“Sounds great,” she says with a bright smile. The first one I’ve seen from her since I surprised her in the lobby when I arrived. She’s happy to have me all to herself.
I smile back. It’s damn nice to be adored.
7
Riley
I wasn’t mad at my friends. Just slightly irritated. I know they were just being friendly to Jack. Okay, I was ticked off at the way they were checking him out and gushing over him, but now that it’s just me and Jack at the rooftop lounge, I’m feeling so much more relaxed. There’s a light breeze on this warm June night, dim lighting, and a techno beat pulsing in the air. I thought the lounge would be dead on a Wednesday, but it seems it’s preferred by everyone over the dance floor below on a nice night. The city skyline is beautiful, lit up at night. We took it in when we first arrived, enjoying great views of the Empire State Building and all the way out to the Hudson River.
Now I’m nursing a twenty-dollar spicy strawberry margarita, sitting on a blue cushioned love seat next to Jack. There’s greenery around us that makes it feel like a private spot. He’s got a beer. It’s only his second of the night because he’s careful not to go into work hungover. As he explained, that would be a real hazard when you work with power tools. I never go to work hungover either, but if I did, I might just make a math error, which I’d find on my final review. Ha-ha. The risky life of an accountant.
I unbutton the top of my blouse and loosen the tie there, feeling so relaxed. Jack stares at the newly exposed skin. Does he think I’m trying to seduce him? Would that work?
“It’s a little warm,” I say.
He flashes a grin. “No complaints from me. You seem more relaxed now. You like it here?”
“It’s great.”
“You wanna dance?”
There’s a decent throng bouncing around to the beat a distance away.
“Yeah, after my drink,” I say, lifting it and taking a small sip.
“Your friends are nice.”
“They’re the total package, right?” I’m still a little miffed about that. He included me as an afterthought. I hate that I’m jealous. I’m never jealous. Of course, I never had a boyfriend other women admired so much. I mean, yes, he’s gorgeous and sexy from his tousled dark brown hair to his bluest of blue eyes to his sexy beard and spectacular muscles, but he’s not just the hot one. He’s kind and thoughtful and—
He got me a brick.
Oh God. I have it bad. Swooning over a brick.
He gives a lock of my hair a tug. “So cute when you’re pouting.”
“I’m not pouting.”
“Uh-huh.”
I take a fortifying sip of margarita, and then another, before putting it out there. “Are you into me?” My voice comes out in a strangled whisper.
He cups a hand by his ear. “What?”
“Never mind.” I chug my margarita.
He sets his beer down on the low table in front of us. “Tell me.” He gestures for me to come closer, leaning his head down a bit like he’s listening closely.
I stare at his profile, at the line of his square jaw, and I get the overwhelming urge to trace it with my finger.
He shifts, facing me. “Gone shy on me? Too late. I’ve seen your granny panties.”
“What!”
He waves that away. “When you were by the air conditioner in the hotel room, waiting for me to shove ice down your dress, the air-conditioner breeze gave me a peek.”
My cheeks flame. “I don’t wear granny panties.”
“Okay, fine. I’ve seen your plain white sensible panties. Now tell me what you said.”
How can I ask if he’s into me now that I know he thinks I wear granny panties? They’re just regular cotton briefs. He’s probably used to a string bikini or thong. I’m wearing my black briefs today like I always do with my black trousers. Are black cotton briefs sexier?
No. Still granny panties. He’s definitely not into me. He’s had many opportunities to initiate something, and he’s done absolutely nothing. A tempted man would at least go for a kiss, right? We could still get an annulment after a hot makeout session. I just need something. I’m finding it harder and harder to resist him, but I don’t want to throw myself at him only to be rejected. This is horrible. I wish I were a better flirt. I just say things plainly, and now I’ve landed in really awkward sensitive territory. Granny panties territory.
I can feel him staring at me. I need to change the subject fast, only my mind is stuck on Jack getting a peek at my panties and thinking they’re sensible. Not sexy. Sensible. Gah! I’m so embarrassed. Forget it! Just forget it! It’s never going to happen.
I scratch my neck. “Can we talk about something else?”
His lips curve up. “Telltale blush. Did you ask me something dirty before?”
“No!” I protest much too loudly. A-a-and twenty-dollar margarita is gone in one long cooling chug. I set the empty glass on the table next to his nearly full beer.
“Hey, it’s cool with me. Nothing I haven’t heard before.”
He takes a pull on his beer, cocky as all hell. Of course he is! He’s been with lots of women in skimpy panties. They probably don’t even wear panties. I clench my teeth.
“What?” he asks.
“Nothing.”
He sets his beer down. “Now you’re mad. How can you be mad when I don’t even know what you asked in the first place?”
“It wasn’t important.” I’m not upset. He didn’t know—ah! “Jack!” He just put me in his lap.
His arms wrap around me in a warm embrace, and I melt. I’ve never melted for a man before, and this is the second time tonight. “I’m not letting you go until you tell me what was such an important question that it got you all worked up.”
“They’re not granny panties,” I tell his chest. Shut up about the panties!
“Okay, they’re sensible Riley-appropriate panties.”
I lift my head, and he grins. “You’re teasing me.”
“It’s what I do.”
I don’t know if it’s the margarita suddenly hitting me or being in his arms gazing into his intensely blue eyes, but the truth tumbles out before I can stop it. “I just wanted to know if you were into me, like, in that way. You know, when you’re not swimming in tequila.”
“Ry,” he says gently.
I lift my chin, bracing myself. I know I’m not his usual type. He could get anyone. “Just be honest. I can take it.”
His expression softens, his voice husky. “Why’re you asking me this?”
I swallow hard and stare straight ahead. “Because it feels one-sided, but sometimes it doesn’t, and I feel silly now because I’m in your lap.” I fling my hands up and accidentally smack his arm. “Sorry!”
“I’m fine. Go on.”
I grip my hands together. “We’ve only kissed once that was anything close to a real kiss, and, well, I’d like more. I think we could safely kiss and still have an annulment.” I risk a look at him. “If you were into me.”
He sets me on the sofa next to him, and I grip my hands tightly in my lap, staring at them. I guess that means…
He tilts my chin up. “Are you crazy? You’re the total package—brains and a smoking hot body plus a sense of humor. Very important for a prankster like me.”
Heat flashes through me, all of my nerve endings tingling. Smoking hot body? Never heard that before. He called my friends pretty, not smoking hot. Most guys only ever call me cute. Now what? Do I make a move? Do something!
“Uh, okay, good,” I mumble, and then add louder, “Thank you very much.” I sit there, smiling a little, woozy from the drinks and the realization that the most gorgeous man I’ve met in my life thinks I’m smoking hot. He really said that!
“Tell me about your boyfriend history,” he says abruptly.
My lips part in surprise. I suppose it’s a good sign he wants to know, though I have to say I don’t want to know his girlfriend history. Sam says he never sticks; it’s like a co
nstant parade of new women. I wish I found him less appealing because I know I’m risking heartbreak, but I can’t seem to help myself. I’m really into him.
“Charlie,” he prompts.
“Yes. I was with him for two years. It ended amicably. He got a job in Chicago, so we broke up. I’ve mostly dated fellow accountants I met at college or grad school. A few were serious relationships, none stuck obviously.” I’m ready for someone different. I keep that to myself, hoping he’ll get it without me saying it since I’m with him. Sorta.
“I’ve never had anyone serious in my life.”
“I know. Tell me about your family. The royal thing is so cool.”
He grins. “Who knew sensible Riley Walsh had a princess fantasy?”
“Yeah, yeah. Just tell me. What’s it like to be royal?”
He shares about his family, which is really interesting because he grew up here living a regular life, but there’s this whole other side of his family that lives in a palace on Villroy Island just off the coast of southwestern France. His dad was supposed to be king but abdicated to marry Jack’s commoner mother, the “best woman in the world.” That’s a direct quote from his dad that Jack and his brothers always echo. It’s clear he’s close with his family. I love that. I’m close with my family too. Too bad my parents disapprove of him.
We talk for a long while, sitting side by side on the cushy sofa, taking in the Manhattan skyline. Jack finishes his beer and stands, holding his hand out to me. “Let’s dance.”
I take his hand and he guides me to the dance floor, working his way to the center of the throng of people. It’s fun to dance with Jack. He’s confident with good rhythm, but he’s not touching me at all. In fact, he seems to be giving me even more distance. I’m getting whiplash. First, I’m the smoking hot woman he pulled into his lap, and now I’m practically dancing alone.
I’m just relaxed enough from two glasses of wine and a margarita to try a sexier dance, hoping to lure him closer. I run my hands down my sides, undulating my body. And then something surprising happens—
Another man dances close behind me, attracted by my sexy dance.
My eyes widen. This has never happened to me before on the dance floor. Well, there was that time in Vegas with Jack, but that was the only time, and I knew him. I’m not sure what to do in this bizarre circumstance, but then Jack makes it easy, taking my hand and pulling me toward him until I’m flush against his body.
He bands his arm around my waist and says over my shoulder in a sharp voice, “She’s with me.”
A secret joy bursts in my chest. “I’m with him,” I announce.
Jack drops his arm from me, but doesn’t shift away. “He moved on.”
“Jealous?” I ask with a grin, lifting my arms and dancing close to his sexy body.
“Just like you were earlier with your friends ogling me.”
“I was not.”
His hand settles on my lower back, his leg slipping between mine as my dance suddenly becomes a slow grind. A rush of lust makes my knees weak.
His eyes are half-hooded, his voice gravelly. “You wanted me all to yourself.”
And then there are no more words. Only his eyes smoldering into mine, his hand burning through the thin fabric of my blouse, and our bodies moving to a rhythm that’s sensual and promises more.
We close down the place and get kicked out at midnight.
He takes my hand. “I’ll see you home.”
“Great!” I chirp. I can’t help but think it means something that he wants to see me home. The night will continue. I feel like we just had round one of foreplay on the dance floor. I’ll invite him in for a cup of coffee, or maybe I’ll just invite him in. He’ll know what that means. My roommate should be asleep in the living room. My other roommate works the nightshift, which means my room is all mine. It’s a twin-size bed, though. Whatever. We’ll make it work. He’s big, but as long as he doesn’t roll over…
“What’re you thinking so hard about?” he asks.
Suddenly I realize we’re on the sidewalk outside and I have little memory of the time in between. I can’t seem to come up with a way to explain my lusty logistical thinking. My cheeks heat.
“Thinking dirty again?” he asks with a cocky grin.
“No. I was just thinking. My apartment’s not far from work.”
“We’ll get a cab there, and then I’ll catch the subway at Grand Central.”
My brain scrambles for a subtle way to suggest he stay the night. But he has work in Brooklyn tomorrow morning. I could just suggest he stay for a while. Unfortunately, the alcohol has worn off, and I’m not feeling as bold as before. There was something so intimate about being close to him on the rooftop lounge, far away from the noise and rush of the city.
A few moments later, we’re in a cab on the way to my building. Jack takes my hand and my hopes rise again. It’s not like he has to hold my hand when it’s just the two of us.
“Did you have a good birthday?” he asks in a low voice.
“I did. Thanks for coming out for it. And for the amazing gift! That engraved brick is really cool.”
He flashes a brilliant smile, his teeth flashing white against his dark beard. “You’re welcome. Glad I chose well.”
I lean my head against his shoulder. “You did.”
He’s quiet, so I guess he doesn’t mind me leaning on him. I close my eyes, relaxed and sleepy.
I jolt upright when he nudges me.
“Looks like we’re here,” he says.
I go for my purse to pay the cabbie.
“I got it already,” he says. “Let’s go.”
My heart squeezes. It’s so sweet the way he covered for me tonight for my birthday. Like a date. I make a good salary, so it’s no problem for me to pay my way. The only reason I have two roommates is because Manhattan rent is ridiculously high.
As soon as he joins me on the sidewalk, I say, “Thanks, Jack. Best birthday ever.”
“Wow, high compliment. Best ever. Was it the drinks or the dancing?”
I smile up at him. “It was you. Come on up. I’m on the third floor.”
I let us in with my key card and lead the way upstairs. He follows behind in silence. Once upstairs, I head to the end of the hallway and stop. “This is me. You want to come in?”
“Thanks, but no. It’s late.” He chucks me under the chin. I hate when he does that, like I’m Sam’s little sister. “Goodnight.”
I lean close, going up on tiptoe to make it easy for him. “It’s been a great night thanks to you.”
He kisses my cheek. “Good.”
I narrow my eyes, peeved beyond belief. “You kiss me like I’m your friend’s little sister.”
He gets serious. “I kiss you like the woman I’m about to get an annulment from on Monday morning. No hookups.”
“Kissing is not a hookup.”
“Kissing leads to hookups.”
“Not always. It could just be kissing. A really nice birthday kiss.”
He shakes his head. “With you and me it would lead to more. Trust me.”
I park a hand on my hip. “Awfully confident.” Please take the bait.
He takes a step back, holding his palms up as if to ward me off. “I don’t wanna test the theory. Better not to be tempted in the first place. I’m impulsive. How do you think we got in this predicament?”
I lift my chin. “Maybe I was the impulsive one.”
“Nope, that’s on me.”
I try for another angle because this need to get closer to him has only grown since that first time we danced in Vegas, and he did say I have a smoking hot body. I tempt him. He should want to at least kiss me. “Let me ask you this, back at Sam’s wedding reception, you offered to take me to a private room and put your head under my dress. So why offer that, but now you won’t even give me a decent goodnight kiss?”
His eyes are hot on mine, his voice rough. “That was a prank. I was seeing how you’d react because I was pretty sure yo
u’d blush like crazy and squirm. Very entertaining.”
I lick my lips, and he stares at them. “So you were messing with me.”
His voice is hoarse. “Yeah.”
“What if I had taken you up on it?”
He swallows audibly. “Then I would’ve had to follow through. That’s called integrity. You do what you say you’re gonna do. But you didn’t take me up on it, so—” he coughs “—uh, goodnight again.”
“I accept the offer here and now as a special birthday gift.”
His jaw drops, and then he speaks in a rush of words. “No can do. No ruffly bridesmaid’s dress to get under, it’s technically past midnight so it’s not your birthday anymore, and the offer expired four days ago.”
I tsk and pull my key from my purse. “Chicken.” I sense a sudden tension in the air and meet his gleaming eyes. My breath catches.
Then he shocks me, pinning me against the wall suddenly with his body and kissing me breathless. His mouth is demanding, passionate, urgent. I love it. Raw lust surges through me in a smoldering hot wave, leaving my knees weak. He pulls away abruptly, and I just stand there, leaning against the wall, stunned. My body hums with everything he makes me feel.
He scoops my key from the ground, where it fell from my limp hand, unlocks my door, opens it, and then palms my hand to return the key, nudging me inside. His voice is gravelly. “Night, Ry.”
I walk inside on shaky legs. “Night.”
I sag against the closed door for a moment and rest my fingertips on my still-tingling lips. I want more.
I turn and open the door. “Jack?”
The hallway is empty. I go back inside, deflated but determined. I’ll see him on Friday for my birthday dinner with my parents. Somehow I’ll get myself invited back to his place. And that is not the move of a desperately horny woman. That is a wife’s privilege.
And it’s my last chance.
8
Jack
So it’s my last day as a husband, probably for a very long time, and I’m feeling weirdly nostalgic. Like it was kinda a good feeling to have a wife, even if we only kissed a few times and nothing else. I don’t know. Maybe it’s seeing my older brothers so happy with their women that’s making me think commitment isn’t the rope around my neck I used to think it was. My oldest brother, Dylan, is married with a baby on the way, and he’s so frigging happy all the time he can’t stop whistling. Sean is crazy about his woman too. It’s only a matter of time until we’re all at his wedding. And then there’s Sam. I know I always say he’s pussy whipped—and he really is—but the truth is, he’s never been happier. All he wants to do is be with Alison all the time. I used to think that was pathetic, but now I’m finding myself in the uncomfortable position of missing Riley when we’re apart.
Rogue Rascal (The Rourkes, Book 9) Page 9
