Something Just Like This

by Jennifer Probst

  He slowly chewed a bite of bread and swallowed before answering. “My wife, romantically. Five years ago. As for sexually, I’ve had three extremely short weekend flings. I made sure I was upfront about my limitations, and they accepted what I couldn’t give. I guess it’s been a long time since dialogue with a woman stimulated me as much as a kiss.”

  She lifted a brow. “I’m surprised our conversations were memorable enough since we haven’t kissed yet.”

  “Ah, but that word is all I need for stimulation.”

  “What word?”

  He leaned over and whispered in his dark, sexy voice, “Yet.”

  She shook her head at his naughty humor and sipped her wine. “Three encounters aren’t much over five years,” she said thoughtfully.

  He winced. “Yeah, let’s just say no one knows about my low number, especially the press. The state wants me to be both celibate yet exciting like Clooney. It’s an odd balance to keep, so I began taking dates to various functions but keeping things platonic. It’s been easy to focus on work. It’s all I ever needed, other than Chloe.”

  She thought over all the women she’d watched him take to splashy, glamorous events. How many nights she’d forced herself not to think of him taking them to bed, giving them the right to touch and taste and kiss him. How she’d pleasured herself in the dark with his face in her memory, imagining that she was enough to enthrall him. “Yet, here we are.”

  The words popped out before she could stop them, but she refused to cower. This was too important to tiptoe around what they were doing. Or not doing. Or thinking of doing. She needed to know the rules and what he expected after this date.

  He locked his gaze on hers. Her breath caught as she tumbled into a flood of piercing, startling blue. “My favorite word again. Let me ask you this, Alyssa. When was your last relationship? Both romantic and sexual.”

  The waiter glided by, dropped off a few platters, then silently retreated. She helped herself to a generous bowl of shrimp capellini doused in fresh parmesan. “Romantically? A decade ago, in college. We dated for a year when he was a senior, but then he took off to California for sunshine and bigger opportunities. It was my first broken heart because it was the first time I’d stayed around somewhere long enough to fall in love. Sexually, I’m also a bit of a disappointment. I’ve only had a few brief affairs that ended quite pleasantly.”

  He frowned. “Somehow, I don’t think the word pleasant should be used with the term affair.”

  She sighed. “Exactly. That’s why they fizzled out. No true passion. Plus, I’m like you. I prefer work, and at home, I love my books and solitude. There’s been little time for play.”

  “I love books, too. And I’m in the public eye so much, solitude is a slice of heaven.” He cocked his head. “So we’re both celibate and nerds.”

  “Guess so.” The random fact floated in her head. “Did you know if a female ferret doesn’t have sex for a year, she can die?”

  He sat back in the seat and grinned at her. “Nope. But I don’t think I’ll ever forget it now. And I’m glad we’re not ferrets.”

  She winced. “Sorry, I tend to do that. Too much info sometimes.”

  “I like it. Your big old brain is sexy as hell.”

  Startled, she looked up from her plate, but he was busy eating, looking as focused on the food in front of him as he was with his team in closed-door meetings. Which probably meant he brought the same intensity into the bedroom.

  The thought stalled her out, but he was still speaking, so she refocused.

  “I’m glad you found me interesting enough to come to dinner. I bet there aren’t many men out there you’d find worthy,” he said.

  She blinked. “Oh, I’ve found interesting before, but never with someone like you.”

  “Like me how?”

  “Hot.”

  He laughed with delight, and she almost rolled her eyes at her awful habit of blurting out anything in her head. And then he slid his hand across the table and enfolded her fingers with his. The shocking heat of his skin on hers made her belly clench, and a primal need roared through her blood. She returned the pressure, and then they were holding hands, staring at each other in the flickering candlelight.

  “If we’re gonna talk hot, you should know I’ve been having some wicked fantasies myself.”

  She scoffed. “I highly doubt it. I’m the first one to admit there’s not an ounce of sexpot within me.”

  His eyes darkened, and his fingers tightened over hers. “Oh, if you only knew, Alyssa,” he said softly. “The hot librarian image is a cliché for a reason. And when you start rattling off statistics like a master, I get a bit weak-kneed.”

  A laugh burst from her lips. “You’re insane.”

  “God, I love when you do that.”

  “What?”

  A flicker of tenderness skated over his features. “Smile. Laugh. It’s like the sun coming out on a cloudy day.”

  It was a ridiculous and awful compliment with no originality, but it was his expression and the honest way he said it that got her. Jonathan didn’t take the time to sputter inanities at women.

  So if he said it, he meant it.

  Her head spun with a heady lightness that made her feel as if she’d drunk a bottle of wine. She sucked at flirting.

  But something told her that’s what they were doing, and quite successfully. She didn’t feel awkward around him like she’d worried about. It was as if their relationship had just flowed from the office to private without a hitch.

  “Mr. Mayor! What a lovely surprise!”

  The feminine voice made Alyssa yank her hand back, making her look even more suspiciously guilty. She watched as Jonathan’s face shut down and morphed into politician mask. He leaned back in his seat as if to create as much distance as possible between them. “Whitney, how are you? What brings you out at this late hour?”

  Whitney Burke, charity organizer extraordinaire, Upper East Side aristocrat with blood that flowed as blue as a summer sky, trained her razor-sharp gaze on them. It was as if she scented scandal and thrived on the aroma. Personally, Alyssa had never had a problem with her because she never held any surprises. She wanted money for her various foundations, craved attention from the press and handsome men, and wanted to re-marry for status, not love. A tall, willowy brunette who reminded Alyssa of Snow White, she was both stunning and a touch cold. She’d been linked to Jonathan many times, probably by her own leaked gossip, and papers still thrilled at the idea of them hooking up as a power couple.

  But right now, Alyssa not only resented her intrusion. She also disliked the gleam of malice in Whitney’s emerald green eyes as she took in their cozy, darkened table. “I was visiting a friend and decided to bring some dinner home. I had no idea the mayor kept such late office hours,” she said with a tinkling laugh.

  Alyssa cut in. “It’s wonderful to see you, Whitney. Did you get the referral I sent you from the New York Mets?”

  Her gaze narrowed. “That was you?”

  “Of course. Micky is a friend of mine and said a few of his players would love to participate in some fundraising. I told him you were the best.”

  Her body relaxed slightly, like a predator suddenly distracted. “Thank you, Alyssa. I certainly do appreciate referrals.”

  “I’m afraid I had to drag poor Alyssa across town because I was craving carbs and refused to eat again in the office. Working and Italian food go together best, don’t they?”

  “Yes, they do. Watch out, Jonathan. I may have to steal her from you. She’d do amazing things for my foundation.”

  Jonathan laughed, then launched into a light chatter about mutual friends and the next big party. Finally, Whitney stepped back. “My food is ready, I must go. Always wonderful to see you. I’ll call.”

  With long-legged grace, she walked out of the restaurant.

  This time, the silence that came over the table wasn’t comfortable. It held the edge of tension and the stink of reality.

&
nbsp; Alyssa had been crazy to think they could try to have a secret relationship with no one catching them.

  She cleared her throat and studied the cluttered table of half-eaten food and emptied wine glasses. The candle flickered, then grew bright again. “I think we should go now.”

  He muttered something under his breath. Frustration carved the lines of his face. “What are you thinking about?” he asked.

  She looked him straight in the eye. “I think it’s best if I go home.”

  His jaw clenched. He waited a few beats, then nodded. The bill was paid, and they were escorted to the car. The drive back to her apartment was different than the trip to the restaurant. They didn’t speak but simmered with their own thoughts.

  She got to her apartment and turned. “Thanks for dinner.”

  “I’ll walk you up.”

  “No, I don’t need—”

  “I’ll walk you up.”

  She shut her mouth and went through the awkward motions of climbing the stairs, getting her key, and heading to her door.

  “I’d like to talk to you for a minute. Will you let me?”

  Annoyance brushed her nerves. “Of course, you act like I’d be scared to let you into my house.”

  “I just want you to be comfortable around me. Always.”

  “Then stop acting like you’re trying to convince me you’re not a secret criminal about to pounce.”

  “Point taken.”

  They stepped through the door. She wondered what he thought of her place. He’d never been here. She tried to view it through his eyes and wondered if he liked it. The apartment was her personal treasure, with giant windows that let light pour in, and shiny oak floors that hinted at its age. Wood beams crisscrossed the ceiling, adding extra charm. The kitchen was cramped, the pipes clanked when the heat came on, and the closet space was limited, but she loved the airiness and pleasant charm. She especially liked that it had been bought by her own hand after endless hard work and a stoic ambition to finally own something for herself.

  “Nice place,” he commented, walking deeper into the room. He glanced at the multi-stone fireplace—still not working, but she was hopeful—and the cozy reading nook she’d put together, bookcases filling up one giant wall, and a lounger over a fuzzy white throw rug. “Have you read all these?” he asked, taking in her massive book collection.

  “Yes. Those are my treasures. If I truly love a book, I buy it in hardcover or paperback. The rest are on my Kindle, where I can constantly pick and choose depending on my mood.”

  “And you like Scrabble?”

  She wrinkled her nose. The brass trophy was a bit ostentatious, but she’d been proud of the tournament she’d won at the Strand bookstore, which had sponsored the event. “I like words. The way they feel on the tongue and sound to the ear. The way they’re used to connect. The way they can be tweaked and changed into a lie or a truth, to either hurt or heal.” She shrugged. “Words are constant.”

  “You can’t say stuff like that, Alyssa, and expect me not to want to kiss you.”

  Her jaw almost dropped, but she caught it just in time. How could he stare at her with such hunger? As if at one touch, she’d be burned alive? How could she possibly inspire such passion from this man?

  She did that terrible cliché thing she despised and licked her lips. “I was uncomfortable when Whitney saw us.”

  He let out a breath and jammed his fingers through his hair. “I know. Damnit, I didn’t know how to play it. The idea of anyone trying to embarrass you killed me, so I spun it as a work dinner.”

  “Don’t apologize, Jonathan. I wasn’t expecting you to announce we were on a date. I just think we jumped in on impulse and hoped we’d be able to do this in secret for a while before deciding. But you’re in the public eye. There is no privacy. And I don’t want to see anything between us affect your election.”

  He tore at his tie as if he needed more breath. She itched to go over there and unknot it herself, slip it slowly off his collar, press her lips to his rough jaw, which held the slightest hint of shadow. She fisted her hands to stop herself.

  “What if I don’t care about the election?” he asked.

  She never hesitated. “Well, I do.”

  They stared at one another. The energy crackled like a campfire devouring wood. He began to pace, and she walked to the desk, snatching up a hot pink stress ball and handing it over. He grabbed it, his fingers squeezing mercilessly as if they were about to solve a work problem rather than decide not to date. “What if I’m not ready to walk away from you yet? Want to hear something? I had the day from hell. I’m exhausted and stressed, and I won’t be able to slow down until next November, but sitting across from you at that restaurant? I was happy—from the inside. I was happy for me, not pleased I did something for the city or the people, or for the job. You are my selfish comfort, Alyssa. When you walk into the office, my insides light up. So forgive me if I don’t want to give you up after one date.”

  His words battered her, and suddenly, all those rational thoughts that always ruled her world crumbled under the raw need in his eyes when he looked at her. The silence was shattering.

  “You can’t say things like that and not expect me to kiss you,” she said.

  And suddenly, she was closing the distance and in his arms, rising up on tiptoes, and he was kissing her. And, dear God, she was drowning, held tight against his chest, his hands in her hair and his lips over hers. The blistering heat between them roared, exploded, and she opened her mouth under one perfect thrust of his tongue, starved for the taste of him.

  His mouth was hot and damp and delectable. His tongue plunged deep, swirled, explored the cave of her mouth with a carnal hunger and a delicious precision that made her wet between her thighs. The scent of the ocean washed over her, and she whimpered as he nipped at her lower lip, his palms holding her face as he kissed her like she was the only woman he’d ever wanted.

  Somehow, he walked her back until she hit the wall, and she slumped against it. Again and again, his mouth pressed, searched, played, while his hands dropped to explore, caressing down her hips to slide around her back and tug her even closer.

  Gone. She was gone and never wanted to return. The smell and taste of him, the rough scrape of his jaw against her cheek, the burn of his palm under her buttocks as he lifted her so his thighs bracketed hers, and his erection notched perfectly against her throbbing center.

  “I can’t stop,” he muttered, taking the kiss even deeper. “You taste so sweet.”

  “You taste like saltwater taffy,” she murmured, sinking her fingers into the silky darkness of his hair, holding his head so he wouldn’t stop. “My favorite treat at the boardwalk.”

  “Please don’t ask me to walk away from this,” he said, raining kisses down her cheek and neck, sinking his teeth carefully into the line of her shoulder. Her body shuddered with need, and she gave another moan, lifting her hips. “From us.”

  “This is only our first date,” she panted, trying desperately to fight the cotton balls stuffed into her normally clear brain. “How can there be an us?”

  “Because, for two years, we got to know each other. Bad and good. Weak and strong. It was like two years of foreplay,” he growled, diving back in to tangle his tongue with hers.

  “I don’t know,” she whispered, locking her arms around his neck. She surrendered then, not wanting to fight the pull of this man, the blazing heat of their attraction. “I can’t think, Jonathan.”

  In that moment, she knew she was going to be dragged into her bedroom and finally have mind-blowing sex with the man of her fantasies. She had nothing left inside to shore up her defenses. The whole evening spun away, and when he tipped her chin up, she stared deep into his eyes, held there by a burning intensity that drove her breath away.

  Then he was stepping back, turning away as he gulped a deep breath. She blinked, not understanding, while he re-knotted his tie and righted himself. “Alyssa, you mean more to me than a quick night.
I won’t do that unless you want to commit to trying to be with me.”

  “Like as your girlfriend?”

  He winced at her high-pitched tone. “Yeah, as my girlfriend. I want a chance to show you how good we can be outside of the office. But I need you willing to try. And if I take you to bed tonight, you’ll shut down on me.”

  Stunned, she realized he was right. She didn’t do well with impulsive acts that she’d regret in the morning. The fact that he’d known and been able to stop them both told her she was more deeply involved than she’d ever thought.

  He was a man she could so easily love if she let herself fall.

  “I don’t know.”

  “I do. So I’m going to head home, take a cold shower, and see you in the morning. And we’ll take this step by step, slowly. But after that kiss, don’t lie to me and say it’s not worth it.” He reached out and ran a finger down her cheek, smiling. “Good night, Alyssa.”

  He walked out and left her sexually frustrated, scared out of her mind, and something much, much worse.

  Hopeful.

  Chapter Six

  She couldn’t stop thinking about the kiss.

  Alyssa stood to the side, positioned close to Jonathan’s bodyguards and advising team while the press conference came to a close. He’d dazzled them all again with his confidence, strength, and passionate belief in issues that would only help the state. Education. The homeless. Restrictions on vaping. He wasn’t a fan of legal marijuana, but the current governor was, so that was an issue he might need to compromise on. His movie-star looks only helped, giving him higher approval with both men and women. She knew appearance was a poor condition for being a good leader, but he’d been blessed and used it to his advantage.

  She now knew, up close and personal, how those looks could affect a woman. His strength and piercing gaze, his firm mouth sliding so expertly over hers, heating up every inch of her body. Yet he wasn’t a player, and not interested in bedding a long line of women—which would be easy with his position. No, he was moral from his political view to his soul, and that only made it harder to fight him.