His Innocent Seduction

by Clare Connelly

  She grins, and then lifts up to press a kiss against my mouth. It’s chaste and quick and catches me totally by surprise. ‘Isn’t all basketball American?’ she quips, her eyes crinkling as she drops back down to her normal height.

  I stare at her, bemused for a second, then nod. ‘Right, of course.’

  ‘Look at how many people are lined up. That queue goes around the block.’

  ‘Knicks home game—it’s a big deal.’

  ‘I’ll bet. Can you smell that? Popcorn?’

  ‘Yeah.’ And then I smile, and nod to the Garden. ‘Whaddaya say? Want to check out a real American institution?’

  ‘Oh, my God. You got us tickets?’

  ‘Sure.’ I reach into my pocket and pull them out.

  She makes a squealing noise of excitement and drops my hand so she can clap hers together. Then she throws her arms around my neck and lifts up, her happiness as palpable as it is contagious.

  ‘You like basketball?’

  ‘Um, no.’ She grins as she pulls away from me, turning to look at the stadium. ‘But it’s like you said—a new experience. Just what I’m in the business of collecting.’ She wiggles her brows and I laugh softly.

  ‘I gathered.’

  ‘This is so thoughtful of you, Michael.’

  I shake my head. ‘It’s no big deal.’

  ‘Sure...’ she says with a touch of sarcasm. ‘Somehow you managed to secure tickets to a game like this at the last minute.’

  ‘I thought you’d enjoy it.’

  Her eyes linger on mine before she drags them away to look at the stadium. ‘So? What are we waiting for?’

  ‘Nothing whatsoever.’

  She begins to move towards the queue, but once we’re over the other side I pull on her hand, guiding her down thirty-third. ‘Our gate’s around the corner.’

  ‘Do you come here often?’

  ‘The Garden?’

  ‘No, New York.’

  ‘About once a month.’

  ‘So often?’

  ‘Sure, why not?’

  ‘I would have thought your schedule would preclude that.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You work long hours...your case load...’

  ‘I work on the plane. I work here.’

  ‘And your plane really is like a huge floating bedroom,’ she adds a third point and then flushes adorably as she obviously remembers how she spent her time in my bedroom on the way over.

  ‘So you still blush then.’ I can’t help the lightly mocking comment.

  She pokes her tongue out and my gut fires. ‘Blusher for life.’

  I shake my head, my smile wide on my face as we turn into seventh. ‘Here we go.’ I nod towards a door on the side of the building.

  ‘Here?’ She looks at me in puzzlement. ‘Is this like a staff entrance? Are we working? Selling popcorn?’

  I nod sagely. ‘Yep. Bib’s inside.’

  She hits my stomach and I grin. ‘Be patient.’

  She rolls her eyes. ‘You know how hard that is.’

  ‘On the contrary, I know how good you are at it.’ I hold the tickets out to one of the security guys. He checks them, then scans them with a machine holstered at his waist.

  ‘This way, Mr Brophy.’ The security guard guides us into the arena. The noise is overwhelming. I look towards Millie and her expression of wonderment does something strange to my insides. It knots me and unties me all at once.

  ‘This is unbelievable,’ she says, shaking her head. I’ve been here before; this isn’t new to me. I try to see it through her eyes—the lights on the court, the players warming up, the sound of the crowd, the food-sellers walking the aisles.

  ‘Where are we sitting?’

  I nod towards the security guy who, by now, is a fair way in front of us.

  ‘Michael,’ she groans, following my gaze. ‘You didn’t buy courtside seats, did you?’

  To that I can only shrug. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I think you’re...’

  I catch her hand and wrap it around behind her, bringing her body to mine. She expels a breath, looking up at me with the wonderment of a moment ago but, instead of it being focused on this megalithic stadium, it’s all reserved for me.

  ‘Yeah?’ I ask, my voice almost unrecognisable for how deep and throaty it emerges.

  ‘I think you’re...’

  I drop my head, brushing my lips against hers. ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Too much,’ she says simply but she smiles, and it’s a huge smile that makes her face glow.

  Maybe I am crazy, just like she says. Maybe this weekend is a stupid idea, given what she wants, and what I want. But Millie is on an adventure—how can I not want to be a small part of that with her? Just for a moment, a brief weekend.

  ‘And kind of amazing.’

  ‘Just kind of?’ I act mock-wounded and she nods with apparent seriousness.

  ‘Only kind of.’ She winks then, as if in slow motion, and starts to walk once more, down the steps all the way to our courtside seats.

  A stadium staffer appears a second later with drinks and food.

  Millie looks at me expectantly and, when we’re alone, leans closer. ‘Seriously? Five-star service at a basketball game?’

  ‘It’s part of the package.’

  The game is tight. I watch it with genuine enjoyment for this level of elite athleticism. And, more often than I should, I find myself looking at Millie. My eyes flick to her almost like a reflex. Is she having fun? Or is she bored?

  Definitely not the latter. She’s on the edge of her seat for much of the game and it’s only at the end of full time that she wraps her hand around my forearm, digging her nails in. ‘Look,’ she whispers out of the corner of her mouth—a mouth I’ve long ago given up trying not to fantasise about. ‘That’s Penelope Ray!’

  She points to the chart-topping singer. ‘And her husband.’

  Millie goes pale, turning her huge eyes to me. ‘Oh. My. God.’

  I lean closer. ‘I know, right? More celebrities.’

  She punches my shoulder and I laugh, wrapping an arm around her shoulder, leaning back in my seat for the last few minutes of the game.

  By the time it’s over, I’m pretty fucking happy. Life doesn’t get much better than this. The Garden for a world-class game, with a date who is about as uncomplicated and...fun...as it gets.

  Yeah, this is the life. But I’m done with being tour guide now. I want Millie back in the apartment as soon as we can manage it. Preferably naked. Maybe wearing those heels she had on last night...

  Unfortunately, getting out of the Garden isn’t as easy as getting in, even in the VIP seats. It takes about twenty minutes to snake our way to the door and by then dusk is starting to fall.

  ‘Oh, Michael,’ she gushes, reaching for my hand almost on instinct now. ‘Look how pretty everything is.’

  Again, I see it through her eyes and admit to a certain degree of magic. ‘Want to pay a visit to Lady Liberty?’ The offer surprises me as much as it does her. What happened to naked-except-for-stilettos Millie back in my penthouse?

  When she looks at me, I swear her eyes are moist, like she’s fighting tears. She nods and smiles, an unsteady smile.

  I lift a hand, hailing a cab. One stops almost immediately. It’s a twenty-minute drive to the tip of Manhattan. He pulls over near the Skyscraper Museum and I take Millie’s hand without thinking, leading her through Wagner Park towards the water.

  Millie gasps when she sees her, the statue atop Ellis Island, the statue with such a long and proud history, greeting all those who come to America by boat, seeking a better life and brighter future. A fresh start.

  We gaze upon her side by side, both silent for a long time.

  ‘I...’

  She looks up at me shyly
and even though she’s smiling I’m completely serious.

  ‘What is it, Millie?’

  ‘It’s silly, but...’

  ‘But?’

  ‘Would you take my photo?’ She lifts her phone out. ‘For my book.’

  ‘Book?’ I take her phone and step back, waiting for her to explain.

  ‘You know, the book of everything I’ve seen and done.’

  I suppress a grin, covering my face with her phone as I angle it for a pic. I snap it and then pull my phone out. I hand hers back but, before she moves, I lift my phone and hold it in front of us both.

  ‘A selfie, Mr Brophy?’

  ‘For my book,’ I tease back.

  ‘Of your conquests?’ She uses the same light-hearted, jocular tone, and I don’t know why it pisses me off.

  I look at the photo of us and airdrop a copy to her before sliding my phone back in my pocket.

  ‘You up for a short walk?’

  ‘Of course.’

  We walk around the tip of Manhattan as dusk gradually becomes deeper, darker. We walk towards the Brooklyn Bridge, Millie recounting everything she loved about the game, the day, the country, the city. Her enthusiasm is breathtaking and bewildering.

  Night lays claim to New York and we walk a little way over the bridge to have a view back over Manhattan. Millie stares at it, her emotions palpable.

  ‘Are you okay?’ I hear myself ask, wondering why the hell my whole body is on tenterhooks, waiting for her response.

  ‘Yeah, I’m... I just keep thinking how much my mum would have loved to see this.’

  CHAPTER TEN

  I SHOULD BE exhausted by the time we board his private jet. I slept a few hours, woke up, and discovered I wanted Michael. Again. I don’t know if I ever won’t. Seriously, sex is way more addictive than I bargained on.

  I thought it was as simple as tying a shoelace. Like something you learned to do and enjoyed when it suited. Sorry, I know that’s really clinical but, in all honesty, how would I know any differently?

  I thought sex was simple, and I thought sleeping with Michael would be easy to walk away from, but a week and a half after we first made love, high above the Atlantic Ocean, watching Michael covertly—I hope—as he reads some case notes on his tablet, I can already see it’s going to be hard. Hard to board that flight next weekend.

  Hard to walk away from him.

  I didn’t think about ‘afterwards’ when I proposed this. I didn’t think about post-sex. In my mind, it was a simple transaction. I’ve seen him leave the bar with enough women to know that he’s pretty lax about the whole idea of sleeping with someone.

  But am I?

  I guess I have to be. As great as sex is—as sex with Michael Brophy is—he’s not in my long-term plans. He’s not in my short-term plans either. I’m here to have fun. No strings. No ties. I’m going to Paris soon, and then Budapest or Prague or wherever the hell I want. I’m going to see all the places Mum never got to. I’m going to swim in the Danube and climb the Eiffel Tower, I’m going to do cheesy tourist photos in Pisa, pretending to prop up the ancient building. I’m going to move wherever the wind takes me and only when I’ve done what I promised Mum I would will I consider going back to Australia and picking up the threads of my normal life.

  A life that might admit a future with a man. But not a man like Michael, anyway. He’s too...too much.

  I sigh softly, and his eyes lift to my face. My stomach jerks. I look away.

  This is all academic anyway, because Michael has as little interest in a relationship as I do. Which brings us back to—what next?

  I wanted to lose my virginity.

  I have.

  Is that it?

  Will Michael expect me to walk off this plane, shake his hand and never see him again?

  Am I okay with that?

  My heart sinks to my feet. Because I’m not. I leave in a matter of nights and, up until the moment I leave, I want to be with him. Any chance I get.

  ‘Do you seduce women up here often?’

  He arches his brows before slowly lifting his head, pinning me with eyes that are slightly mocking. How did I become such an expert in his every facial expression?

  ‘No.’

  ‘I don’t mean this room. I mean this jet.’

  ‘I know what you meant; my answer stands.’ His lips quirk at the corners. ‘And I didn’t seduce you. My recollection is that you were pretty damned insistent.’

  He turns back to his iPad. A smile tugs at my lips. I unclick the seat belt and stand up, holding a hand out to him. ‘Semantics.’ I shrug, my pulse racing. My heart throbbing.

  ‘You’re insatiable.’ He grins.

  ‘Is that a complaint?’

  ‘Do you think it’s a complaint?’

  I smile and shake my head. He ignores my hand and scoops me up, carrying me against his chest as though I weigh nothing. I laugh.

  In the bedroom he drops me onto the soft white bed but I scramble up again quickly, shaking my head, my eyes locked to his.

  ‘Not yet,’ I say.

  ‘Not yet?’

  He stays completely still in the middle of the bedroom.

  ‘I don’t feel like my sexual education is complete.’

  ‘In what way?’ The question is gruff. Husky.

  ‘This way.’ I smile sweetly, then saunter over to him, my fingers flicking his belt buckle open with confidence. I slide it out slowly, running it through my fingertips before flicking it onto the bed behind us.

  His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.

  ‘Millie...’

  ‘Mmm...?’ I undo his pants and slide my hands down his hips, inside his boxers. The sharp hiss of his breath is all the encouragement I need. Looking up at him, I kneel down and his breathing is so uneven now. A rush of feminine pride fills me. I push his pants down, just enough to release his cock. And for a second a bolt of nervousness fills me because what the hell am I meant to do?

  And then, knowing my inexperience drives him crazy, I blink up at him, wide-eyed. ‘You’ll have to tell me what to do, Michael. You know I’ve never done this before.’

  He groans and tilts his head back. ‘You don’t have to, Millie...’

  ‘I want to.’ I suppress a smile and then circle his length with my hands. Tentatively at first, I bring my mouth forward, tracing his tip with my tongue.

  He swears, low and loud, and, spurred on, I open my mouth wider, taking him deeper. I keep my hand at his base and move back and forth on his shaft, gratified when he’s hard like concrete.

  I’ve never given much thought to oral sex. I didn’t expect to like it. Or dislike it. I guess I just thought it was something some couples did. But taking Michael in my mouth, feeling him grow hard, hearing the rasping of his tortured breath, knowing I’m responsible for this, I am beyond turned on. Heat builds between my legs and I move faster, taking him in my mouth as deep as I can. His hands drop to my head, knotting in my hair, and he doesn’t apply any pressure, instead using me to keep his balance.

  My own power thrills me.

  I move faster and then his hands are at the nape of my neck and my shoulders, gently pushing at my flesh, guiding me to standing.

  My sense of power shifts, drops. ‘Was that...? You didn’t... It wasn’t...?’

  He shakes his head. His cheekbones are stained a dark purple. ‘Lie down. Please.’

  I frown, moving back to the bed. I sit on its edge, watching as he strips and walks, uncaring of his nakedness, to the bedside table. He pulls a condom out, then turns back to me. His hands slide under my dress, finding my lace thong. He pulls it down my legs, then rips the foil square open, sheathing himself before pressing a hand on either side of me.

  ‘Lie down.’

  I don’t have to be told again. I press my back against the bed and he bunch
es my dress to my hips, parting my legs and driving himself deep inside me, his possession a fierce, hot blade of need. I cry out, arching my back, reaching behind me for the pillows.

  We have made love slowly, sensually, and then hungrily, but we have not made love like this. This is pure, primal, animalistic sex. His body devours mine. Every thrust is a mark upon my soul, the sounding of a bell that we both must answer.

  I barely recognise my own wild cries in the cabin and my nails drag down his side and then I’m pushing up, scrambling to a sitting position, pushing at his chest to roll us so that I’m on top of him. He groans as I move, finding my own tempo, swirling my hips so his cock reaches where I need it to. His hands cup my breasts, his fingers splayed, possessive and wide, over my flesh and then he pushes to sitting so he can take a nipple in his mouth, and he’s so much deeper I cry out. My orgasm is instant, the release intense. I roll my hips and tilt my head back, staring at the cabin ceiling with its delicate network of star lights pricked in the plastic.

  He moves his mouth to my other breast and I’m falling apart again. He thrusts inside me and I push down, pleasure a wave carrying me high on its crest. He holds me tight and then I am aware of nothing but the fierceness of my own explosion as he pushes into me and loses control of his own desire, succumbing to the same desperate longing that has me in its thrall.

  His mouth lifts to mine and his kiss is as intense as what we just shared; his kiss is a mark of his ownership of me. And in some ways he does own me. No matter what I become, where I live; no matter who I one day meet and settle down with, Michael Brophy will always be my first lover. A man to whom all others are compared. A premonition of regret dances down my spine—what if I really have let him ruin me for all other men?

  Obviously, I’m just being melodramatic. Michael Brophy is hot, sure, and sex with him is out of this world, but deep down I know that sex between two people who love one another must always be on another playing field. Surely the genuine emotional intimacy of a committed couple makes it better somehow, right?

  Only half reassured, I pull away from him and flop back onto the bed. My skin is lightly sheened in perspiration and no wonder. My blood seems to be boiling me from the inside out.