“Thank you for coming down here to meet me,” he suddenly said. “I mean it.”
Something in his voice caught her attention, and she flushed red. “Now, I’m the one who has a confession to make…” she slowly said.
“Shoot.”
“I’m very grateful that you invited me. It’s been years—years,” she stressed, less to him and more to herself, “that I’ve spent my Valentine’s Day with anyone other than Keats and Tolstoy.”
“War and Peace, really?” he flashed a smile. “I much prefer Stephen King.”
“On Valentine’s Day?” she truly seemed horrified. He laughed and grabbed her hand. He towed her towards him, but resisted the urge to kiss her and taste her sweetness. It was too soon, and he knew it.
Suddenly, his cell phone rang. Maribel looked down at his vibrating pocket. The glee and banter dissipated as they both waited to see if Miles was going to answer it.
Miles noted the name of the caller and exhaled into the cold air with bitterness. Then, he answered the call. “I’m here.”
“You’re not going to blow this deal, are you?”
Miles clenched his jaw, drifting away from the loud, cheery glee of the ice skaters in the rink.
“Thirty-five million dollars, Brax, and you’re making them wait on the details, just so you can get your nuts off with some call girl…”
“Enough, Gary—” Miles cut in. “Gillian called you, fine, I get that. But the rest is personal, so fuck off.”
“Okay, okay, whatever you say. I’m just your lawyer, not your shrink. But maybe you need a visit to your shrink to have your head examined if you think it’s a good idea to blow off a thirty-five million dollar deal.”
“Look—it’s Saturday.”
“I’m a lawyer, Brax. We don’t acknowledge the difference between the work week and the weekend. They’re all billable hours.”
“We’re too far apart on the lease terms.”
“You’re not that far apart,” Gary countered. “And that’s what I’m here for. Tell me what you want, and if it gets shot down, then let me be the one who carries the surrender flag. No ego lost on your part.”
Ego. Everyone always thought it was about his ego, Miles thought. He considered taking up Gary’s offer and spewing out the acceptable terms, but then reconsidered. He had escaped—for a few brief hours—and now they were circling him like ravenous vultures, attempting to draw him back in.
Maribel suddenly appeared behind him. “Hot chocolate,” she mouthed, and proudly offered up two paper cups, steaming and frothy with their cocoa delight.
He gazed at her and slowly smiled—a thirty-five million dollar deal or hot chocolate on Valentine’s Day with a sassy, spontaneous, sexy woman who he wanted to get to know more.
“Marshmallows,” she mouthed, sweetening the deal.
Oh, Maribel. Miles rubbed his face and peered down at the white dots, bobbing in the hot chocolate. She made difficult choices seem so simple.
“I’ll call you tomorrow, Gary.”
“Don’t, Brax—” Gary rushed to keep his attention, “Don’t do this… you blow this deal, and you’ll quickly become the hardass megalomaniac real estate tycoon who nobody is going to want to do business with.”
“Well, that sounds better than just being known as an ‘asshole.’”
Miles ended the call, regretting his decision to answer it in the first place. Crude and rude. That’s how they provoked him to act because that’s what they expected from him. It was a vicious cycle, and he hated it. He noted the sun was drifting behind the thick winter clouds. The frigid wind lashed through their coats and pushed them close together.
Maribel shivered against his coat. “Trade,” she offered—the hot chocolate for his phone. Miles accepted the drink, but waivered on giving up his cell phone.
“C’mon on,” she nudged, opening up her purse. “At least until we finish our hot chocolates.”
It was a fair compromise, and a concession he was willing to make—more than she knew.
“I’m a wanted man, Maribel,” he quipped, depositing his phone in her purse. “My mugshot is all over the wires.”
She shrugged. “You’re a billionaire. Everyone will always want something from you.”
Everyone—except her. She didn’t seem to want anything from him except to share an uninterrupted moment to enjoy their hot dogs and hot chocolates. Snow drifts suddenly flecked down upon them. Maribel shivered again as a gust of wind swept through the city like an invisible hand pushing them off of the street and out of the cold. He considered inviting her up to his apartment. It was right there, three buildings down along Michigan Avenue. They could escape from the weather and relax by his fireplace; he could tour her through his penthouse, then scrounge out something from his refrigerator and attempt to make them dinner. It would be a pleasant way to finish Valentine’s Day, and at the end of their meal, they could decide together whether or not she wanted to spend the night. He peered down at Maribel. She looked up at him with her priceless brown eyes. Suddenly, he reconsidered all of it. She was too good for him, too good for his superficial world—and she deserved better than to be corrupted by it.
Snowflakes glazed her black hair and earmuffs like sugar. He wanted nothing more than to tow her into him and kiss her sweetness, but he knew he hadn’t earned the right.
“It’s cold, too cold to spend any more time outside…” he said. “We should think about getting you home.”
Chapter Five
It was a long drive back to her apartment on the North side.
They sat in silence. Maribel felt his tension. She knew he was thinking about work. When the Mercedes rolled up to the curb, the driver lowered the tinted glass and acknowledged their arrival. Maribel heard the driver’s exit before seeing her own side door whisk open. The driver held out his hand to assist her, but she didn’t accept it. Instead, she gazed back at Miles. They had barely spoken since their departure.
“Thank you so much. I had a lovely time.”
Miles smiled—a reluctant, uncertain smile that made Maribel stop from exiting the car. Silence lingered between them. He gazed at her with restraint.
“It was wonderful spending time with you, Maribel,” he finally said.
She understood the flat tone in his voice. It had been a wonderful way to spend Valentine’s Day, but now it was time for them to part ways. They came from different worlds, and now, they needed to return to them—separately. He touched her hand—briefly—before pushing her out of the car with his cold shale eyes. She forced a smile and extended her hand out to the driver who pulled her out of the car and away from Miles.
“Maribel!” a voice cried out from the building. “Is that you?”
“Yes, Emma Jean.” Maribel looked up at her neighbor, who was dangling precariously out of her third-story window, wearing a red feather boa and festive headband with two bobbing hearts. Music and gleeful laughter filtered down from her apartment like invisible confetti.
“What are you doing out there in that fancy ride?” Emma Jean called back, inebriated and squinting past her near-sighted vision. “And who the heck is that?”
Miles slowly lowered the tinted windows of the Mercedes and peered up at Emma Jean.
“Well, hello there, Mr. Handsome Mystery Man,” Emma Jean waved and blew Miles a kiss. “The party’s up here. C’mon on up…”
Maribel looked back at Miles’ designer suit and stormy eyes. It looked like she had been kidnapped by the mafia.
“And you, Miss Martinez. I’ve got your name tag already. I’ve been waiting for you all afternoon. You can’t have a Melrose Place Christmas party without our sweet, sensitive Allison Parker.”
Maribel glanced back at Miles who was still attempting to make sense of her drunken neighbor.
“Melrose Place—it’s a ’90s-Aaron-Spelling-nighttime-soap-opera-melodrama-TV show-themed-party,” Maribel tried to clarify, then shook her head. “Don’t ask…”
“C’mon up,
already,” Emma Jean drawled at Miles. “I’ll make you a name tag, too. That suit is just perfect. You can be Jack Wagner/Dr. Peter Burns—my nemesis.”
Suddenly, there was a crash from inside the apartment. Emma Jean pulled herself back from the window ledge and called inside. “Are you all catfighting Heather Locklear style? Or just being clumsy?” Her inebriated laughter trickled down upon them, and Miles peered over to Maribel.
“You wanna come up?” she offered with a shrug.
“Nemesis?” he asked, his eyebrow arching with curious amusement. It was the first time the ice had thawed between them since escaping the bitter cold at Millennium Park.
“You billionaires indulge in octopus cooked in its own ink and expensive wine. The rest of us have Melrose Place,” she sassed. “Are you up for it?”
Miles hesitated. It was the first time Maribel saw him betray indecision. She tried not to seem impatient, but billionaire or not, she didn’t want him to come if he wasn’t going to enjoy himself. Finally, he exited the car, then pulled back inside, only to emerge with a black duffle bag and his black dress coat.
“Take the rest of the night off, Andre,” Miles said to his driver.
“Sir?”
“Don’t worry. I’ll take a cab home. Take the night off.”
Andre smiled and nodded with appreciation. “Thank you, sir.” He quickly circled back around to the driver’s seat, slammed the door, and peeled away from the curb, leaving Maribel and Miles to face the uncertainty of Emma Jean’s party—together.
Maribel led him to the heavy front door of her apartment building and into the foyer. She heard Miles’ footsteps, trudging up the carpeted stairs behind her, and wondered how long he would last there…Five? Ten? Maybe fifteen minutes, if Emma Jean had a decent bottle of imported rum or whiskey. As they ascended to the second floor, the swelling music and nasal crooning of Meatloafs’ —I Would Do Anything For Love (But I Won’t Do That) overwhelmed them.
Five minutes. Definitely five minutes—max, Maribel felt certain.
When they arrived up to the third floor landing, Maribel pointed out her apartment door across the hallway. “I live there. You can leave your things there in the corner.”
Miles’ eyes surveyed Maribel’s snow boats next to her porcelain gnome in beachwear—both resting atop a pink rubber floor mat. He didn’t seem convinced.
“Don’t worry… everyone in this building is poor, but we don’t steal.”
“I’m more worried about the rats,” he shot back.
Maribel eyed at him. He broke into his sly smile, and settled his things onto the floor.
“What’s in the duffle bag, anyway… stacks of hundred dollar bills?”
“Pajamas,” he joked dryly.
Maribel hid her smile. It was impossible to read him, but she knew one thing for certain—their playful connection was back.
“Let’s do this already,” he nodded towards Emma Jean’s half-open door.
Maribel and Miles pushed into Emma Jean’s vintage two-bedroom apartment, its entryway and living room crowded with guests—all sporting Valentine’s Day hearts on their foreheads or cleavage, and all animated by the whirling strobe of a silver disco ball hanging from the ceiling fan. They passed a card table, its barren food trays and empty punch bowl signaled they were late to the party. Suddenly, there was a burst of jovial laughter and a physical jolt of bodies that forced Maribel and Miles towards the half-empty couch. An older couple sat on the opposite side, lip syncing along to the music with a spatula and a cheese grater. Emma Jean rushed up to Maribel and Miles, and slapped them each with a name tag.
“Peter and Allison… I’d like you to meet Donna, a.k.a tough-taking, but emotionally wounded ‘Jo Reynolds and her biker hottie boyfriend, ‘Jake Hansen’.”
Miles sunk down next to them onto the couch and shook hands with the overweight man wearing an Ozzy Osborn T-shirt, black jeans, and black leather biker vest.
“Dr. Peter Burns,” Miles introduced himself without a beat, “and this is Allison Parker,” he said, referencing Maribel’s name tag before abruptly towing her onto his lap.
“Oh, you’re a devious one, Dr. Burns,” Donna gasped over her miniature bottle of cooking wine. “They brought you into Season Four to stir up trouble at the hospital.”
“Like there wasn’t already enough trouble,” overweight biker Jake rolled his eyes, exasperated.
“Because of moi, Mr. Satan himself.” Emma Jean returned from the kitchen and handed over tumblers to Miles and Maribel.
Miles leaned in and read aloud from Emma Jean’s name tag. “Dr. Michael Mancini?”
“Call me—‘Dr. Michael,’” she puckered her lips, flirtatiously. “I steal your job as director of the hospital, and in return, you throw me out a window. Look at him, Donna…isn’t he the perfect Jack Wager/Peter Burns with those dreamy blue eyes and everything?”
“I always loved Jack Wagner from the Bold and the Beautiful,” Donna confirmed.
Miles winked at both women and threw back his tumbler.
Maribel peered inside it. “What is it?” she asked Emma Jean.
“Honey…what’s left!” Emma Jean cried out with a cackling smoker’s cough, and disappeared back into the kitchen.
Uncertain, Maribel glanced at Miles, who crunched down on his ice. “C’mon, Miss Parker. Don’t be such a goodie, goodie.” He bounced her on his knee to encourage her to drink up.
“Oh, I like him already,” Donna nudged Maribel. “But don’t tell Dr. Mancini.”
Maribel wasn’t convinced. She knew Emma Jean, and knew she wasn’t above serving rubbing alcohol if it was the only thing left in her apartment. Maribel sipped from her tumbler. Wow, it was strong—impossibly strong. Miles, on the other hand, emptied his drink like it was water and relaxed his head against a fluffy pink pillow in the shape of a piglet. He peered into Maribel’s eyes. His lap was firm. He supported her back with the steady strength of his right arm. But his gaze was flat and fading. Emma Jean was right. He did have dreamy blue eyes, and for a moment, Maribel wished he would whisk her up into his arms and carry her out the door.
Suddenly, a champagne cork exploded.
“Just found another bottle behind the dog food bag!” Emma Jean announced. All her guests applauded with cheers.
The commotion caused an enormous Great Dane to roll along the base of the couch, seeking shelter from the uproar. She greeted Miles with a friendly whiff.
“Hey, girl,” he said, and nuzzled the dog with reassurance.
“That’s Petunia,” Emma Jean made the introduction while handing off Daisy cups of champagne. “You must be very special because she normally doesn’t kiss strangers. But she does have a soft spot for dreamy blue eyes—just like me.” Miles downed the champagne and relaxed more. His gaze drifted over to Maribel.
“I have dogs. Three,” Miles confessed with regret. “But I pay a professional to take care of them because I don’t have time to ever see them.” He let Petunia lick his face with a generous kiss before she departed in search of her favorite squeaky mouse. “I pay professionals to do everything for me,” he added with bitter laughter, “except be me. Hopefully that’s still worth doing myself.”
Maribel peered at him. He seemed so vulnerable and wounded. With a gesture of compassion, she ran her fingers across his hair. He took her hand into his own and held it. His eyes fixed on her with intensity. She recognized that gaze—she had seen it when she modeled the necklace for him in the department store, and when the snowflakes fell upon them at Millennium Park. Slowly, cautiously, he leaned forward and snaked both arms around Maribel’s waste, securing her closer in his lap. Then, he towed her entire body into his chest and kissed her lips. His strong hand ran over her knit stockings and down her calves, then back up to her face as he held her chin and covered her mouth with his own, tonguing her fully, completely, without apology or restraint until she submitted herself to him—not because he forced her to acquiesce, but because she hoped for more.
“Can we go to your apartment?” he petitioned with a whisper, his forehead dropping against her shoulder, signaling an impenetrable yearning for something only she could grant him.
“Yes,” she heard herself whisper back. Then, she felt him lift her into his arms with a dominating force that made her realize there was no turning back.
He pushed them both through the crowded living room and out into the empty stairwell, and deposited her in front of her apartment door. Maribel fumbled through her purse for her keys. She felt Miles’ impatient hands encircle her from behind, slipping off her coat and kissing her ear lobe. His hot breath exhaled down her neck where his nose traced the edge of her scoop neck sweater. She sensed what he wanted—he wanted her completely. She unlocked the door, but dropped her keys when he embraced her and shuttled them inside the dark shadows of her apartment.
Should she turn on the lights or leave them off? Maribel barely had time to consider it before she felt his hands sweeping off her sweater to expose her black lace bra. Off, her mind repeated, off, off, off, off, off as she returned his advances, kissing him deeply and loosening his tie while he unbuttoned his coat. Off, off, off, she thought as she attempted to unbutton his business shirt, but stopped, distracted by the sensation of his smooth chin and tongue flowing across her bare shoulders, down and around her belly button, and back up over her cleavage. She ran her fingernails through his dark hair and watched his strong shadow against the ceiling as it pulled down the straps of her bra before delving his mouth deep into its cups to suck on her nipples. Maribel closed her eyes and accepted his mouth with a submissive exhale. She couldn’t remember the last time she had invited a man into her apartment, much less allowed him to strip off her sweater, peel down her bra, and suck her dry, the way he was sucking her off now. But she didn’t want to remember anything—anything except the exhilaration of being devoured the way that he was devouring her.
Priceless: Contemporary Billionaire Romance Novel Page 5
