Summer in the City: The perfect feel-good summer romance

by Emma Jackson

  As the afternoon progressed into evening, the noise level outside of Stephen’s apartment rose. I continued working even when the music began, the pounding beats of the live show that preceded Macy’s epic fireworks display carrying to us in the quiet living room.

  Stephen had been as good as his word and not bothered me at all, silently depositing cups of coffee, glasses of water, healthy snacks and dinner within reach before I even thought about the fact I was hungry. A pressing deadline of this kind was frankly the only thing that could have kept my attention away from him as he moved around his apartment, reading, cooking, sorting laundry. He was being completely normal, boring and domesticated and, somehow, utterly, fascinatingly attractive.

  Someone was singing the ‘Stars and Stripes’ when I realised I had done all the structural manoeuvring for the plot and needed to step away from it now before I did a final read-through and tidied up some of the most offensive typos. My mission was kind of accomplished and I…didn’t feel as awful as I thought I would. I was brain dead, yes, and tired but not to the point where I thought I was going to need a fluid drip and a week in bed. And that was thanks to Stephen.

  I looked over to the sofa where he was quietly working on his laptop, the glow from the screen making the lines on his face sharper than ever. Inside his apartment it was all shadows of varying shades of grey as neither of us had bothered to turn on a light.

  ‘Hey, this song usually means the fireworks are about to start,’ I said.

  He looked up. ‘Outside?’

  ‘Well, not in here I hope.’ I smiled and he rolled his eyes with a half-smile.

  ‘Are you done for the day? Shall I walk you home or…’ He was uncharacteristically hesitant as he put his laptop aside and stood up. ‘Would you like to watch the fireworks?’

  ‘Oh, could I? You’re gonna have such an amazing view from here.’ Perhaps I should have felt awkward about outstaying my welcome but I was so full of relief and exhaustion after finishing the biggest part of my revisions, I couldn’t bear the thought of going home to just collapse on my bed. I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving, when I’d spent all this time around him and not even really talked to him. What kind of gratitude would that show?

  He smiled – that wide, devastating movie-star smile he had – putting my mind at rest that he wanted shot of me. ‘Would you like a beer?’

  ‘That would be perfect.’ While he was looking inside his refrigerator, I got to my feet and stretched, rolling my neck so it crunched. God, I’d been hunched over for hours. The table was right next to the windows and just in the corner of the room was a Juliet balcony.

  ‘D’you mind if I open this?’

  ‘Go ahead.’ He came over with two opens bottles, handed me one, then stood back. Of course. He wouldn’t want to stand there; we were too high. I hesitated a moment, the fresh air calling to me but the desire to be close to him was even stronger. He was leaning back against the edge of the table, facing the river, and I piled my notebooks up and pushed them out of the way so I could hop up and sit next to him.

  He’d changed at some point, into a soft grey T-shirt and sweats. They were loose and comfortable-looking but clung to him in a myriad of places that made my brain feel like it was going to short-circuit: the curve of his bicep; the long, strong lines of his back; resting on his narrow hips. With my book now out of my head, all I seemed to have space to think about was him.

  ‘Are you going to meet your deadline now?’ he asked.

  ‘In a way. Enough that I’m not worried about torpedoing my career anymore.’

  ‘That’s worth a toast of some kind then.’ He raised his bottle up towards me.

  ‘It is, but I’ve run out of the good words. Something-something-yay.’ I raised my bottle and clinked it to his as he laughed. We both took a drink and quiet fell between us.

  He cleared his throat. ‘Can I ask you something?’

  ‘Sure. I’m not sure how much sense I’ll make when I try to answer but go for it.’

  ‘Beth said you wanted to speak to her urgently at the weekend. Was that…was that to tell her about Nick wanting to propose?’

  I racked my brain trying to think what he was referring to and shook my head. I had wanted to speak to Beth but not about Nick. I’d wanted to talk to her about Stephen. I remembered sending the message once I got home, my head full of how it had felt to find myself curled up against him in the taxi on the way home. How I’d wanted to drag him into my apartment, drunk on his presence and desperate for more of him. But I’d resisted and I’d needed to speak to someone who would understand everything, who knew him and would be fair about her advice. About whether I needed to ignore my growing feelings for him or…do something else.

  But he thought I’d been going behind his back to betray his confidence? I was all ready to feel completely outraged about it when I remembered that was what I’d done at New Year.

  ‘No.’ I shook my head, putting my bottle down beside me on the table and pushing my hair back from my face. ‘No. I wasn’t going to tell her that. It was about something else. Of course I won’t – that would ruin it.’

  ‘Great. Good. Nick would’ve been so angry with me.’ He exhaled heavily and nodded, picking at the label on his beer bottle. For a moment he looked so much younger, like a teenager who had broken something precious and mended it before he got found out.

  If he’d been so worried about me doing that, why had he still been offering to help me out today? Seriously, what had I done to deserve him looking out for me this way? This wasn’t how men like him acted was it? Just like at the weekend when he pitched in with my family and rocked little Brigid to sleep, and so many other little things he’d said and done over the last few weeks that kept screaming at me that I’d got him wrong.

  And what had he got wrong about himself? He was convinced that he couldn’t have a relationship because he was just like his dad, but the man sitting next to me couldn’t seem further from it.

  The first fireworks went off in a line down the edge of the Brooklyn Bridge, and then the red, white and blue plumes blossomed up against the black sky. Cheers went up as the display grew larger and noisier.

  ‘Oh, they’re my favourites,’ I said, pointing out the swirling snake-like spirals that lifted up and up near the bank of the river. The water glittered beneath the overlapping booms and sparkles, but I missed half of it because I was too busy watching Stephen. How the flashing lights threw shadows across the angles of his face, and he looked different and more beautiful every time.

  The noise built to a roar over the next half hour; we could hear whoops and shouts as rockets screamed overhead. At some point I found myself pressing my arm against his, my right hand lined up against his left as we held on to the edge of the table. Between the swirling colours, the sedative of the beer and my own fatigue, I was too tired to resist the pull my body felt towards his.

  ‘I know I’m probably biased, but this firework show is pretty spectacular,’ I said as the last giant fireworks fanned out across the black sky, raining silver down on the city. There was a collective moment of silence and then raucous applause lifted up. ‘What did you think? This was your first July Fourth in the US, right? I know spending it indoors with me is probably not the best way to appreciate the experience…’

  He grinned out the window at the drifting smoke, turned his smile on me. ‘It was spectacular, I’m never going to forget this.’ I wouldn’t forget it either, but I wondered if it was for the same reason. ‘Am I allowed to enjoy the Fourth of July though, being a Brit? Aren’t I the enemy?’

  I was at war with myself. This fierce burning longing had been wrapping its tendrils around me around like a climbing vine for days, weeks if I was honest. I didn’t have the strength to slice myself free and face the cold exposure when it was gone. Not yet.

  ‘You’re not the enemy,’ I murmured, lifting my little finger from where it rested and hooking it over his. ‘That’s all in the past.’

  He
looked down at our little pinkies, this tiny but undeniable move I’d made to cross into yet more new territory. When we stood or sat so close we bumped shoulders, it could be accidental. Linking my arm through his? A gesture I’d make with any one of my friends, male or female. But my little finger wrapped over his own; this was intent. He knew enough about body language, about me, to know this was different.

  His gaze found mine again and my heart was loud in my ears, thudding like more fireworks were going off. I couldn’t look away from the rich darkness of his eyes. I leaned in closer, the way I had on the Ferris wheel, but he wasn’t on the back foot this time, weakened from the panic overtaking his body, and I had no excuses for doing this, other than the fact I wanted to. I felt so small, moving towards him, the breadth of his shoulders, the warmth of his hard chest like a wide wall I needed to scale to reach what I wanted: his mouth on mine.

  I reached my other hand out as though in slow motion and took a handful of his T-shirt, my knuckles pressed over his heart. It was beating as rapidly as mine. I tugged on the fabric; he was too tall, I was too short, I needed him to meet me halfway.

  He was staring at my mouth. He dipped his head slowly…and paused. His lips tantalisingly close, his breath dancing over me.

  ‘This is against the rules. Your rules.’ His voice was somehow deep and strangled at the same time. ‘I’ve been trying so hard to behave. To not flirt. To be friends.’ He pressed his forehead against mine, angling his chin away and closing his eyes.

  Had it been hard for him? I didn’t think of myself as irresistible. He was attracted to me enough that I thought he’d want this now, with me here, offering myself up, our bodies pressed closed but capable of being so much closer. But, in general, he could take me or leave me, couldn’t he?

  ‘Why?’ I asked.

  ‘Because you said that’s what you wanted.’ He exhaled an agonised laugh.

  Oh yes, that was why.

  ‘I did say that.’ I lifted my hand to his face, curving it around his jaw, the sharpness of his cheekbone, trying to coax him back into alignment with me. ‘And you are a very good boy for listening.’ My lips found the corner of his mouth and I spoke against it. ‘Listen to me now too. I want this. I want you.’

  His lips parted but he still didn’t turn to kiss me. He was vibrating with the tension of holding himself back. Feeling his strong body trembling with energy was unbearably erotic. ‘You want other things too though, don’t you? Things you deserve and that are important to you.’

  ‘I don’t care…’ And I didn’t. Not at that moment. A million arguments were swirling in my head: my sister telling me how I should enjoy being young, free and single. And, even more so, how I was learning that he was capable of so much that neither him nor I had given him credit for. And…oh God, I didn’t care. I just wanted him. I was tired of trying to fight this.

  ‘You say that now—’

  ‘Why don’t we just see what happens?’ I dropped my forehead to his shoulder and spoke into the delicious security of its broadness. My chest ached. I couldn’t bear the thought he was going to stop this. Not now. ‘Kiss me. Please, Stephen.’

  The beats drew out and then he stood up, moving around in front of me, leaning his hands on the table, either side of my hips. My heart lurched, hardly daring to hope he was going to give me what I needed: him. He dropped a kiss on my bent head. It could still be platonic. A parting gesture before I abseiled off his balcony to escape the mortification of his rejection.

  I tried not to hope too hard but lifted my face up towards him again—

  His mouth landed on mine without hesitation, no indecision in the hot press of his lips, no ambiguity in the way we both opened to each other. I groaned embarrassingly loud with relief and lust, but it just seemed to make him kiss me harder.

  Finally. Finally.

  If I thought I was craving him before, the moment our lips touched, it amplified my need beyond anything I’d experienced. I pulled at his shirt, pushing and tugging it until he broke away and dragged it impatiently over his head. I reached for him, his muscles tightening under my palm as it coasted up, over warm velvet skin, a smattering of coarse hair, then slid down again. Lower than I started. Exploring the firm ridges of his stomach, feeling him breathing deep as I hooked my fingertips in the waistband of his pants.

  His hands framed my face, long fingers knotting in my hair to angle my head as he plied me with kisses, lips slanting, tongue tasting and teasing before he guided me into another, and another, so sure and strong I was swept along in the rapid current. It was like he was getting them in before I could change my mind, overwhelming me with his best argument not to reject him.

  He needn’t have worried. I pushed my hand down inside the waistband of his pants, inside his underwear and he hissed like I’d burned him, when he was the one who was all heat, smooth and hard, as I caught hold of him greedily, incinerating my brain, my ability to think at all.

  If I was going to drown, he was going to as well.

  He caught me by the thighs and lifted me up, so I had to release him, wrap my arms around his neck. He carried me deeper into the darkness of his apartment and deposited me on one of the bottom steps of the spiral staircase up to his bedroom.

  ‘I want to carry you up but—’ He shook his head, breathing ragged. ‘I get too dizzy. I’m sorry. I’m scared I’ll drop you.’

  I threaded my fingers through his hair and pulled his mouth back to mine for one fierce kiss. Then I turned and raced up to his bedroom. I could hear his footsteps following at a steadier pace as I looked around at the bulky outlines of furniture and the neatly made bed.

  Then he was behind me, his hands on my waist, spinning me to face him, walking me back to the bed, settling me on the edge and going down on his knees between my legs, making me throb with anticipation.

  The kisses turned deeper and dirtier, the taste of him intense, the best flavour I couldn’t name and the only thing I ever wanted in my mouth again.

  He ran his hands up my body, cupped my breasts, thumbs dragging over my nipples briefly, making me whimper as he kept on moving past them, leaving me aching as he wrapped his fingers around my wrists, lifting my arms up high.

  ‘A good man,’ he murmured against my mouth, ‘would stop this now.’

  I arched against him trying to ease my desire, as he linked his fingers through mine, hands over our heads, but the friction only made it worse. It wasn’t enough. What was I getting myself into?

  ‘So would a smart girl,’ I moaned as he rose over me, the slide of his body against mine like heaven.

  He pressed me back on the bed, his body a cage and a shield all at once, keeping our hands still linked over my head. ‘But you’re an incredibly smart girl, Noelle,’ he whispered, teeth grazing my chin, nipping and nuzzling kisses into the tender skin of my throat as he moved his attention downwards.

  ‘And you’re a good man,’ I managed shakily.

  His lips closed over my nipple through my vest and tugged, the cotton damp and maddening between us. I shivered and bucked against him with a gasp.

  I felt his smile against me. ‘We’ll see if you still say that in the morning.’

  Chapter Twelve

  For a small person, Noelle took up an extremely large amount of space in the bed. Her head was nestled on my chest, but her legs were splayed out as though she was running across the mattress to catch me.

  I’d woken early as usual and tried to get back to sleep so that I wouldn’t disturb her, but her soft skin pressed to mine made my body burn with awareness and barely contained energy. My fingers rested across the slope of her back, thumb dipping into the curve of her waist but I resisted my desire to explore any further until she was awake and certain that she wanted me too.

  Last night had been unbelievable but I wasn’t kidding myself. This morning she might regret it. She’d regretted kissing me at the fun fair. She’d been very adamant that she didn’t want to sleep with me for reasons that would seem a lot m
ore logical in the unforgiving light of the day, than they would have done last night when she was so worn out she’d struggled to string a sentence together at times.

  When I thought of it that way…had I taken advantage of her? If she woke up, kneed me in the groin and walked out of here, I’d probably deserve it.

  My alarm went off and I stretched my arm over the top of her to silence it, and quickly rolled back, trying not to wake her up. Her eyelashes fluttered against my chest as she opened her eyes and I held my breath, waiting to see how she’d react.

  She dragged herself up, arms folded on top of me and peered at me through the waves of her dishevelled red hair.

  ‘Morning,’ she croaked and smiled at me, wider and all the more devastating for the fact that I knew she wasn’t a morning person. That smile was all for me.

  ‘Good morning.’

  She slid her hand along my stomach, up and up, palm pressed firmly, until she reached my jaw and scratched playfully at my morning stubble.

  ‘Look at this: morning beard growth. There was me thinking you woke up pristine every day. You look very sexy with it.’ She bit her lip but then a frown caught at her. ‘But a little freaked out too. What’s up?’

  ‘Nothing. If you’re okay, then I’m okay.’ Which was true but also an oversimplification of gargantuan proportions. She knew it as well; I could tell by the way she narrowed her eyes slightly at me but she didn’t say anything. What was she thinking? What was I thinking? Where did we go from here? I swallowed. ‘Do you regret it?’

  ‘That depends – are you going to be a jerk now?’ She rested her chin on her hand on top of my chest. The added weight made it harder to breathe.

  ‘Could you define “jerk” for me?’

  ‘Well, are you going to get all cold, kick me out and stop talking to me?’

  I reached out and cupped her cheek. ‘No. Of course not.’ I felt her smile in the palm of my hand and I wished I could leave it there. ‘But…what are your expectations now?’