by Bishop, Ally
He nods, grudgingly. “Fair enough.”
“Besides, it’s not like you sat around all night worried about me. I’m betting some sweet thing might have made you breakfast this morning, judging by the dishes in the sink.”
One of our agreements has been that he keeps his one-night trysts to a minimum at home. He usually ends up at the girl’s place anyway, as most women don’t want to traipse over to a strange guy’s apartment. But on occasion, I have seen a bit more feminine skin around our apartment than I care to.
“It was good, too. Eggs Benedict and fresh-squeezed orange juice.”
I shake my head. “Do I need to Lysol the countertops before I make dinner?”
He makes a show of considering my question. “That might be wise.”
I groan loudly. “Noah!”
His grin widens, and he waggles his eyebrows. “When you got skills…”
“I don’t want to hear this.” I plug my ears with my fingers while he chuckles. I stick my tongue out at him and drop my hands. “At least I don’t give you the gory details.”
“Very true. I’ll skip those, but when do I get the scoop on the basics?”
“When I know this is more than just a flirtation.” And Ian’s party is well behind us.
He sits with that for a moment, then meets my gaze. “I will figure this out, Ells. I’m sneaky.” But then he stands, as though unable to keep still. “But you threw me last night.”
“Now you know how it feels,” I say softly.
He snorts. “It sucks.”
I can’t help laughing, but I throw myself into his arms, squeezing him hard. “Yes, it does. I’m sorry I worried you. That wasn’t my intent. But it was sort of nice to be impetuous.”
He kisses my forehead and curls his fingers around my shoulders. “This guy—he’s a good one? He’s not going to hurt you?”
I direct my gaze to the floor, feeling the pressure of Noah’s questions. “I hope not.”
“Ella, look at me.” When I try to withdraw, he squeezes my shoulders. “Hey, look at me.” I manage to stare at his nose. I might be skating by with some lies here and there, but I still stink at it. “You deserve a good guy. You never asked for what happened to you. So don’t you dare let some asshole treat you poorly. I’ll beat the fucker up.”
I laugh at that, remembering a time when he did indeed chase a suitor down and take a swing at him—back when we were in high school and crushes were confused with ever after. “Yeah, yeah, big talker. It’ll be fine. And I have work to do, so go get your worry on elsewhere. Or better yet, can you help me with the plans for this Friday’s party? Saturday’s party is taking over my life.” I say the words in jest, but there’s more truth there than I want to admit.
We settle into our familiar roles, our desks across from each other. I can feel him watching me on occasion, and while I know I’ve got him wondering, it’s more than that. I never realized how much I worried him over the last few years.
If there’s one good thing about Ian Crane—and I can name quite a few, to be honest—he’s certainly changed my tune about dating and relationships.
For now, at least.
CHAPTER 10
CONSULTING WITH A DOM
Dinner was lovely.” I roll onto my back, enjoying the silky feel of Ian’s bedsheets.
Ian smiles at me, trailing a finger down my arm. “But the movie might have been wishful thinking.”
That it was, seeing as we never left his place. He made me a delicious mushroom risotto with red snapper, complete with chocolate lava cake for dessert. He admitted after the fact that while the main course he made himself, the cake had been purchased from a bakery downtown. And then we were supposed to leave for the movie.
We didn’t get past the foyer.
“You were too tasty to resist,” he teases as he playfully nips my inner arm.
I shiver, then snuggle closer. “Mm. Yes, I seem to recall no real effort being made to get out the door.” I kiss him slowly, running my tongue along his bottom lip. “By either side.”
With a chuckle, he turns and slides a leg between mine. “Why leave when everything I want is right here?”
My stomach flips at his words, and it must show on my face since he tucks me in closer to him and curves his hand around my jaw. “You’re upset that we didn’t go to the movies?” he asks with a gentle tone.
I don’t know how to answer, but he doesn’t let me glance away.
“Talk to me, Ella. What is it?”
I bite my lip, wishing my face could remain neutral instead of betraying me. I mumble something and try to withdraw.
“I didn’t hear you. Say that again,” he insists, his arm tightening around me.
I exhale, then force myself to stare at his eyelashes. “I said I don’t know how you can be like this. Like…it’s been five days. Five days. Yet you’re so romantic, and you always say just the right thing. It’s…”
“It’s what?” His thumb strokes my cheek.
“Weird. I don’t know. Erm…” My teeth sink into my lip even harder, a punishment for my inelegant response. “Look, you’re like this crazy-good-looking guy who’s dated supermodels and has a solid career. I’m nothing like that. Nothing like that. I’m barely holding it together some days, I’ve got family issues, a business that’s struggling to make it—”
He interrupts me with a kiss, his tongue ensuring mine has better things to do than form words. When I’m breathless, he breaks off, looking me in the eye. “Ella, I’m hardly going to win any ‘perfect guy’ awards, as my mother will attest. And while I’m thrilled you think I’m so charming and handsome, there are quite a few people out there that would think otherwise. Ever since Thursday, I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind. And I know it’s only been a short time”—he presses a finger to my lips when I open my mouth—“five days, I know. I heard you. But sometimes, things just feel right. You feel right. I’m not proposing we get married tomorrow. I’m not saying that we should talk about long-term commitments. But I’m open to exploring whatever long-term potential we might have, if you are.” He dips down to my neck, pressing his lips there briefly and making me laugh. “Are you?”
I sink my fingers into his long, thick hair, enjoying the silky strands. “I do. That’s why I’m here.”
His sherry eyes search mine. “Then what is it? Who hurt you?”
Damn him for being so intuitive, although I guess it doesn’t take a genius to figure out when someone’s been damaged. I don’t want to tell this story—don’t want to even think about it. Not here, while I feel safe in someone else’s bed. But Ian’s patient inquiry deserves the truth.
“I was in a long relationship, and it ended poorly. Really poorly. It’s taken me a long time to even get to a point where I was ready to date again.” I gesture to the bed. “Or sleep with anyone.” I offer a small smile to lighten the mood. “I’m a little gun-shy, I guess, and you seem completely uninhibited.”
He chuckles at my statement. “Oh, Ella, not at all. Look, I went through some dark times the last year, and I’m fortunate that I have a great family and a good network of friends. They got me through it. Do you want me to give you all the warts and icky parts now?”
“Yes.” I nod definitively. “Give me your worst, Crane.”
“Hm, let’s see: as my housekeeper will tell you, I rarely manage to get my clothes in the hamper. I’m a terrible baker—I’ve burnt every cookie my mother forced me to make. I sucked at basketball, despite my height. A huge disappointment to my coach.” He smiles at the memory. “You could practically see him salivate when I showed up for tryouts. Such a letdown for the guy. What else? I’m a bit of an overachiever when I set my mind to something, but I can be a horrible sloth until then.” He curls a lock of my hair around his index finger. “And I’ve struggled with depression on and off since my dad died. But I’ve been to therapy, and I’m told that’s normal.”
That serious note sobers my smile. “I’m sorry.” I st
roke his face, tracing the outline of his eyebrows and nose. “And it is normal. I went through that in my teens.”
He kisses my fingers. “See? Not perfect. Not even close.” He holds me, and for a few minutes, I listen to his heartbeat, strong and constant.
“Thank you for sharing that with me.” I move so I can look at him.
Falling to his back, he tucks a hand behind his head, the other reaching for my fingers. “Ella, I don’t know exactly what we’re doing, and I don’t want you to be afraid. But this is the most fun I’ve had in over a year, and I like you. A lot. So maybe we just start there? See where it leads? Would that be okay?”
And it is. I know that. But there’s a part of me that’s terrified of not having a super detailed definition…terminology…of not having the prerequisite number of dates before reaching first base. I push the fear aside, though, and decide to lose myself in whatever this is, for the moment, for the next day, for however long it lasts.
S.O.S.
Lux texts me back seconds later.
What is it? What happened? U ok?
With shaking fingers, I respond.
I need a sex consultant. STAT.
“This is not technically consulting about sex,” Lux points out as we wander Shay’s Sexy Suite, which looks more like a Victoria’s Secret with battery-operated toys than what I’ve come to think of when I hear the phrase “sex shop.” Nonetheless, Shay has it all, from spicy fragrances to hardcore BDSM playwear. I’m not even sure where to look.
“When it comes to me shopping for something sexy, it might as well be.” I finger a collection of leather straps with the label “halter,” but I’ll be damned if I can figure out how or where it functions as such.
“Wrong room, silly girl.” Lux grabs my hand and steers me away from the red-walled room and into a much softer, pinker space. “Let’s start with some lingerie first, shall we? No point in scaring the guy with whips and handcuffs just yet.” She snickers when I shake my head.
“I’ll leave the leather to you.”
She nods her agreement. “We’ll have to set up lessons if you want to go down that road.”
I shake my head firmly. “Nope.”
“You and Noah…so vanilla.” She sighs dramatically, then winks. “So this is the mystery guy that you won’t tell Noah about?”
I roll my eyes. “I swear, men are just as bad as women when it comes to gossip.”
She grins, her gray eyes bright. “You are just now figuring that out? Though in fairness to Noah, he was really worried about you when you disappeared the other night.”
“I. Did. Not. Disappear. He’s such a drama queen. I sent him a text. He just didn’t know where I was.” I’m flipping through hangers on the sale rack.
Lux grabs my shoulders and steers me to the corner of the room, where a display of corsets is arranged by size. “Which Noah is not used to. I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but you two haven’t been apart for more than twenty-four hours for the entire time I’ve known you.”
“That’s not true.” I give her a look. “We’ve been apart dozens of times.”
“Really?” She crosses her arms over her leather bustier. “Name them.”
Faced between the choice of being honest about Noah and my attachment versus examining leather bodices, I choose the lesser of two evils. “What do you think of this one?” I hold out a black leather corset.
She laughs at me. “My point. And you aren’t a leather kind of girl. Let’s stick with embroidered cloth.” She turns her expert gaze to the selection, and within moments, has three different corsets, complete with matching underwear, garters, and hosiery.
“You should be a personal lingerie shopper.” I take the three sets from her, unsure if I can really pull any of these off. Don’t corsets require a certain confidence and sex appeal so you don’t feel like you’re playing dress-up?
“Oh honey, I’m a sex fantasy shopper. Much more fun.” She slings her arm around my shoulders and guides me to the dressing room.
After much debate—mostly mine—I settle on one of the three sets, and Lux treats me to coffee afterwards to celebrate my sexual liberation.
“I can’t believe you’ve never bought lingerie before. I’m pretty sure you’re a Guinness World Record holder.”
I sip my latte, then level my gaze at her. “I have sexy underwear. What more do you really need?”
She snorts. “Plenty.” She glances at the door of the coffee shop, where a huge line has formed to get their caffeine fix. She leans forward, her voice low. “So do I get any more details on the mystery man? Name? Age? Social security number?”
I laugh at her inquiry and shake my head. “Nope. This is just fun. I don’t even know if it’s anything worth talking about.” I bury my nose in my mug again.
“This guy inspired you to buy your first corset. I’d say it’s something.”
My cheeks inflame, and I stare at the table’s mottled surface. “I want to do something special for him. He’s done everything so far. Even made me dinner.”
“Nice! So when did you meet this delicious man?”
I have to be careful, as I don’t want her and Noah putting two and two together. “A few weeks ago,” I say breezily, telling myself it’s sort of true. I met him last week, and this is now the next week. “We’re just enjoying each other right now.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Damn, look at you. Little Ella Storm is getting her casual sex on. It’s about time, girl.”
I recoil at her comment, but then again, what else is this? It’s not like Ian and I have made any commitments. Nor should we, given the short time we’ve been…seeing each other? Sleeping together? Crap. I don’t even know what to call this.
“You have to let me know how tomorrow goes, though. Gotta tell me if our outfit had the intended effect. Just send me a text with a number, one through ten—ten being the hottest—if it worked.”
I nod, trying to push down the questions and concentrate on the moment. “Will do.”
CHAPTER 11
SPECIAL DELIVERY
We manage a play and dinner on Wednesday night. He even got tickets to a sold out Broadway show. “It pays to have corporations for clients,” he teases when we get our own box seats. It’s no fault of the actors that we leave during intermission. Or the taxi driver when we can’t keep our hands off each other on the ride to his apartment. And I’m pretty sure the driver who takes me home is on standby.
Dear God, who have I become?
When Thursday rolls around, I’m exhausted from lack of sleep, but wired from all the hormones. And Noah is giving me suspicious glares.
“I can figure out the password for your computer. You’re forcing me to become a spy.”
I shake my head, the strange butterflies in my belly batting their wings ferociously. “I don’t ask you questions when you wander off at night.”
“That’s different. I disappear with different women on a regular basis. And I’m home the next day without fail. This is one person, every night, for almost a week. And you won’t tell me his name.” He narrows his eyes. “You’re either embarrassed to admit he’s a hunchback—for which I would not judge you, sister dear—or he’s someone you think I won’t approve of.”
He’s a bit closer to the mark than I want to admit, and I’m tempted to come clean. But I know my brother: constant teasing will commence. I hide my face in a folder before I answer. “You have an overactive imagination. What is so wrong with wanting a little privacy?”
He grunts something unintelligible but clearly not approving.
“Fine. I will tell you who he is next week. I promise. But I want to see if it’s even going to last that long. That way, if it doesn’t, I won’t have to deal with the humiliation.”
“What’s so special about next week? Why can’t you tell me today?”
“Because we’ll be ‘Facebook official’ by then.” I grin at him.
His eyebrow raises, very slowly. “You’ll be what? What does
‘Facebook official’ even mean?”
Now it’s my turn to look skeptical. “Really? You date so few people more than once, you don’t even recognize the term?”
“If you’ll recall, I’m not a social media guru. I let you handle all of that.”
Which is true. I handle our Facebook, Twitter, and website, as well. While my brother is a whiz with spreadsheets and paperwork, he’s not much for online interaction beyond emails. “When people are officially dating, they update their Facebook status to reflect that. It’s…sort of a joke, really. As though ‘Facebook Official’ means something.” And while my tone is joking, the truth lingers there somewhere, as much as I hate to admit it. There’s something about publicly declaring your commitment to someone that speaks to my romantic soul. Not that a little over a week is near enough time to do that. I don’t want Ian to do anything so overt. Yet there’s a part of me…
“So you have to be announced online before your brother can know about it?”
Put that way, I feel terrible. “No, that’s not what I mean. I just—” I break off, frustrated that I painted things in such a bad light. I turn away from him, staring out the small window behind my desk. “Can I just have this, Noah? Please? Let me have a little privacy. We share everything, and I love that. But this one time, I want something that’s just mine for a little while longer. Next week, I’ll tell you everything. I promise.” And Ian’s party will be over, so I can feel less sleazy about sleeping with a client.
“Of course. I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.” His tone sounds chastised.
“You didn’t. I just—” But when I spin around, he’s already left the room.
Having Noah upset at me makes getting dressed for lunch even harder. But I manage, despite the complications of corsets. Who knew these things had so many ties? The deep plum silk sets off my pale skin, and my curls fall loose over my shoulders. I add a bit more makeup than usual, and while I’m not typically one for fragrances, there was one at Shay’s I couldn’t resist, so I rub the body lotion on and spritz the matching body spray over my skin.
