by Liv Morris
I lock eyes with Tessa, and she beams back at me. Her hair and skin glow under the lights. She crooks a finger at me, wanting me to join her. I bite my lip and nod at her. What I’d like to do is take her back to the hotel and kiss her within an inch of her life, along with every inch of her skin.
“Huh? Like this angel just fell down from heaven into your lap.”
“Pretty much.” I pull a wad of cash out of my wallet and give it to Lucas for the bill. “We’re outta here.” I rise off the couch to join the blonde bombshell, drawing me to her like a moth to a flame.
“I had a courier leave the Yankee tickets at the hotel front desk. See you Sunday.” I release a deep breath. Dammit. I forgot I said I’d go to the game with him.
“Sure, Lucas.” I sigh, knowing I can’t back out this late, but I only have a few days left with Tessa. I need her to take me up on the offer to stay longer at the hotel, at least until she finds a job. I want her here permanently. “It’s after midnight. I’d better get Cinderella home.”
“Lucky fuck,” he scoffs.
“Yeah. I am,” I say, walking toward Tessa with a cocky grin.
24
Tessa
Barclay sets his empty glass on a side table and finally rises off the couch to join me on the floor. I’ve been dancing with his friend’s date, and Barclay seemed way too comfortable watching me, but I loved having his eyes on me. Between his hungry stares and the intense energy filling the air, I’ve never felt more alive and wild, but I’d rather have Barclay’s arms around me and his lips on mine. A girl can at least hope that’s the direction the night’s heading.
Barclay leans forward and brings his mouth to my ear. When his lips caress my heated skin with a feather-like touch, tingles ghost down my neck and a warmth pools deep in my belly. I can only take so much anticipation before I end up begging him to kiss me and humiliating myself in the process.
“Okay, princess. It’s time to go,” he says, pulling away from me, but I want him back close enough so I can smell his delicious scent. The look in his eyes tells me the night’s not over yet, which thrills me, but there’s one thing I want to do first. With a dreamy man. In my dream city.
“Dance with me,” I breathe, batting my eyelashes at him and adding a lip bite.
I may be lacking in hands-on experience, but I’ve read enough romance novels to have a clue about the art of seduction and sexual persuasion. His dark hooded eyes signal I’ve hit the mark, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
“Just one,” he says, taking my hands and pulling me to him, a teasing gleam in his eyes. I won this round.
Reaching up, I join my hands around the nape of his neck, basking in the feel of his skin after I’ve been dying to touch him all night. My forefingers twirl his hair at the base of his collar. It’s soft, yet thick, with a slight flip on the ends. Maggie would call it sex hair, and I would have to agree.
A new song begins, and I tighten my hands around him. “One more song, please? That one was just ending.”
“Okay, but after that, we leave.” I smile up at him in victory.
Barclay rests a hand on the small of my back, his other possessively holding my neck. He presses me closer to him, and our bodies mold together. I feel the hard lines of his erection against my stomach, and gasp, though he doesn’t press hard against me. It’s more of an introduction, an extremely firm hello. He responds with a twisted grin, then his dark gaze lands on my lips.
Kiss me, Barclay. Please just kiss me.
But he doesn’t. Instead, his hips start a sensuous swivel in time with the beat, and I follow his lead.
A week ago, back in Monroeville, Alabama, a dance like this with a handsome older man would’ve scared me senseless or gotten him run out of town by my brother. But here, at this club in New York City, our erotic movements match our surroundings—daring and living on the edge.
“The things I want to do to you, sweet girl,” he whispers against my ear. I close my eyes, and my head falls back. “I’ll start with a kiss. One you’ll still feel on your lips tomorrow morning.”
“Yes.” I slur the word in a haze of desperation and lick my lips at the thought of finally kissing this beautiful man. I rise up on my tiptoes so he can reach me better.
“Not here, for all the world to see. I want to take my time in private.” I sigh out of sheer frustration. How much can a girl take?
“Screw the song.” I release my hands from around his neck and wrap my fingers around one of his hands. “We’re leaving. Now.”
Barclay chuckles as I drag him through the crowd of partiers. I’m a woman on a mission and make a beeline straight toward the service elevator.
Barclay and I are alone in the elevator as we descend to the main floor. He moves closer, essentially backing me into a corner, and looms over me. I hold my breath as I look into his heavy-lidded eyes. They give me a thrill of excitement mixed with a touch of fear, but more of myself, because I could totally let loose with him.
Then what?
There are no guarantees. Barclay could be nothing more than a memory I carry with me for the rest of my life. My first. But it’s time I quit overanalyzing. It’s keeping me from living my life, and I want to live in the moment for once. Feel it. Breathe it. Be with him and forget about tomorrow. Somewhere in Alabama, I imagine Maggie giving me a fist pump.
“I can’t stop thinking about one thing.” He breaks the silence and rests both hands above me on each side of the corner walls. I blink and wait, wanting him to tell me more. “How has no man touched you yet? You’re the most beautiful creature sent by some wicked twist of fate to torture me. I should let you go—let you find someone your own age.”
Ouch, that stings. And how do I even respond to something like this? It seems obvious to me that there’s been an undeniable pull, like a force of nature, joining us together from the moment we looked into each other’s eyes.
Maybe with his years of experience with women, what I feel is nothing new to him. But to me, it means everything. I’ll play his “I’m too old for you” game and see if I can erase his hesitations of us being together once and for all. It’s not like I’m asking for more than tonight anyway.
A true fact about southern women: we know how to fight for what we want. It comes from living with frizz-inducing humidity and being raised on Lynyrd Skynyrd. Both build fierce determination.
“All right, Barclay. I’ll only date guys in their twenties. Any suggestions? I’m sure you have a few who would fit the bill.” I square my shoulders, and anger flashes in Barclay’s eyes. His jaw tightens and his lips form a straight line.
“We’ll finish this conversation in the cab,” he growls.
My dating declaration is like hitting a row of sevens on a slot machine. He’s now imagining me with other men, and I want to yell jackpot! When the elevator arrives at the ground floor, Barclay leads me outside to the edge of the sidewalk. He hails a cab and ushers me inside. I laugh to myself as he sits down next to me in a huff. This car ride should be loads of fun. For real.
25
Tessa
Barclay grumbles the hotel address to the cabbie and I lean against the door, twirling my hair around a finger, waiting for him to speak to me. After we barrel through a couple city blocks, he turns toward me. Our eyes meet, and he exhales a deep breath. His jaw is more relaxed, and his eyes are no longer throwing flames my way, but he still looks intense and on edge.
“Tessa, I don’t want to talk about you with other men. At. All. But since you brought it up, let me school you on some facts.”
“Please do,” I scoff, trying to act brave.
“Things move fast here. In Manhattan, a guy in his twenties considers dating a woman for a week a long-term relationship. They’re getting the feel of having money jingling in their pockets along with other things. They’re as shallow as a baby pool with only one thing on their mind.” Barclay raises a brow suggestively, obviously meaning sex.
“Not all guys are like that,” I sa
y, making a lame attempt at defending the young men in this city, but I wonder if he’s right. PH-D was like a sexual playground. Hands wandered, searching the available equipment, and everyone seemed okay with it.
“Trust me,” he says with a sigh, running his hand through his thick hair. Oh, how I itch to touch those soft strands again.
“Okay,” I concede. “Twenties are out, so I’ll settle for guys in their thirties?” I shrug and wait for his answer, knowing he’s thirty-seven.
“Not a good idea either. Too much baggage from their twenties.”
Time to play along with his madness. “Well, that leaves teenagers or men in their forties. Which should it be?”
“Have you ever considered becoming a nun?” He smirks at me like it’s a joke, but his smile wavers.
“Ugh. You’re getting a knuckle sandwich for saying that.” I give his bicep a light punch, and he flinches. I roll my eyes at his overreaction to the slight tap, and he throws me a crooked smile. Whatever. He’s extremely annoying at the moment.
“You sound just like my brother. And the answer is no. I don’t want to be a nun, because I’ve lived like one throughout high school and college. It’s a habit I intend on breaking with someone special and …” I pause, battling over whether to show my cards or fold them.
His eyes search mine, and I remind myself not to overthink things. Live in the moment. Take risks … even if it leaves me vulnerable to heartbreak. There’s some comfort knowing this time he’s in the car with me, instead of leaving me on the sidewalk alone and driving off without a backward glance. I take a mental step and jump off a cliff, hoping he’ll catch me.
“Barclay, I don’t want anyone else but you.”
My breathing becomes erratic, and I close my eyes, waiting for his reply. I can’t face his possible rejection head-on. My stomach knots as each second passes.
“Open your eyes and look at me, sweet girl,” he coaxes me in a voice as smooth as silk. When I do as he bids, a slow smile builds on Barclay’s face. “Let’s start with that kiss.”
“Let’s,” I breathe.
Barclay pulls me across the backseat and wraps his arm around my shoulders. I melt into him with a contented sigh. This place next to him, being held in his grasp and inhaling his heady scent, feels right, like we were meant to fit together in some grand cosmic design.
“So beautiful.” Barclay cups my jaw and tilts my chin up toward his face. His thumb caresses my cheek. The light touch is almost too much to endure. “Are you sure?”
I nod my head, too choked up to speak. All the pent up desire has left me unable to utter a simple word. His eyes turn smoky black, smoldering, matching the passion I feel inside.
Lowering his head, he brings his lips to mine. It’s gentle, a small touch, a whisper of lips on lips. Then, he unleashes something hungry, fast, all-consuming, drawing me tighter into his arms. Any tension within me dissolves on an exhaled sigh of surrender.
When our tongues touch and intertwine, my head spins and an unfamiliar, but welcome, warmth builds low in my belly. The desire for more of him and his sinful lips threatens to consume me.
I run my hand over his chest, feeling the solid wall of muscles under my fingertips. Wanting to explore more of him, I trail higher, tracing the skin above his collar, then farther to his jaw. I travel over the chiseled edges and masculine stubble. He moans into my mouth, and I’m in awe my simple touch moved a man like him.
“Tessa. Tessa,” he whispers between passion-filled kisses, and I hum in utter bliss against his lips, not having enough breath to speak.
My body burns for him, and it hits me. Here, somewhere in midtown Manhattan, I experienced my first real kiss from a real man. Those guys in college were amateurs. Barclay is perfection.
The cab slows down to a stop, and my eyes flutter open, taking in the front of the hotel. “Can we go around the block one more time?” I plead.
“I have an even better idea.” He tosses the cab driver a few bills and takes my hand. “How about I tuck you into bed?”
I gulp, but it’s what I want. I think. Wait—I’m done thinking. Barclay’s the one.
“Okay. My bed I guess? Since we’re at the hotel and all.” I fumble over my words. Nervous much, Tessa? A corner of his lip tips up.
“You know, you’re adorable.” He opens the door of the cab and helps me out onto the curb.
“Kitten’s are adorable,” I say with a pout. I get the feeling he’s never spoken like this to another woman in Manhattan.
“I’m talking about your sweet innocence.” He taps me on the nose, and I roll my eyes. “The rest of you is stunning.” He steps back, and his eyes travel over me. “I wouldn’t change either. Both combined make you irresistible.”
“Thanks.” I blush and glance away, trying not to crumble under his wanton perusal.
The cab is long gone, and we’re alone on the sidewalk … well, not totally. People pass by, but no one seems to care about our conversation. He pulls me into his arms, and I look up at him.
“I forgot to tell you something.” He pauses a second, gaining my full attention. “I live here.”
“Wait. At the Hammond?” He nods, and his disarming smirk is back. “No, you didn’t. Believe me, I would’ve remembered that major detail.”
“After the company bought the building, I helped with the redesign. The top ten floors are all residential.”
“Let me guess. You’re on the top.”
“I prefer the top, sweetheart. The views are great.” He gives me that damn crooked smile, and I melt. “Let me show you.”
We walk into the hotel lobby, and a doorman comes running to Barclay’s side. His eyes are wide, darting between Barclay and me.
“Excuse me, sir,” the bellman says.
“What’s the problem, Peters?” I notice the golden nametag on the bellman’s chest.
“It’s her, sir,” he rushes, pointing his eyes at me. I look up at Barclay, confused, then back to Peters. “Are you Contessa Holly, miss?”
“I am.” I tighten my fingers around Barclay’s hand. “Did something happen?”
“Well, miss. The hotel manager’s upstairs in your room with a couple NYPD.”
26
Barclay
“Did someone break into her room?” I ask Peters. He’s usually the measured, never-cracks-a-smile bellman, but a pair of police officers showing up at the hotel has him rattled. I’ve never seen him this jumpy.
“Nothing like that, Mr. Hammond. Apparently Miss Holly’s brother has been trying to get a hold of her all night and decided to have the police investigate. The NYPD is doing this as a courtesy for her brother since it hasn’t been long enough to report a missing person,” he rushed out.
“Oh my God,” Tessa exclaims in utter shock. “I’m so sorry, Barclay.” She releases her hand from mine and cups her face in embarrassment.
“Contessa.” I say her full name for the first time. It sounds like royalty and fits her perfectly. “We’ll get to the bottom of this. Don’t worry. And thank you, Peters. I’ll escort Miss Holly up to her room.”
“I need to check my phone.” Tessa rustles around in her bag with shaky hands as we walk through the lobby to the elevators.
As we stand, waiting, she scrolls through the messages on her phone and shakes her head. She mutters under her breath as she reads each one, and I have no idea what awaits us upstairs. I feel like a teenage boy bringing his date home after her curfew. Hell, it’s only twelve thirty, a few strokes past midnight, and early for the city on a Friday night. Apparently she is Cinderella, at least to her family. And that makes me the bad wolf in this “southern girl comes to the Big Apple” fairy tale.
“Seventeen missed messages from my mother, brother, and even my father. They escalate from ‘how’s your evening,’ to ‘give us a call or we’re phoning the police.’” Tessa gazes up at me with cloudy eyes. “I don’t want to play my voice messages.”
“Understandable.” We enter the elevator and I
push the button for her floor.
“Oh God.” A tear escapes her gorgeous baby blue eyes and falls down her cheek. And with it, a piece of my heart falls harder for this young woman. I don’t want her feeling pain ever. I want to shield and protect her, but it’s her family.
“Listen, Tessa. It will be okay.” I hug her and kiss the top of her hair. Soft silk meets my lips and her sweet scent fills my senses. I close my eyes, drinking all of her in.
This protectiveness of her makes me feel uneasy about the confrontation too. I place my fingers under her chin and tilt her head upward so I can see her face. “I think it’s best that I don’t appear as your date for the evening. Does that make sense?”
“Yes,” she says in a shaky voice. I release my arms around her and wipe the tears from her face. “It will raise too many question. Thank you. I’m the worst date ever.”
“Well, having cops at my date’s door is a new one for me. But I’m learning there’s seldom a dull moment around you,” I say with a chuckle. The elevator stops, and the doors open. “Just follow my lead. I’ve got you, baby.”
We exit the elevator and walk down a hallway toward her room. Tessa stays a step behind me. I glance over my shoulder and give her a reassuring smile. We turn a corner, and two uniformed New York City policemen come into view, with the night manager, Josh Presley, on their left.
“Gentlemen,” I say, stopping in front of Tessa’s room. She’s at my side, but partially hiding behind me. “This is Contessa Holly. I’ve escorted her upstairs after my bellman alerted me to the situation.”
“Mr. Hammond. I have Miss Holly’s brother on the phone.” Presley holds his cell phone up. “He’d like to speak with you.”
The policemen stare us down, crossing their arms over their chests, revealing the guns holstered at their waists.
“Let me talk to him and clear everything up,” Tessa says, moving toward Presley with her hand outstretched. “I apologize for the inconvenience to ya’ll.”
