by Laura Moore
Table of Contents
Title Page
Dedication
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
NIGHT SWIMMING
Also by Laura Moore
Copyright Page
To my brothers, Peter and Adam
“I came by to see whether you want me now.” There was a slight pause, then Alex added, “For the sketch.”
“Uh, sure. Now is great.”
But when Alex walked into the studio, and Gen got a good look at him, she wasn’t so certain this was a good time after all. His light gray T-shirt clung to the muscled contours of his chest. Imagining the play of muscles beneath the thin cotton had Gen’s throat constricting. She swallowed hard. “Um, would you mind taking off your shirt?” she asked, appalled at the betraying huskiness of her voice.
He grinned mischievously. Grabbing the hem of his shirt, he slowly began peeling it off of his torso.
Riveted, Gen watched as inch by inch his tanned body was revealed.
“I think this is a bad idea,” she whispered. “A really bad idea.”
Alex’s smile widened and the pulsing heat inside her quickened. “Have I told you yet that you’re a rotten liar, Genevieve Monaghan?” He murmured as his hands reached up to frame her face. Aware only that she was breathless with desire, breathless for him, Gen’s lips parted.
ONE
Her breathless moans filled the darkened room, an-swering his every thrust. Alex felt her fingers curl, her nails raking the width of his back as she urged him on. Accommodating her unspoken demands, he drove himself deeper, harder still. Abruptly, her moans were transformed, channeled into a single, suspended cry that echoed off the walls of the spacious bedroom. He felt her convulse then melt around him.
No sooner had she recovered than Sydney arched against his pelvis, pressing close. “More. Give me more,” she panted as she wrapped her legs around his hips. Her hands shifted in a downward sweep, clutching feverishly.
His gaze swept over Sydney’s flushed face. Her eyes were glazed, lost in a haze of passion. He flexed his hips, sheathing himself within her, then, in one fluid motion, slipped his arm beneath the small of her back and rolled, bringing her with him as they switched positions. He exhaled as her nails left his back, replaced by the smoothness of the bedsheets.
Clasping her hips, Alex guided her until she’d found the rhythm, a slow grind that left her gasping, her head thrown back in rapture. His broad hands roamed, sliding over her sweat-dampened skin, stroking as they traveled upward to cup her swaying breasts. He swept his thumbs back and forth over her nipples.
Shuddering, Sydney moved against his hands, her breath catching then rushing out, ragged and quick. She was almost there, damn close to the edge, Alex thought. He shifted, raising his torso so his mouth could reach her. His teeth closed over her turgid nipple, biting down gently. As if on cue, Sydney exploded. Her inner muscles clenched violently, milking him.
Alex’s cock responded. He tensed, swelling and growing inside her, his hands grasping as he surged into her slick heat one last time and found his release. With a low groan, his mouth closed over hers, swallowing her shattered scream.
Like a curtain lowering, postcoital quiet descended. The silence was broken when Sydney rolled over onto her side to face him. “No one can make me come like you do, Alex,” she purred, skimming her fingers over the muscled contours of his chest. His pecs twitched involuntarily at the sudden memory of her nails scoring his flesh.
Sydney snuggled closer so she could press her lips to the base of his throat. With a soft sigh, she dropped her head back onto the pillow, seeming not to notice that Alex had neither replied nor offered a casual caress in return. He felt her sated body relax against his, and grow heavy as sleep claimed her. Her breathing slowed and deepened, fanning dry the sweat on his skin.
When he was certain she was fast asleep, he swung his legs over the bed and padded into the adjacent bathroom. Dropping his condom into the wastebasket, he flicked on the bathroom lights then blinked, accustoming his eyes to the sudden brightness. He turned to the sink and was abruptly confronted with his reflection in the mirrored medicine cabinet.
He stared dispassionately, cataloging the details of his face: dark blond hair, pale blue eyes, squared chin . . .
Yeah, he looked the same as ever. So what had changed? Why was it that the sex he’d just experienced left him cold and empty, with nothing more memorable to show for it than an aching head and a lacerated back? Why did he suddenly wish he were anywhere else in the world than here in this Central Park South penthouse with a beautiful woman lying naked and replete in his bed, a woman who’d climaxed three times in his arms? He didn’t know what had triggered the change in him, but he knew for certain that the act that Sydney Raines and he had just performed was precisely that: an act. Empty and meaningless.
Filled with a sudden impatience, Alex yanked open the cabinet door, banishing his blue-eyed reflection. He rummaged among the first-aid creams and sprays and boxes of Band-Aids and gauze pads he kept stocked for visits from Sophie and Jamie, his niece and nephew, before finding the aspirin. He opened the bottle and with a quick toss of his head downed two of them, then bent over the faucet for a long drink of cold water. Shutting the cabinet, he carefully kept his gaze averted from its mirrored front. He’d had enough soul-searching for one night.
He walked over to the shower stall and pulled the glass door open. Reaching in, he turned the water on full blast. It didn’t take long for the marble cubicle to fill with clouds of steam. He stepped inside and let the soft grayness envelop him. Arms braced against the tiles, he emptied his mind of everything except the lashing sting of hot water beating on his scored flesh, welcoming the pain like an old, familiar friend.
Alex didn’t bother with sleep. As the clock’s hands crept toward five, he pushed his chair away from his computer monitor, which glowed with numbers and deciles courtesy of the Nippon stock exchange, and wandered over to stand by the penthouse’s oversize windows. Hands fisted inside his jeans pockets, he stared out at the park that lay stretched below, twenty-six stories down. An ever-changing quilt, this morning the fifty-some-block-long rectangle that delineated Central Park was dominated by light browns and grays and soft, pale greens. Near the southern end of the park, just below his bare feet, was a liberal smattering of bright pink that signaled the riotous bloom of the cherry trees.
Perhaps it was the angle of the dawn’s light. Whatever the reason, Alex had a sudden urge to pull on his sweats and running shoes and go down to the park for his morning run. A voice inside his head chimed in, told him that if he went now—right now—he would see her, the mystery woman, flying down the hill near 102nd Street on her Rollerblades, her massive hound galloping flat out by her side.
The population of New York City was around ten million; densely packed Manhattan boasted close to two million. Yet there were moments when this teeming metropolis shrank to the size of a small town. Six o’clock in the
morning in Central Park was one of those times. The people out then, whether running, cycling, or blading around the six-mile loop—however disparate their lives the other twenty-three hours of the day—were bound by their need to get that rush of endorphins racing through their systems.
The mystery woman belonged to this select group. Watching for her had become a ritual; an actual sighting never failed to brighten his mood. A New York miracle was how Alex thought of her. Each time he saw her, he was struck anew by how wild, how unfettered she seemed, a glorious contrast to the gritty cement and steel jungle that surrounded them . . . and Alex would find himself grinning, grateful to be alive right here and now, a witness to this brief, incredible spectacle.
It had taken nearly half a dozen sightings before he’d even been sure his hurtling Rollerblader was a woman. Bundled in a dark watch cap, fleece jacket, sweatpants, and thick gloves, she didn’t exactly advertise her sex as she sped around the park. She was more a blur of long scissoring legs, the enormous dog beside her all flying fur and lolling tongue. Then, one morning he’d heard her laugh. Definitely a woman’s laughter—light and musical—it had floated in the crisp dawn air as she acknowledged the awed, startled shout of “Holy shit!” from the two cyclists she’d flown past.
His fascination with the Rollerblader had grown with each sighting. Recently, he’d caught himself thinking of her at odd moments, as if she’d taken hold of his subconscious.
Which was why Alex couldn’t, wouldn’t permit himself to go out looking for her today. Not when he knew what lay ahead. It didn’t matter that the woman from the park was destined to remain yet another anonymous New Yorker, one he wouldn’t recognize or even look for anywhere else in the city. His personal code refused to entertain pleasurable albeit innocent thoughts of one woman when he was going to hurt another shortly.
Again. God, he’d done this so many times before, he should have the technique patented. The Alex Miller Method of breaking up. Guaranteed results.
He cursed softly and then stiffened. Unconsciously his mouth hardened in a grim line as from the bedroom behind him he heard the shrill ring of the alarm clock. Sydney would be out in a matter of minutes, ready to sit down with her Wall Street Journal, juice, and cappuccino. For a second, he was tempted to maintain his silence and put off the unpleasantness. But no, he couldn’t. To do so would only delay the inevitable. It wasn’t as if he needed more time to analyze his feelings or, more precisely, his lack of feelings.
A damned shame. Sydney Raines was beautiful, intelligent, and dynamic . . . and that was pretty much how Alex felt about his Aston Martin, too.
She deserved better than that.
Alex waited until they were seated at the oval marble table to break the news. Sydney stared, her cup of cappuccino poised in midair. “Excuse me, Alex, what did you say? I can’t have heard you correctly. Did you just say, ‘It’s time we ended this. I’m not the man for you, Sydney’? If so, I’m afraid I don’t share your sense of humor. It’s a pretty bad joke.” Her cool smile underscored her annoyance as she brought the cup to her lips.
“I’m sorry but I wasn’t joking. It’s over between us.” Holding her gaze he saw her brown eyes widen as they filled with comprehension and outrage.
The cup was lowered with a clatter of porcelain, the noise magnified in the suddenly tense atmosphere. Sydney’s slender throat worked until at last she managed a hoarse, “What do you mean, ‘it’s over’? How can it be over?”
Alex kept his tone calm. “I’m not interested in a deeper commitment. I care about you, Sydney, but—”
“You care about me, but you’re breaking up with me? What kind of a line is that?” she cried. Jumping to her feet, she began pacing back and forth, her black kimono making a slippery sound, like the first breath of a storm. “You can’t possibly be serious about ending our relationship. We’ve been together for almost six months. What we have is good—no, fantastic. How can you talk about ending it?”
“Sydney,” Alex said and raked his hair in frustration. “None of this is your fault. It’s mine. I’m a dead-end street. Not what you deserve.”
She whirled, her glossy dark hair swinging about her shoulders, and glared furiously. “I know exactly what I deserve. I deserve mar—”
“No, Sydney,” Alex said, cutting her off before she could finish. “I told you from the very beginning, when we started seeing each other, I’m not interested in getting married. I would never have gotten involved if you’d said—”
“I’ve changed my mind!”
His eyebrows shot upward. Yes, that much was obvious. “Well, I’m afraid I haven’t,” he drawled coolly.
Sydney continued as if she hadn’t heard him. “But instead of proposing, you intend to humiliate me in front of my friends and my clients! What will I say to them? Everyone thinks we’re a couple. And Mother— she’s already begun looking for hotels with dining rooms large enough to hold the wedding party!” Her voice cracked and she covered her face with her hands. Beneath the silk kimono, her shoulders shook.
Despite Sydney’s distress, Alex felt a wave of relief wash over him. She hadn’t once said she loved him. A rather glaring and telling omission under the circumstances. Obviously some part of her recognized the truth of it, that neither of them really loved the other. Alex knew he had faults aplenty. Hypocrisy wasn’t one of them. He refused to marry someone he didn’t truly love. Better that he behave like a bastard now than make false promises and destroy both Sydney and himself in a sham of a marriage.
Her shoulders were still shaking. “Come on, Sydney.” At the sound of his voice, Sydney lifted her face from the shield of her hands. Her brown eyes, awash in tears, were fixed on him. “Come on,” he repeated gently. “Surely you’re exaggerating. Your mother wouldn’t be shopping for a place to hold a reception unless—” He broke off as her gaze slid away.
Oh, hell. He rubbed a hand across his brow. “You didn’t,” he said in a weary tone.
“Yes. Yes, I did,” she fired back. “I told Mother you were bound to propose soon. We’re practically living together, and you haven’t looked twice at—oh, God,” she cried, her voice filled with anguish. “That’s it, isn’t it?”
Alex shook his head. “No, Sydney, there’s no one else.”
Her face, tight with suspicion, searched his. Slowly, slowly she relaxed. “No, of course there’s no one else,” she repeated, as if to reassure herself.
Listening to her, Alex felt a surge of compassion. He could still recall the night when Sydney indulged in one too many martinis. Worried that she might inadvertently injure herself if left on her own, after the party was over, Alex had taken her back to his apartment.
By the time the night air hit her, she was barely able to stand, let alone undress herself. Alex had helped her out of her clothes, letting her fall against his bowed back as he dealt with her stockings and heels. For some reason, this simple act had caused an emotional meltdown. Bewildered, he’d carried a sobbing Sydney to his bed, then held her as she revealed in disjointed bits and pieces her deepest pain. That was the one and only time he’d heard her mention the name Richard Raines, the father who’d abandoned her and her mother when Sydney was eight years old to run off with another woman.
The tear-soaked tale had illuminated much about Sydney’s personality, permitting Alex to understand what fueled her seemingly tireless ambition, her desire to be and to have the best. It all stemmed from a hopeless, twenty-year-long wish . . . a little girl’s desperate and unfulfilled wish.
By breaking up with Sydney, Alex realized he was adding to the damage inflicted by her callous father. But however bad he felt for her, he couldn’t continue the affair. “Listen, Sydney, I’m sorry, but we’ve got to end this. So you can find someone—”
“But, Alex, I don’t want anyone else.” Swiftly she crossed the room, dropping to her knees before his chair. Alex made to stand but she pressed her body against him, closing her hands over his thighs, flattening her lush breasts against
his knees. He felt his muscles turn rock hard.
In the charged silence, he stared into her upturned face, taking in her flawless complexion, the way her mouth was parted in a sultry smile. In one distant corner of his brain he wondered what the hell was wrong with him. Sydney Raines was beautiful and smart. A million men would die to have her down on her knees, that temptress’s light ablaze in her eyes.
As if sensing Alex’s indecision, she rose and pressed her soft lips to his. Her perfume wafted in the air. “Alex, darling,” she whispered. “Don’t shut me out. I know you care for me. I know it. Nobody makes me feel like you do.”
“Don’t inflate sex into something it isn’t, Sydney,” he said bluntly. “The sex has been good between us, but there’s got to be more to make a relationship last. Which we don’t have.”
“How can you be sure when you won’t give us a chance?” Correctly reading the closed expression on his face, her tone grew mulish. “No, I refuse, I simply refuse to give you up!”
A chill stole through him at her words. “Let me ask you something, Sydney. You know how volatile the stock market is these days. What if I were to lose everything, every last penny? Would you still want to be with me?”
He watched carefully. Her face was close enough to catch the betraying flicker that crossed it. To her credit, Sydney recovered quickly, even managing a light laugh. “Don’t be absurd, Alex.”
“I try not to be.”
“You’re brilliant, a financial genius. That would never happen.”
“Maybe, maybe not.” He shrugged, no longer interested in the conversation. A glance at the light pouring in through the windows told him it was getting late. He stood and brushed past her kneeling form. “Listen, I’m going to be pretty busy with work these next few days. I’ll leave a note for Rose telling her to let you in so you can pick up your things.”
Rising gracefully to her feet, she approached him. “Sending me packing, Alex?” she asked. “I’m afraid it won’t be that easy. I’m not a quitter. I won’t give up on you—on us. I realize what I’ve done wrong—I haven’t been paying you the right kind of attention. . . .” Her smile grew bold, full of her signature confidence. Through the silk of her robe, Alex saw her nipples had hardened.
