pearl stud earrings. I didn’t bother doing my hair since, with any luck, it’d just end up a tousled mess. Again. Instead I wore it in a bun high atop my head. Prim spinster, indeed.
LATER THAT NIGHT we survived another dinner. When I wasn’t completely mystified by their tech talk, we were dodging more questions about our wedding, our first date, and when we knew the other was The One.
“Sometimes you just know,” I said, but I was thinking of Sam. I missed the comfort I felt with him, which was the opposite of uncertainty and tingly anticipation that I felt with Duke. When he looked at me across the table, I felt the fluttering of butterflies in my stomach. My skin tingled, as if in anticipation. Cubic Zirconia, Jane.
“Jane makes me a better man,” Duke told everyone. It was exactly what everyone wanted to hear. I smiled and blushed and felt warm and lovely from the compliment. Cubic Zirconia, Jane. Cubic Zirconia.
Duke held my hand as we exited the restaurant. Everyone was watching, so I decided it didn’t mean anything.
In the elevator up to our room, he kissed me so passionately that there was no doubting what was happening next.
Behind us, the door to our room clicked softly in the latch.
No one made a move to turn the lights on.
Any thoughts of real or not real, diamonds or cubic zirconia, faded. The only thing that mattered was his skin against mine. His T-shirt and my sweater set hit the floor. It all came off, a trail of clothes strewn from the door to the bed.
His mouth doing wicked things to me, kissing me all over. Everywhere. My mouth doing wicked things to him. All over. Everywhere. Hands caressing and exploring . . . until that tie reappeared. Duke wound it around my wrists, binding them together and leaving me under his control.
I opened my mouth to protest. He silenced me with a kiss.
I struggled slightly against the silk. Duke laced his fingers with mine and pinned my hands to the mattress above my head. His gaze locked with mine. For a second, I found it impossible to breath.
“You’re gonna like this, Jane,” he murmured. I knew he was right. I was just . . . nervous and excited and curious and a bit scared and . . . his mouth closed around the pink center of my breast and I just sighed, sinking into all the exquisite sensations.
His hands roamed over my bare skin. I wanted desperately to touch him back. He laughed softly as I writhed under his touch. I only smiled wickedly in response. Even in the dark, he saw. He paid attention to the kisses that made me moan and the caresses that made me sigh. He discovered just how to touch me to drive me crazy.
Duke’s fingers started to work their magic. I felt the heat increasing and pressure building. I was wet and ready and desperate to feel him inside me. And I was loud about it.
“Shhh, you’ll wake the neighbors,” he murmured. For the first time, I didn’t care because I didn’t know the neighbors and I wouldn’t ever have to see them.
“Who cares about them?” I panted. If I didn’t come soon . . .
Duke reached over to the bedside table for a condom, ripped open the wrapper and put it on. And tortured me with his hands and mouth some more. With the pressure building, I couldn’t take it. I fussed with the silk tie, managing to free my hands.
Finally I could touch him and I savored the solid warmth of his chest. I skimmed my fingernails down his back and pressed my palm against his lower back and urged him to me. I needed him. Now. I couldn’t quite manage the words. But I could cry out when he entered me at a torturously slow pace.
I writhed beneath him. We found our rhythm. Then we lost it in a frantic rush of almost too much pleasure all at once. I couldn’t tell where I ended and he began. I cried out, overwhelmed. He groaned then shouted my name as he came.
We lay in bed for a while after that, just catching our breath and waiting for racing hearts to return to normal. The room was dark—but light from the city shone through the window.
We climbed under the tangled mess of blankets.
Beside me, Duke laughed softly to himself.
“I can’t decide if you’re keeping me out of trouble. Or not.” He turned his head toward me and I saw the slight grin on his mouth.
“What do you mean?”
“On one hand, I’m not out at clubs, with other girls. And drinking too much, and getting into fights that are filmed and posted online before heading home with said girls.”
Girls. Plural. I decided to let that one go. He was just a guy after all.
“But then again we’re not exactly chaste and proper,” I said, turning to face him. He rolled over onto his side to face me.
“Chaste and proper?” he said with a laugh. I blushed, in the dark. “Am I in bed with Jane Sparks or Jane Austen?” he asked.
“Haha.” I’d been writing all day in Regency-speak and I didn’t exactly have my wits about me enough to filter out old-fashioned language.
“But we’re engaged, so it’s OK,” he said softly.
“Do you think people really believe it?”
“Sure. They want to. There’s enough evidence that it’s easy to.”
“Project-TK means a lot to you,” I said. Of course I knew that. But what started out as a crazy scheme was now turning into something bigger. I was afraid it would become real. Or that I would fall for him. I couldn’t forget that—
“Yeah. Everything,” he murmured. Project-TK was everything to him. I was doing him a favor and getting something out of it myself—namely, orgasms, travel and a date to the reunion. He was getting so much more out of this.
“I
Googled you today,” I told him.
“Only today?”
“Call me old fashioned, but I had this idea that I would learn about you from you,” I said. “So tell me something that’s not on the Internet.”
Duke’s expression became serious. Thoughtful.
“I’m not really engaged,” he said quietly. I laughed and rolled my eyes.
“I know that.”
“You know my one secret,” he said. But I got the sense that there were more and that he wasn’t sharing anytime soon. Of course, I was desperate to know. But I knew pushing wouldn’t work.
“I used to nag Sam to tell me stuff.”
“Your ex?”
“Yeah,” I said. They we lay in silence for a moment. Side by side. He pushed a lock of hair away from my face. “Aren’t you going to ask what I nagged him about?”
“I’m assuming you wanted to know all his deepest thoughts and feelings,” Duke said. “And you wanted him to tell you you’re pretty and perfect and all that.”
“Am I that predictable?”
“You’re a girl.”
“Ugh,” I said and rolled over on my back to stare up at the ceiling.
“Alright, so here’s something I’ve been wondering,” Duke said. “I owe you a favor. Anything you want, I could give you. For example, I could have—and would have—written you a check for ten million dollars. You’d be set for life. And yet you ask me to be your date to your high school reunion. What’s that about?”
I laughed softly. “I really sold myself short there, didn’t I?”
“It sounds like you care what people think of you. A lot.”
“I suppose it’s pathetic,” I said. But I could still feel the pity-eyes I got from everyone back home. And I could still feel the sickening sensation of the floor falling out from under me when, after I’d lost my job, my boyfriend of twelve years broke up with me. Gone, in just a second.
But Duke didn’t give me the pity-eyes.
“Nah, I think I get it,” he said. “I don’t need the money from Project-TK. As long as I can afford all the Mac products I want, I’m set. But after my first two companies going bust so publicly, I need this one to work. I don’t want everyone to think of me as Almost Makes It Austen. Or whatever.”
