Christ, what he’d give for a closet right now, a stolen moment to finish what they’d started last night. He ached to lick her, to suck her until she moaned for him.
His cock stiffened at the thought.
“You sure about that?” Her voice was shaking, her heartbeat ragged behind that thin pink bra.
“Oh, yes. It keeps you up at night,” he whispered, gently nipping her ear, her neck. “Wondering what might’ve been. What it would’ve felt like with my cock sliding into your sweet pussy, teasing you all night long, hearing you beg for release.”
The woman swallowed hard, her pulse throbbing. “Is that what keeps you up at night?”
“Since I met you? Absolutely.”
But the truth was, it was more than that. Sure, Jared had tried to convince himself it was just the interrupted sex, that maybe if he would’ve fucked her properly last night, he wouldn’t be obsessing about her today.
But seeing her in the daylight, her bright smile, the heady way she looked at him after he’d whispered those dark, sexy words in her ear… It was more than physical. There was something about this woman that got to him. That made him want to know her. All of her.
Fuck, she’s right. This is a terrible idea. Walk away, asshole. Just walk away, and forget you ever laid eyes on her.
“We met less than twenty-four hours ago,” she said.
“And I haven’t slept a wink. You?”
She looked up at Jared through long, feathery lashes, her eyes dark with a desire so unchecked it sent an electric jolt straight to his cock.
“Same,” she whispered. “But I… No. I really should go. I have to meet—”
“I’m going to ask you a question,” he said, encircling her wrists with his fingers, “the answer to which will determine how the rest of this plays out.”
Goose bumps rippled along her arms. When she spoke, her voice was tentative, her gaze dreamy and faraway. “Okay.”
“Do you want me to walk away?” He nodded toward the exit. “If you tell me to do it, I’ll walk out that door and forget we ever met.”
“But—”
“It’s a simple question, love. Do you want me to leave?” He cupped her face in his hands, her silky hair tickling his fingers. It was impossible not to remember pulling on that hair while he fucked her mouth last night, sliding into the back of her throat as she sucked him in deep. He’d still tasted her on his skin this morning, on his lips, on his fingers, and all he could think about was seeing her again, stripping her bare, spreading her legs wide, and plundering her pussy with his tongue, stroking her until she collapsed from exhausted pleasure.
Now, standing so close that his breath stirred her hair, he looked deep into her eyes, whispering one last time against those luscious pink lips. “Yes, or no?”
Chapter Twelve
Yes, or no? After a picnic dinner of cheese fries and vanilla shakes, Ari lounged on a blanket in Bryant Park with Tasha, alternately watching the movie and wondering if she’d done the right thing.
In the hours since she’d run into the man at the museum, she’d gone from yes, to no, to hell no, and was currently hovering around “worst mistake of her life” territory. But as much as she hated to admit it, the moment her phone lit up with a text from her newest contact, that “hell no” turned into a “holy orgasmic yes” in a heartbeat.
STRANGER: Miss me, love?
ARI: Hmm. I’ve been keeping myself occupied.
STRANGER: Literally or figuratively?
ARI: Use your imagination.
STRANGER: I’m sitting at home doing just that. Where are you?
ARI: On a date. So go away.
STRANGER: You’re on a date, but you’re texting me?
ARI: YOU’RE texting ME.
STRANGER: And yet…
ARI: You’re impossible!
STRANGER: So I’ve been told. I must’ve made quite a second impression if you’re still ignoring your date for me.
ARI: I’m not ignoring her!
STRANGER: HER? Now things are getting interesting…
ARI: OMG, my sister! And before you say another word, I already know she’d think you’re a total creep.
STRANGER: I’m not interested in your sister, love. But for the record, do YOU think I’m a total creep?
ARI: Maybe. :-)
STRANGER: Come on! What kind of creep buys a girl a fancy hot dog on their first date?
ARI: Seriously? hot dogs are the creepy man’s trademark. And that wasn’t our first date. More like #4.
STRANGER: I see you’ve given our relationship a lot of thought.
ARI: You’re the one who called me your wife.
STRANGER: Married within an hour of meeting. Yet, sadly, a relationship mostly unconsummated. Sounds like a made-for-telly movie.
ARI: Pro tip, hot stuff. If you want your wife to put out, take her to a hotel. Or on a cruise. I hear the ladies love that shit.
STRANGER: You’re dreadful!
ARI: Sooo not what you said last night.
STRANGER: You’re just lucky I couldn’t find any closets in the museum. Today might’ve turned out a lot differently for both of us.
ARI: Pretty cocky for a man sitting home alone while his wife’s out on a date.
STRANGER: :-( At least tell me what you’re wearing, Trouble.
ARI: You already know what I’m wearing. You saw me wearing it earlier, remember?
STRANGER: How could I forget? Seeing your ass in those tight jeans distracted me so much I missed my 2:30 meeting. So tell me again.
ARI: *shrugs*
STRANGER: Well. You’re not very fun tonight.
ARI: Really? Even though I’m not wearing panties?
STRANGER: !
STRANGER: !!!
ARI: I bet the rest of the guys here think a girl who goes commando to a movie screening in a public park is LOTS of fun. Maybe I should take a poll?
STRANGER: Just so we’re clear, I’ll kill the first man who answers that question.
STRANGER: Wait… does this mean you weren’t wearing panties at the museum?
STRANGER: Still there?
ARI: Yes, sorry! Movie. Just got to my favorite part.
STRANGER: What movie?
ARI: Sleepless in Seattle. Empire State Building scene. BRB.
STRANGER: I knew it! You’re a hopeless romantic. A sexy-as-hell, hopeless, panty-less romantic who drives me—
“You are so busted!” Tasha swiped the phone from Ari’s hand, her eyes glowing with mischief as she scanned the screen.
“Give it back, Tasha.”
“Is this Mr. Already Forgotten?”
“No. It’s just… a guy from work.” Ari reached for the phone, but Tasha wouldn’t relent.
“I can’t believe I’m watching this romantic-as-hell movie while my sister’s sitting here sexting some internet guy like it’s no big deal.”
“What? I am not! And he’s not an internet guy. He’s… I told you, it’s a work thing.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Tasha glanced down at the phone, her expression souring. “Eww, you’re not wearing panties? Ari!”
An older couple on a blanket in front of them turned around to give Ari the evil eye.
“Tasha!” Ari whispered. Her cheeks burned, but Tasha only giggled.
“He thinks you’re romantic,” she whispered. “Obviously he doesn’t know you very well. Oh, he just sent a new one!” Tasha glanced again at the phone, her eyes narrowing as she read the latest message. “What the fuck? Now he just sounds like a psycho.”
“Give me that.” Ari checked the screen.
No more games, Arianne. I need you here ASAP. Nonnegotiable. Find a cab—my driver is unavailable.
It wasn’t her man. It was Davidson.
“It’s the boss,” Ari said, unable to keep the disappointment from her voice.
Tasha rolled her eyes. “Great. I already know he’s a psycho.”
“Don’t say that. I’m lucky to have this job.”
E
verything okay? she texted.
Be here in 30 minutes, Arianne. We need to talk about your future.
The skin on Ari’s neck prickled. She’d completely forgotten to report in on her museum findings, and after the lunch meeting disaster, she knew she was on thin ice. There was no telling what he wanted from her now.
“Isn’t it about time you ditch that gig?” Tasha asked. “You’re super smart, talented. Why stay in a crappy job when you can probably find something awesome?”
“It pays really well, Tasha. I can’t just walk away.”
The movie credits were rolling, but the sisters were still drawing nasty looks from everyone around them.
“So that’s the most important thing?” Tasha asked. “Money?”
“It is when you don’t have any,” Ari whispered. “And that’s not something I want you to worry about. Ever. Okay?”
It wasn’t the first time they’d had this argument, and Ari knew it wouldn’t be the last. But for now Tasha dropped it, gathering up their trash and helping Ari fold the blanket.
“I need to catch a cab,” Ari said. Davidson lived in a massive steel-and-glass tower in the no man’s land between Chinatown and the Financial District, arguably the most inconvenient location in Manhattan. Getting there in thirty minutes was about as likely as finding that awesome new job Tasha thought she deserved, but she had to try.
Tasha nodded, linking her arm with Ari’s. “Come on, I’ll wait with you. Forty-Second Street?”
“Let’s try Fifth,” Ari said. On Fifth she could at least wait in front of the library, one of her favorite buildings in the city.
They packed up the rest of their things and threaded their way through the Bryant Park crowd. Traffic on Fifth Avenue was a nightmare—every yellow cab that passed was already occupied.
“Figures.” Ari sat on the library steps, gazing up at the stately marble lions that had guarded the entrance for more than a hundred years. In their familiar company, she relaxed.
So many people thought that living in New York was exactly like a movie, where everyone was fabulous and rich, spending their evenings at A-list restaurants with dollhouse-sized meal portions and rude waiters, or hopping from club to exclusive club, or—at the other end of the spectrum—getting drunk on cheap beer and stumbling through Time’s Square.
But for Ari, more than the restaurants, the clubs, the music scene, the tourist traps, the best places in New York were the ones that had survived the centuries. Libraries, museums, universities—the places that showcased and archived humanity’s great achievements, the things that would continue to inspire awe, even when people themselves no longer could.
Ari blew out a breath. Even as her own life descended into chaos, at least she could count on her beloved lions, always here to remind her that no matter what mistakes she made, some things endured.
And maybe she would, too.
“What are you thinking about?” Tasha asked.
“Patience and Fortitude,” Ari said.
“What?”
“The lions? Those are their names.”
Tasha finally smiled. “You’re a nut. Hey, a cab! Come on.”
In a flash Tasha bolted to the street, hailing the cab as Ari ran to catch up.
“Have fun with the bossman,” Tasha said. “I’ll be at home working on your resume.”
“Work on your own, Miss Dean’s List.” Ari climbed into the cab and waved goodbye, telling herself for the millionth time that she’d find a way out of this life eventually.
But it wasn’t going to be tonight.
“Fulton and Water Street,” she told the driver. “As fast as you can.”
Chapter Thirteen
There was a snake in Davidson’s living room. A snake with dull gray eyes and spiky, over-gelled blond hair who leered at Ari with a mix of desire, possessiveness, and pure hatred.
“Arianne,” the man said. His breath hissed through the gap between his front teeth, giving her an icy chill. “You’re looking well.”
“Vincent.” It was all she could give him—his name. Even a year later, the sight of her ex still made her skin crawl. It probably always would.
“Glad you could finally join us,” Davidson said, handing Ari a gin and tonic. She’d arrived fifteen minutes late, and he’d seated her next to Vincent, probably as punishment. Now he took the chair across from them, pinning her with a steely gaze. “Tell me about the painting.”
Ari sipped her drink, buying herself a moment to think. Davidson was definitely angling for something, but it wasn’t information about the Whitfield—he could’ve just asked about that over the phone. None of the crew members were here. It was just Vincent, a freelancer they’d met a few months after her father’s death. The others didn’t think much of him—in fact, Lilah had never quite forgiven Ari for getting involved with such a lowlife—but Davidson still used him regularly for fake passports and customs forms for the artwork they fenced overseas.
So what the fuck is he doing here now, looking at me like he wants to devour me whole?
“Arianne?” Davidson pressed. “The painting?”
Ari shrugged her shoulders, downing another gulp. “Nothing much to report. Just a donation, like you said. Info on the donor is confidential, but everything seemed on the up-and-up.”
Davidson shook his head. “Doesn’t sound right. Why would someone pay that much for a painting just to donate it?”
“I don’t know.” Ari hid her smile, remembering what the Brit had said. “Maybe he’s just a nice chap.”
He laughed, a machine-gun chuckle that hurt her ears. “Oh, sweetheart. Didn’t the old man ever teach you there’s no such thing?”
“Guess we didn’t get around to that lesson.”
“No, I suppose not.” Davidson rose. “I need another drink. Why don’t you two catch up a bit.”
The moment he left the room, Vincent was practically on top of her, stroking her arm with his cold fingers, sniffing at her skin, trying to kiss her. “I missed you so much, baby.”
She curled in on herself, shrugging him off.
“Aw, don’t be like that.” Vincent trailed a finger along her cheek, his tongue darting out between his lips in a way that was anything but sexy. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you, you know. All those nasty things you wanted to do. You remember, baby.”
“Huh. Not really,” she said. “Guess I’ve moved on.”
“Guess you’re still a stuck-up cunt.”
“Never doubt it,” she said. Ari couldn’t believe she’d ever fallen for this guy. The thought of his hands on her body, his crunchy hair, his sloppy tongue in her ear as he grunted like an ape…
“Come on, Ari. I’m just playing with you.” Vincent’s gaze traveled over her body, stopping to rest at her crotch. Ari held back a shiver. “You still want it. I can tell by those tight jeans you wore for me.”
“Don’t touch me, Vincent,” she said. “I mean it.”
“That’s the thing. I don’t think you do.” He shoved his hand between her thighs, pinching her crotch through the jeans. “That’s a good little slut. Just like—what the fuck, bitch!”
Vincent recoiled, his clothes soaked in Ari’s gin and tonic.
“I told you not to touch me, asshole. Do it again, and I’ll do something more…” This time, she let her eyes linger on his crotch. “Permanently uncomfortable.”
Davidson called out from the kitchen around the corner, “Everything all right in there?”
“Fine,” Ari said with a smirk. “But I need another drink. And your boy Vinny needs a towel.”
Davidson finally returned with the drinks and a kitchen towel. He took one look at Vincent, moping at the far end of the couch, and laughed. “I see the reunion is going well.”
“Smashing. So, what’s on the agenda tonight?” Ari asked, forcing a smile. She wasn’t interested in reunions or social calls. She just wished Davidson would get to the point. He loved the cloak-and-dagger bullshit, but after five years of
following his orders, Ari was tired of his games. She’d bailed out on girls’ night with Tasha, turned off her phone during a perfectly delicious text volley with the Brit on the cab ride up, endured the filthy, unwanted advances of her sleazy ex—the least Davidson could do was get to the fucking point.
“Something has come to our attention, Arianne.” Davidson held her gaze for a moment, a dead stare that put ice in her veins.
No. There’s no way he could’ve found out. Right?
“What’s that?” She chugged her drink, willing her heart rate to slow.
“We may have a new assignment for you. But Arianne, believe me when I say there is no room for error on this one.” He sipped his martini so delicately it looked like a kiss. Over the rim, he exchanged a glance with Vincent that Ari couldn’t decipher. “We need to be certain you can handle it. We have… concerns.”
We? So he and Vincent are a ‘we’ now?
“So this is about another job?” she asked. “What about Keens and those guys?”
Davidson and his pet snake shared another cryptic glance. He said, “This is more of a… a side project. We’re counting on your discretion.”
Ari nodded, forcing herself not to squirm. She knew better than to challenge Davidson or go behind his back to the others, but this kind of secrecy was bad news. Even more than her usual attack of conscience, none of this felt right—something on which both her intuition and her brain agreed.
“Are you interested in hearing the details?” Davidson asked.
What I’m interested in, you son of a bitch, is dumping this drink in your face, setting you on fire, and shooting your charred corpse out of a cannon over the East River.
“Of course,” she said brightly. “What’s the job?”
Vincent handed her an envelope from his inside jacket pocket, still warm from his body heat. “Shindig upstate on Friday night. You’re an attorney attending at the behest of your client, who sends her regrets.”
Ari opened the envelope and thumbed through the contents: a satellite map of a sprawling estate in Annandale-on-Hudson, a ticket to the event, info about the host, and a few thin details about her temporary identity.
Bared to the Billionaire: The Complete Series Page 8
