“I admire that. I could learn something from you.”
“I bet there are a lot of things you could learn from me,” he murmurs.
And I suddenly get the feeling we’re not talking about steak dinners and champagne lessons. The tingling sensation in my core tells me so along with the warmth spreading through me. Warmth that has nothing to do with wine.
It’s a miracle I can even walk out of the restaurant by the time we’re finished.
“Oof,” I groan, laughing at myself. “My eyes were bigger than my stomach.”
He must think I’m a total pig at this point, but I couldn’t help it. Every forkful was better than the one before.
And let’s face it; I had no idea if or when I’d ever be able to enjoy such an incredible meal again. A girl needs to take advantage of these opportunities.
“That’s a shame since I was about to suggest we head to a jazz club I’m part-owner of.” He sighs, clicking his tongue and shaking his head in mock dismay. “If you’re too stuffed to go and do a little dancing and drinking …”
“I think I can manage that,” I blurt out, making him laugh as we reach the sidewalk.
“I thought you’d feel that way.” He chuckles, turning to me.
His hands find my waist, and I don’t shy away, not even when he pulls me a little closer. If anything, I’ve been dying for the opportunity to be this close to him, face-to-face, and my heart pounds hard enough that I have to wonder if he can hear it.
His eyes dart across my face. “Where did you come from, Kitty Valentine?” he whispers.
“Brooklyn, remember?”
“No, no. You must’ve come from another planet. They don’t make women like you anymore.”
“Funny. I was thinking the same thing about you earlier. Not that I think you’re a woman or anything.”
He laughs softly before lowering his head, hesitating for one soul-searing second before catching my mouth with his. He tastes like wine and the glass of scotch he finished the meal with—something my consciousness registers along with the strength of the arms he winds around my waist and the firmness of his chest. He crushes me against that chest when his arms tighten, and that’s good since I need something to lean against when my legs go weak.
His mouth moves slowly over mine, nibbling and tasting, almost playful. Teasing me, tantalizing, making me stretch upward to reach him. What can I say? There are certain hungers that a steak dinner can’t sate.
The only thing that could stop us at this moment would be the ringing of his cell, which is why the buzzing coming from his breast pocket comes as no surprise. Because of course, the phone would ring while I’m in the middle of being kissed like I’ve never been kissed before.
“Damn it,” he growls, sliding a hand between us to reach for the device. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I breathe, dizzy and painfully aroused. This is the moment when I’m supposed to be the cool girl, right? The one who doesn’t get flustered when her first kiss with somebody shaping up to be her dream man gets interrupted.
He’s scowling when he answers the call. “Yes? Yes, I know. No. I’m in Chicago. I told you, I had plans,” he says, looking at the ground. “What do you mean, the board wants to meet? On a Sunday? Since when? You’re kidding.” He turns away, muttering a colorful array of curses as whoever is on the other end of the call explains the situation.
I might as well not be standing here, still in front of the hotel, still a little off-kilter after our kiss. Maybe even more so now that I know our plans for the rest of the evening have been ruined. Nobody has to tell me so. I’m a pretty smart girl.
He shoves the phone into his pocket before turning back to me, apology written all over his face. “I’m so sorry. Does it make me too much of a jerk to ask for a rain check on our trip to the club?”
“Of course not. You have important things to do.” I’m trying to smile, but my heart’s not in it. Not that I had my sights set on jazz and dancing—though the dancing could’ve been nice, come to think of it.
It’s just that I can’t help but wonder, as we make our way back to the hangar, how much of Blake’s life is available to the woman in it, whoever she happens to be.
And whether that woman could ever be me.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“This was a good vintage—2008,” Bryan informed her as he poured a glass of fizzy amber liquid. “I think you’ll enjoy this.”
Phoebe barely managed to suppress a smile. Like she would know the difference. But the least she could do was play along on this sudden detour to Chicago. “So long as we don’t drink too much and miss tomorrow’s presentations,” she murmured, taking a flute from her boss’s hand.
Was the brush of his fingers against hers an intentional thing? Was she a complete idiot for even asking herself such a question? There was no way on earth the man was interested in her outside of their professional relationship.
And no way he could know about the fantasies he inspired …
I roll my head on my neck and wonder if the greats ever questioned their writing the way I’m doing right now. It’s just that I never had to think much while doing this before—not that writing was easy per se, but I was comfortable. Words flowed with ease.
I’m overthinking this.
Phoebe and her boss have to get something going on while flying either to or from Chicago. They just have to. They’ve been flirting and ratcheting up the tension for thousands of words. I doubt my readers, whoever they are, will feel like waiting much longer before a pulsing, throbbing cock pops out.
I wince at the thought. How am I supposed to write about this when I can’t even keep a straight face while thinking about it?
What would he think if he knew how much sleep he’d cost her? Not to mention, productivity. How was she supposed to work when all she could think about lately was how much she wanted him to clear off her desk with a sweep of his arm and tear off her panties? Preferably with his teeth.
I can picture Blake that way. I can imagine him in all sorts of ways in fact.
Before I know it, my imagination starts running away with me. Sure, Blake with my underwear in his teeth. He spits them out—no! He buries his nose in them to inhale my scent before tossing them aside and burying his face in my—
“Damn it!” I growl when the phone rings. Just when I was starting to get into it. “This’d better be good,” I warn Hayley on answering.
“Ouch. That’s what I get for taking time out of my ridiculously busy day, huh?”
“It’s Sunday. How busy can you be?”
“Hella busy, thanks very much.” She sounds downright annoyed now, which saddens and chastises me.
“Sorry. I’m in a mood. You know I’m always glad when you find time to say hello.” Though preferably not while I’m starting to feel more than a little turned on by the notion of my boss going down on me. While I’m on a desk with my skirt hiked up … and I really shouldn’t be thinking about this while Hayley’s on the phone.
“How did it go last night? You know I’ve been dying to know! Where did you go?”
The question brightens my mood. “Nowhere special. We took the jet to Chicago.”
“What?”
“And had dinner in this ridiculously amazing restaurant that used to be a speakeasy Al Capone had spent time in. My eyes almost fell out of my head. Did you know there are restaurants without prices on the menu?” For some reason, I still can’t get over this.
“Shut up! That’s so cool! The speakeasy stuff, I mean. I can’t believe he whisked you away like that! Then, what happened?”
There goes my mood. It lasted all of ten seconds. “Well, we were supposed to go to a jazz club he owns part of, which I think is just about the neatest thing ever, and I had the feeling he was going to take me to his apartment afterward. He has one there.”
“Of course he does. Was there any, you know, sexy stuff?”
“I wish. We did kiss though. That was nice.”
&
nbsp; “Just nice?” She laughs.
“No. More than nice. It was exciting and hot and thrilling. Sweet though. He was respectful. He took his time too, which I think we can both agree is a plus.”
“Mmm,” she sighs. “I love long, slow kisses. I miss them.”
“But he got a phone call. Business.” I lean back in the chair and close my eyes, one curled fist against my forehead. “It brought the night to an end real fast.”
“Oh no. So, no jazz? No hot sex?”
“No sex at all.” I snicker. “We flew home. He was on his phone the whole time, typing messages and taking calls to prepare for this huge board meeting or whatever.”
“And what did you do?”
“I took notes on my phone—the jet, the dinner, all of it. What was I supposed to do?” I ask when she giggles. “I might as well have not been there. He barely said a word to me. For a minute, I thought maybe he was angry with me for some reason. It was only when he apologized again before dropping me off at home that I knew he was mad at himself and the people who wanted the meeting.”
“Aw, that’s a shame. I’m sorry. But, hey! You got to fly on a private jet, and you know what it’s like to have dinner at a restaurant with no prices on the menu. You can use that for your book, right?”
“I took a peek at the bill after it was delivered,” I have to admit. “The meal was over six hundred bucks. I’m sure it meant nothing to him, but I almost yelped.”
“Wow! You’ll have to bring me along on your next date.”
“If there is a next date. I mean, things ended pretty strangely. He was already dialing his assistant when he got back in the car. He didn’t even walk me up to my apartment.”
“That doesn’t mean anything,” she says, sounding like the Hayley I know and love. “He was distracted. But if that kiss was anything like you described, he’ll be calling soon. Mark my words.”
“I hope he does. Not just because I have a book on the line either.”
“I didn’t think that was all there was to it,” she gently assures me. “You sound so excited when you talk about him. And you’re not a user. That’s the last word I’d use to describe you. It’s clear that you like him a lot.”
“I do. He’s such a gentleman and drop-dead gorgeous. I mean, I can hardly think straight sometimes when we’re together. I just wanna stare at him. And he’s generous and thoughtful, and he’s a real person at heart. A normal guy. Except for the whole having-to-drop-everything-for-business side of things.”
“I guess that comes with the territory,” she says. “He’s a powerful man. There’s probably a million pies he has a finger in.”
“Wow. There’s a pretty image.”
“You know what I mean, you weirdo. He’s got a bunch of business interests. There. Satisfied?”
“Yes, smarty-pants. And of course, I know what you mean.”
“It probably takes him forever just to clear a few hours in his schedule to spend time with you.”
“Which is exactly what I’m talking about! You’re making it sound like I should be grateful for any little bit of time he can spare. And, yes, I am. I know he goes out of his way to spend time with me. But I want more than that. Is it wrong for me to want more?”
“More than a man with the money to do anything you want at the drop of a hat? No, really,” she insists when I scoff. “Think about this. Anything you want would be yours. From what you’re telling me about him, he wouldn’t deny you anything.”
“Except for himself, which is all I’d want in the end. He’s more than just a fat wallet. And honestly, I don’t know how I feel about you making it sound like that’s all I should care about. Who do you think I am? Don’t you know me better than that?”
“I already told you, I know you’re not that person. Don’t take it the wrong way, please.”
“How else am I supposed to take it? I don’t care that he’s a billionaire. I care that he’s himself. That’s all.”
“I think you’re getting mixed up. You’re not supposed to be dating him to fall in love or anything like that. You’re supposed to be using him for research.”
My mouth opens immediately, a cute little retort on the tip of my tongue. Only I can’t go through with delivering it since she made a good point. I hate it when she makes a good point, especially when she’s disagreeing with me.
“I know,” I sigh instead of telling her off.
“But you can’t help yourself, can you?”
“I wish I could. Maybe I can. I have to face this professionally, is all. I can’t let him get to me. I mean, this is one book of many. I’ll have to date a ton of guys to keep cranking out new books.”
“Or … you could marry Blake and never have to worry about writing again!”
“Shut up!” I yelp, and we both laugh. “You’re not helping.”
“I know; I know. I couldn’t help it. And don’t pretend it wouldn’t be amazing, being the wife of a billionaire.”
It would be incredible. I know he would make it that way for me, for us.
But how many special evenings would end abruptly because of an unforeseen phone call? How many vacations would I spend alone because he couldn’t get away from work?
Besides … “I wouldn’t ever want to stop writing, you know.”
“I know, but you could write what you want. You wouldn’t have to worry about marketability or any of that.”
“I thought you were a fan of me taking my career to the next level.”
“I’m a fan of whatever makes you happy, sweetie.”
And I know she means it, which is why I’m able to end our call with a smile.
“Okay,” I whisper to myself, flexing my fingers. “Where were we? Oh, yes. Blake had his head between my thighs.”
Amazing how easy it is to write a sexy scene when there’s somebody in particular who you wish were doing those things to you …
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“You have no idea how sorry I am.”
“Really, it’s okay!” I mean, it’s not. But it is. “There was nothing you could do about it. You’re a busy person. If anything, I felt sorry for you.”
“Sorry for me?” Blake points to himself with a bemused expression, his mouth pulling downward at the corners. “Why would you feel sorry for me?”
Whoops. Maybe that was the wrong thing to say. After all, we’re in his car, being driven to his penthouse here in the city—purely for research purposes, he’s assured me multiple times. Now, it seems like I’ve insulted him.
Hopefully, he’s enough of a gentleman not to push me out of a moving car.
“Don’t get me wrong,” I babble. Yes, I’m babbling, and my palms are all sweaty. “Not that you’re pitiable or anything. I mean, you have it all—at least, it seems that way. Millions of people would kill to be in your shoes. Even the cheapest shoes you own.”
He snorts softly, but his face is still an unreadable mask. A handsome, unreadable mask with just a touch of scruff on the cheeks. I wonder how that scruff would feel against the insides of my thighs, which is where Blake was all day—at least, in my fantasies, which are about all I have to work from right now.
“But I felt sorry for you anyway because you’re always on call. It must be tough, trying to plan a special night or a vacation when there’s no telling what’s going to happen. So many people depend on you.”
“They do,” he sighs. “And no worries. I understood what you meant. I’m tired and a little cranky, is all.”
“We don’t have to do this, especially tonight. You probably just got back to town.”
“I did.” He rubs the back of his neck, grimacing like there’s tightness in his muscles. “But I couldn’t wait to see you again. Sometimes, I’m stubborn. And I wanted to make it up to you after cutting things off so suddenly last night.”
Make it up to me? I catch my bottom lip under my teeth. “What do you have in mind?” I ask in what I hope is a cool, confident, worldly sort of way. So what if my palms are s
weatier than ever? And oh, great, so are my underarms?
A slow smile spreads, and he doesn’t look so tired anymore. “You’ll see.”
“Is it okay that I dressed casually? Like you said I should?” Granted, I’m more dressed up than I would be if I was hanging around the apartment, the way I normally do on a Sunday night. But still.
“You look gorgeous. And, yes, it’s fine. We’ll be staying in tonight.”
How is it that the simplest, most innocent statement sets my heart racing? Who wouldn’t want to stay in with him?
Preferably in bed. Naked. A little sweaty and breathless.
“How’s the writing coming along?” he asks as we ride from the Upper East Side down into Midtown.
“Can you read my mind?”
“What’s that mean?”
“It means, I’ve been imagining what else I can put in my book, based on what you’ve shown me so far.”
“I won’t take offense to that.” He snickers. “Though I sort of wish you were fully with me and not halfway in your book.”
“I’m not, really,” I insist before putting my hands to my cheeks. They’re hot to the touch, which doesn’t come as a surprise. “I’m so embarrassed.”
“Why?”
“Because … oh jeez,” I whisper, shaking my head. “It’s too much. Let’s just say, I need to write … other things. In … interesting locations …”
He manages not to laugh at me. “Oh. You mean, sex? You have to write sex scenes, and you’re trying to imagine doing it here, in the car?”
“No! Oh my God, I’m going to die of embarrassment. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
He catches my wrist, chuckling as he raises my hand to his lips. Does he have any idea how sexy that is? Just the slightest kiss on the back of my knuckles, and I’m putty in his large, capable-looking hands.
Kitty Valentine dates a Billionaire Page 9
