by Roxy Sloane
“Good.” He reached his hand across and took mine.
I couldn’t fight the butterflies in my stomach when we arrived at the hotel, and I was barely breathing as the elevator opened on the twenty-fourth floor and we stepped out into the hallway.
At the door, he slid the key card into the reader and the door clicked open. I wondered if the charge I felt between us was making him nervous too.
The room was spacious with a king-size bed and a heart-stopping view of nighttime New York City glittering beyond the large windows. Without thinking, I crossed to the window, drawn to the sight of the city. From this height, the expanse of skyscrapers and bridges looked like a sky full of stars, and it was truly breathtaking.
Jackson came up behind me and helped me with my coat before removing his own, then placed them both across a chair. Only one lamp in the room was lit. He crossed to the bed and turned it off before returning to me, resting his hands on my shoulders. I could hear my own heart pounding, the energy between us growing taut and undeniable.
“Jackson,” I whispered, closing my eyes. I didn’t need to say more.
He pulled my hair back and to the side, leaning down to kiss the nape of my neck. I shivered at the press of his lips, and the quickness of my desire. He started to pull my zipper down but stopped as I tensed up, turning me to face him.
“Do you want this?” he asked.
I looked up at him, overcome with the urge to touch him, taste him, let him fuck me in front of the windows—yet at the same time I wanted to feel his arms around me, to ask him if he only wanted this one last night with me, or if he sensed something more between us.
But what came out of my mouth was simply, “Yes.”
“Good.” He took my face in his hands and kissed me, softly, reverently, his tongue slowly tracing the inside of my mouth, his hands firm as they cupped my cheeks.
He moved his lips to my eyelids, my neck, and my mouth again. I kissed his throat, the sensitive spot behind his earlobes, his beautiful lips. We kissed for a long time. I didn’t know why this time was so different, why his urgency had been replaced by the need to drink up every part of me, piece by piece. But I didn’t ask. I gave him what he wanted, because I needed it, too.
We started to undress each other. We moved languorously, kissing each body part as it was revealed. My shoulder. His chest. My breast. His tight torso. We didn’t speak. Then he turned me, naked, to face the window, lifting my hands so I could brace myself against it. I gasped as my nipples grazed the cold glass. Jackson kissed my shoulder, my back, his lips trailing down the curve of my ass until finally he was kneeling behind me, dipping a wet finger up into my pussy as he spread my legs further apart.
“I have to taste you,” he said.
“Yes,” I gasped. And then I watched the city gleam below as Jackson slipped his tongue inside me, lapping at me long and deep as his fingers stroked my clit. When my breaths started to come harder and faster, he pulled back and turned me around. I was trembling with need, with cold, with the thrum of my pulse, and my breath and hands had fogged the window around me.
“You’re perfect,” he said. “Just like this.”
He lifted me up onto him and I wrapped my legs tight around his waist as he walked us to the bed, where he gently laid me down. Still standing, he grabbed my thighs and pulled my ass toward the edge of the bed. He knelt to grab a condom out of his bag and then he rolled it on as he leaned over to kiss me, his rigid cock entering me slowly, his mouth hungrily exploring mine as he filled me completely. The sensation was so intense that I clawed at his back, squeezing my legs tighter around his torso, pulling him in even deeper.
“Oh my God,” I moaned. “That feels so good.”
“What does?” he asked, amusement in his voice as he gave one short, hard thrust, making me cry out. “I haven’t even started yet.”
“I know,” I said, tilting my hips until I could feel the tip of his dick pressing right against the perfect spot. I let out another moan. “Don’t move. Stay there.”
We lay like that for a moment, his cock throbbing inside me as I panted for air and fought off the orgasm that threatened to crest at any second. But I knew I couldn’t hold back. What was it about this man that made me lose all control?
“Fuck me,” I said. “As hard as you can. And then I want to go again.”
With a groan, Jackson began gliding back and forth, his rhythm fast and steady, hitting that right spot so hard I let out little moans with every thrust. I grabbed his ass to pull him even deeper into me, meeting him stroke for stroke, faster and faster, crying his name as I came, the orgasm swelling into a hot, dizzying rush.
“Fuck,” he moaned, and I felt him tense up and then come inside me in fast, hard jerks. He climbed into bed beside me and we lay there, catching our breath.
“Again,” I said after a few minutes.
“Really?” he asked, looking over at me.
“Almost,” I grinned.
Then we looked at each other’s naked bodies in the soft nighttime light of the city coming in through the window, and for a while we just touched each other, tracing curves and angles, experiencing each other in a new way through our fingertips.
I touched his full eyebrows, the rough stubble beginning to rise on his cheek, the fine lines around his eyes. He ran his fingers through the silkiness of my hair, stroked the smoothness of my cheek, and lightly, with his fingertips, the softness of my breasts, the hardness of the nipples. Then he pulled me on top of him, his gorgeous hard-on pressing against my belly.
“Round two,” I whispered mischievously, watching him put another condom on before I straddled his cock.
As I lowered myself onto him, we both groaned. The connection was electric. I rocked back and forth, just riding him for a while, and then leaned over his chest to kiss him as I rode. My heart was drumming in my chest and we were breathing together, his hands sliding from my breasts to my hips, gripping me tightly as I tilted to meet his powerful thrusts. As we began moving together, faster, harder, perfectly in sync, his mouth went to my breasts; he sucked and bit at my nipples as my fingers dug into his shoulders.
“Ride me. Ride me until you come,” he said, his voice encouraging, heightening my pleasure, drawing my release closer and closer. “Come on. Come for me again, Ellie.”
I couldn’t stop myself, and I came like he’d told me to, deeper and slower this time, with low moans that he quieted with kisses, the passion in his mouth and his tongue betraying his own nearing orgasm. When he came, his groans were exquisite in my ear. Afterward I curled up next to him, his warm body snug against mine as we drifted off into sleep.
Sometime later, I awoke to find Jackson standing at the window, looking out, his expression troubled and far away. I climbed out of bed, got a robe out of the closet and pulled it around me, and then went to him, but kept myself a few steps back. “What is it?” I asked.
“Nothing,” he said, not meeting my eyes. “Go back to bed.”
I stepped closer. “Don’t lie to me, Jackson,” I said, my voice gentle. “I don’t lie to you, remember? That was our deal.” He took a few breaths and then turned to look at me, taking my hand with a guarded expression.
“Ellie,” he whispered. He took a long breath. I waited. Finally, he spoke again. “I can’t do this. Not with you, not with anyone. Sex, yes. A beautiful face, a hot ass. The body responds. And I love fucking you. But I didn’t mean for this to happen, and I don’t want it to turn into. . . more.”
The words stung, but I nodded as I took them in. I would be rational. He’d never promised me more than a casual thing, and I’d never asked for it. Despite what my heart or my hormones had been telling me lately, Jackson hadn’t done anything wrong, and the most important thing was to keep our working relationship. . . well, working.
“I understand,” I said. I would be strong.
“You don’t,” he went on, gripping my hand more tightly. “This isn’t what it seems. I’m not out to use you or ta
ke advantage. I feel. . . a connection to you. But it’s not enough. I’ve been there—I’ve had it all, gone all in, given myself to someone else completely—and I’ve been blissfully happy while it lasted. And in unimaginable pain when it ended. So I can’t go through that again. I won’t.”
My heart was in my throat. This was not what I’d expected at all, the revelations about his past nor his candor in sharing them. “What happened?” I asked.
He shook his head. “I only thought I had it all. But I was wrong. It doesn’t matter. The point is, we need to stop what we’re doing before it goes any further. I can’t trust anyone like that again, knowing how people can change their minds in an instant, can leave you for someone else without looking back and feel nothing afterward because in the end, none of it was real.” He paused. “It was real to me, though.”
I was quiet for a moment, trying to put the pieces together. I had so many questions, but I knew pressing him for answers would only push him further away. “I won’t hurt you,” I finally said. “And I wouldn’t change my mind about you—about this. But if I did, we would talk about it. I wouldn’t just. . . leave. This means something to me.”
“I won’t do it, Ellie,” he said. “Fidelity, loyalty, honesty—these are nonnegotiable with me. I can’t be all in unless the other person is, too. And how can I trust you?”
“Jackson. . . ” I didn’t know what to say. But then something came to mind. And I touched his arm and looked steadily into his eyes and quoted Hemingway: “‘The best way to find out if you can trust somebody is to trust them.’”
He smiled and shook his head. “It’s not that easy.”
“Sure it is,” I said. “You just. . . do it.”
And then we kissed.
13
The following morning, we awoke to the sun streaming through the open curtains and a glorious view of Central Park outside. We sat around watching the morning news in the comfy hotel robes, and Jackson ordered room service. When it arrived, we ate fresh fruit, baked eggs with parmesan and herbs, and almond croissants so good the thought of them still makes my mouth water, topped off with steaming pots of coffee and tea.
Then I announced, “I’m going to hop in the shower. Feel free to join me.”
I took a long twenty minutes getting clean under the hot spray, but Jackson never got into the shower with me. I wasn’t sure if he was busy packing up and making work calls, or if he was purposely keeping his distance.
After the talk we’d had last night, I still wasn’t sure where I stood with him—what our relationship might turn into, or not turn into, and what kind of space he needed to navigate his trust issues. But I’d give him breathing room, like he’d asked. A new relationship was the last thing he should be worrying about while working on his book. We’d talk again¸ probably after his pages were turned in.
When he dropped me off at my apartment soon afterward, he got out of the car to kiss me and promised to send pages. Then he got back in the car, closed the door, and I gave a little half-wave as Louis merged back into the Manhattan traffic.
I brought my things inside and slumped on the sofa. I stayed there, immobile, for a while. The past few days had been such a whirlwind, and now that they were over I felt unsettled and melancholy. I wasn’t sure where things were going with Jackson, I had no idea when I’d be getting his new manuscript, and I needed a solid plan to get myself back into work at DR without the pages I owed Louise. I debated texting Maggie and Bianca, but I wasn’t ready to explain everything yet.
As I looked around my messy apartment, taking in the chaos, I suddenly had energy. This was my life, and I wasn’t going to sit around waiting for other people to decide my fate. I’d get myself back on track by working my ass off and refusing to take no for an answer, just like I always had. So I got up and started cleaning; the living space, the bathroom, the bedroom. Then I changed into my sternest, most ass-kicking skirt suit and went into work, prepared to face the worst with my head held high.
Carolyn was reading at her desk when I arrived. “Hey boss-lady,” she said. “I didn’t expect you back so soon! How was your trip? Do you want some tea?”
“Great and yes,” I replied.
“Here’s your messages.” She handed me a stack of pink slips.
“Anything important?” I asked as I rifled through them.
“Not really. It was pretty quiet.” She lowered her voice and leaned forward. “Luke Palmer stopped by. He says you have some books of his. He was a little. . . aggressive. But I sent him away. And also Louise wants an update.”
“Thanks,” I said, trying to keep the anxiety out of my voice. “Please get Phoebe Demeris on the line. And then see if Louise has some time for me this afternoon. And let’s you and I have lunch today.”
“Okay, great,” she said, her fingers already dialing. “Welcome back. You’re on fire.”
Phoebe Demeris lives in Connecticut and she doesn’t drive—I’m not sure why—so she actually prefers phone meetings. Carolyn reached her almost immediately.
“Phoebe, do you have some time for notes?” I asked, leaning back in my chair.
“Wow, Ellie. You read that draft so quickly. I hope that’s a good sign?”
I smiled, glad to be back in my element. “I couldn’t wait to see where you were taking it! The pages practically turned themselves.”
We talked for over an hour. I gave her small notes, mostly things needing clarity or that had continuity issues, and a few more substantive suggestions for minor plot holes or refining the character development.
“Ellie, thank you so much,” she said as we wrapped up. “I can’t wait to get to work on this. I really feel like I have a partner with you, you know?”
It was everything I wanted a writer to feel, and I soaked up the much-needed praise like a blossom in a spring rain.
“I do know,” I said. “I think you’re incredibly talented, Phoebe, and I’m really looking forward to reading the next draft. Please call if you need to throw ideas around.”
“I will,” she said.
Submissions had piled up with just a few days of inattention, so next I went through a big pile and actually found one project that seemed promising, though the agent had only submitted a partial manuscript. I phoned the agent right away and requested the full manuscript.
At lunch, I gave Carolyn the CliffsNotes version of what had been going on with Jackson. I told her we’d exchanged emails and that he had been incensed. That he’d been very resistant to working with me, but we had come to a tenuous truce. That, with the latest book, he had opted to go in a direction I’d suggested—though I thought it best not to share details with her.
I also told her I’d been his date at the Sandling Awards, explaining that I hadn’t filled her in previously because it was all moving so quickly. All she said was, “You went on a date with Jackson Ford!?” She shook her head.
“He’s not as bad as he seems, once you get to know him,” I said, cringing at how cliché I sounded. But it was true. At least, I thought it was true.
After lunch I passed Louise in the hallway and she said, “Parker, I want an update. Pages in my hand stat or you turn that ass around and go right back to Ford’s.”
“I have an appointment on the books with you in an hour,” I responded. “We can discuss the—”
“We’ll discuss it now,” she interrupted me. She gestured for me to follow her down the hall, and I did so as waves of apprehension washed over me, feeling like I was being led to the principal’s office for some serious disciplinary action. “So what happened up there?” she asked as she closed her office door.
“Louise,” I said, sinking into a chair, “why didn’t you tell him I was coming?”
“Why would I tell him you were coming?” she replied. “He would never have agreed to your being there.”
Anger flared in my chest, and I tried to push it away and stick to a controlled, professional tone. “Louise, you put me in a really tough position.”
I knew what she was insinuating but I chose to sidestep.
“He is writing,” I said. “I saw a few pages.”
“A few? Christ, Ellie, I’m not publishing a fucking short story here. You’ve seen ‘a few’ pages? Where’s the rest of it?”
“Louise, what I saw was great. Some of his best stuff. He’s writing from a different place now. He’s hesitant to show us his work at this stage of the process, that’s all. But I convinced him to send the pages I read so you can see for yourself.”
She didn’t seem convinced. “He’s already in breach of contract. We’re making concessions since he’s Jackson fucking Ford, but you better get some milestones on the calendar. And I want to see an outline by next week.”
I folded my arms. “He’ll go ballistic if we ask him for an outline, Louise. He doesn’t work that way. In fact, he’d have to put down his work in order to get an outline done, and I’d rather he kept up the momentum he’s got going right now.”
Louise was rolling her eyes, absently clicking that pen of hers. “Ask me if I care.”
I just shook my head. There was no talking to her. Nothing to do but pray for Ford to come through and wait for Louise to chew me out every step of the way.
“Where are you with the Demeris project?” she asked.
I relaxed a little, confident I had at least one of my authors on track. “She’s in great shape. We just went over notes today and I’ll have the next draft soon, which—”
“Alright, we’ll discuss it at the next marketing meeting. See JP on your way out; he’s got it scheduled.”
“Okay,” I said, and quickly headed out the door.
“Oh, Ellie,” she called out. I paused. “How many bedrooms does that place have?”
