I laugh softly. He doesn’t. Then I shift in my seat once more, uncomfortable at the sincerity in his tone. “Yeah, well… Maybe you shouldn’t,” I whisper to my reflection more than to him.
Over my shoulder, I catch him peering at me once more, his jaw oddly tight, his forehead scrunched. But if he wants to protest, he doesn’t. Or maybe he just doesn’t have time, because a moment later, he makes a left turn, letting go of my hand to do so. And then we’re here. Standing at the base of a new high rise hotel that just went up in the middle of town. A hotel I’d never so much as set foot in the lobby of, because I figured they probably charged an arm and a leg just to do that, based on the reviews I’d heard about it so far.
“Um…” I start, assuming we’ve made a wrong turn somewhere. But Charlie is already climbing out from his side of the car and coming around to mine to open the door before I can do it myself. When he offers me a hand up out of the car, tossing his keys to a waiting valet at the same time, I have to stare. First at the building towering above us and then at him. “Are you serious?” I ask.
“The restaurant up on the top floor is rated the best in town.” He grins. “That, and the view is also one of the best in the city.”
“But… How much does this cost?” I murmur.
He shakes his head. “I thought you agreed this was going to be a traditional date. I’m pretty sure that means you don’t get to ask me how much I’m spending to take you out.” He winks, then, and my stomach flutters, before I can catch hold of it.
My instincts tell me to protest again: he’s in school, he shouldn’t be spending this kind of money on me. But I force myself to bite my tongue as I trail after him inside. After all, I don’t know his life. Judging by his car, he can afford a few splurges. Besides, it’s kind of nice—although my hardworking, do-it-yourself brain hates to admit it—to let someone spoil me for once.
What would it be like? I wonder. If this were a real date, with a regular guy, who really did have traditional values, and want a traditional relationship? Would it still feel like this? A little hopeful and fun and freeing, while also sending jolts of anticipation through my veins every time we made eye contact?
I don’t know. But I have a feeling a date like this wouldn’t feel quite the same with any other guy but Charlie.
As if to demonstrate that point, he pauses at the elevator and glances over his shoulder at me, that familiar grin back. “Ready?” he says, just as an elevator dings open.
My eyes widen as we step inside, shoulder to shoulder. There’s a bellman in the elevator, dressed in a suit, who nods to us both formally, like he’s welcoming us aboard. I step in next to Charlie, and he takes my hand. Casual, easy. Like we planned this. Like we’re just any normal couple coming here for a date night.
My heart beats faster as his thumb traces over the back of my hand, slowly. Back and forth. Making my pulse race.
Not nearly as fast as it beats when the elevator doors open again, though. We’re on a rooftop, probably one of the highest in town, if not the highest. It’s open air, which I didn’t expect, and I shiver, glad I hadn’t taken off my coat yet. But my lips part when I realize where we’re headed. Each individual table on the rooftop is encased in a small glass igloo, like little snow globes dotted across the rooftop.
As we trail after the maître d’ across the rooftop, I fire a sly smile at Charlie.
He winks back. “Not what you expected?”
“Not exactly… But if all of your surprises are going to be like this, then I’ve got to admit, it’s tempting to let you keep spoiling me.”
He chuckles softly, his voice a low thrum beside me, as he follows after me, close enough to bring his hand to rest on the small of my back, when the maître d’ stops at one of the little igloos. I freeze the moment his hand touches me, because even through my warm, thick coat and my less thick slinky dress, I can feel the heat from his palm, searing against my skin, making me crave more. A longer touch, a lingering one. The kind of touches we shared last night, alone in his place, when he ran his hands up my thighs and across my belly, inching lower and lower until—
“Will this do?” the maître d’ asks us, and Charlie glances at me for confirmation.
“It looks perfect,” I breathe, because it does. We duck under a clear plastic flap and inside the little bubble, where there’s a table set for two, bathed in candlelight, under the dome. A flickering brazier in the corner keeps the space warm and cozy, not to mention casts an additional pretty light—it’s a gas flame, dancing blue over some decorative stones.
I slide into my seat across from Charlie’s, and before I can even think to regret the fact that we’re seated across from one another rather than side by side, his leg grazes mine under the table, his knees trapping one of mine between them.
I shiver, and fight to keep a look of distraction off my face when I turn my face up to beam at the server. “Thank you,” I add, as he’s already backing out of the dome with a bow and closing the flap behind him once more, leaving us ensconced in the warm little bubble together.
“This is so romantic,” I murmur, my gaze jumping from the flickering fire place to the top of the clear dome, through which I could even make out a smattering of stars—it was an unusually clear day for this late in the year, for once no puffy snow clouds blocking our view of the northern skies.
“It seemed like it would be traditional enough for you,” Charlie teased, though his hand is behaving anything but traditionally, sliding onto my knee under the table and then gently pushing my skirt a little higher. Just far enough to let his warm, strong palm rest above my knee. The simple skin on skin contact alone nearly makes me lose my head.
I scoot my chair a bit closer to the table, closer to him. “I suppose it will do,” I joke, with a smirk, and he laughs, then, his eyes dancing as they track mine.
“You know, there’s supposed to be a meteor shower tonight,” he says, inching his chair in a little.
“One you can actually see from town?” I ask, but the word ends in a breathy gasp, because Charlie has taken advantage of that chair movement of his to slide his hand farther up my thigh, his fingertips inching beneath the hem of my dress. The sensation draws a faint gasp from me, and I tilt my body closer to his, pushing his hand still higher up my leg.
Every nerve ending in me quivers in anticipation. The less sensible part of my brain screams for me to push the table aside—or better yet, to demand he grab me and bend me backward over it. But a few remaining dregs of sanity have me glancing around at the rest of the rooftop igloos dotted across this penthouse restaurant, making sure nobody has noticed how scandalously close we’re sitting, or where exactly Charlie’s hand has wound up.
Charlie notices, and smirks. “Don’t worry. Everyone else is engrossed in their own business right now, trust me.”
Still, I can’t help the urge to check. But he’s right. There are only a couple other tables up here that are occupied—I’m guessing that this view and the cute little igloos and all of the rest come with a price tag hefty enough to deter the mobs of people who would otherwise be all over this spot. And besides, the few tables that do have couples seated at them look just as preoccupied with one another as we are.
“Still.” I turn back to him, a scold dying on my tongue.
Because the moment we lock eyes, Charlie grins and slides his hand all the way up underneath my skirt, until it reaches my hipbone. His long, thick fingers trace the edges of my panties, following the thin fabric all the way down to the spot where they curve down along the crease where my thigh meets said hipbone. He presses his finger into that crease, achingly close to my pussy, which is already throbbing with desire, white hot and eager for more.
But I’m not about to cave in that easily.
Charlie’s grinning at me like this is a challenge, while his lips curl at the edges with sheer amusement. “What’s the matter? Distracted?”
I suck in a deep, barely convincing breath, and then I shift my leg
s, uncrossing them and recrossing them to trap his hand between my thighs, just as our server ducks into the igloo. “Not at all,” I reply, with a broad smile on my face, as the server approaches our table.
Charlie’s hand remains trapped between my thighs. His eyes narrow for a second, and I can feel him try to pull away, but I tighten my thighs, holding him there.
In response, he uncurls one finger and presses it right up against my panties, at the spot that, beneath them, conceals my clit. I have to clamp my lips together hard, then, to resist letting out a little moan of pleasure. Fuck.
“Have you decided what you’d like to drink yet?”
“Oh, I’m already sure what I want for my whole meal,” Charlie replies, his gaze locked on mine, filled with fire. His finger curls against my clit, stroking lightly, and I dig my teeth into my lower lip in order to maintain control over my facial expression.
“I… Wine,” I blurt, awkwardly, and I drop my napkin into my lap at the same time, hoping that the waiter won’t notice how tightly my legs are crossed beneath the table, or the fact that Charlie’s leaning forward in an awkward position, one hand beneath the table in the strangest way.
If he does notice anything, the poor server is too well-trained to say anything about it. He nods at me. “Would the lady like red or white? We also have sparkling—”
“A bottle of red, I think,” I say, although the last word dissolves into a breathy sound as Charlie smirks and shifts his hand again, those damn fingers of his always knowing just the right spot to press to get me worked up.
He starts to move them steadily now, his fingers stroking back and forth along my clit, the touch light enough to drive me wild, but hard enough that it makes me press my lips together hard, struggling not to make a sound.
“Of course,” the waiter says. “And for your meals?”
Charlie finally takes pity on me, because he flashes me a quick wink and says, “We’ll both have the steak, I think, with red. Right, honey?” Then I realize it’s not pity at all, but further torture that he’s just loving enacting upon me, because he starts to move that hand of his again, his fingers reaching to one side to slip underneath my already soaking wet panties. Now his warm, calloused fingertips graze over the bare, smooth shaven skin of my pussy lips, and it takes every ounce of self-control I possess not to come undone right there and then.
“Mmhmm,” I nod, barely even processing what he’s saying, or the fact that he ordered for me, which normally bugs me with a guy. But we’re aiming for traditional here, I remind myself, and anyway, who cares because his fingers are making me lose all sense of self-control and decorum.
Luckily, I manage to hang onto my wits until the waiter finishes jotting down our orders and ducks back out of the tent. Only then do I arch my hips up to press my pussy more tightly against Charlie’s hand, and let out a guttural groan in the back of my throat, hopefully low enough that nobody in any of the neighboring igloos can hear me, but at this point, who cares.
Stars spark behind my eyelids as I come undone. I can feel every muscle in my body clenching and releasing in sync, I can feel the endorphins that flood me.
I’m still trembling when Charlie casually slides his hand out from between my thighs and leans back in his chair. He keeps his eyes on me as he raises his hand to his lips, and slowly, never taking those searing hot blue eyes from mine, he licks each of his fingers clean.
“You make the perfect appetizer, Lila,” he murmurs, his voice a low thrum in my eardrums, making my belly tighten and my knees tremble beneath our table.
“You are…” My heart hammers in my chest, making it hard to think, to process anything but him. I shake my head, trying to clear it from the cobwebs that he always clouds up my mind with. “Definitely not traditional,” I add, and he lets out a low burst of laughter, then.
“My bad.” He winks at me. “I just couldn’t resist. Having you this close and not being able to touch you would have been…”
“What, more torturous than what you just put me through?” I arch one eyebrow, smirking.
“I don’t know. It seemed like you enjoyed that,” he points out.
“Only because I managed to hold it together long enough not to come while the waiter was still here,” I hiss, but that just makes his grin spread wider, makes him laugh harder.
“I would’ve liked to see the look on his face if you had.”
My whole face heats up bright red.
“Yeah, probably would have gone something like that.” Charlie winks again and nudges my knee beneath the table.
I push back a little harder than necessary, then purse my lips and fall silent as our poor beleaguered waiter reappears to fill our water glasses and deliver the bottle of wine that I barely remember I ordered.
The rest of our night proceeds in a similar fashion. We go back and forth between trading tasting notes on our wine (neither of us know anything about wine, but we make one another dissolve into hysterical laughter by pretending to know what we’re talking about, exclaiming on a hint of oakiness there or a note of cherry there), and feeling one another up whenever we get a long enough break from the waiter’s attentions. I manage to snake my hand onto Charlie’s lap one time, tracing the edges of his cock, already hard and straining against the seams of his fancy dress pants, presumably at the thought of doing one of the naughty things he just whispered in my ear a moment earlier.
Then the waiter is back, and we pull apart, both playing the good, traditional couple on their first official date.
But the only time we really get distracted is after dinner—a pair of steaks that were, to be honest, probably the best thing I’d ever eaten in my entire life. Then the waiter stops by to take our after-dinner drink orders, but also to point out that pretty soon, there will be a meteor shower starting, and we should linger to watch.
Charlie, the best date in the world, orders us some more wine and a chocolate cake to split, which is perfect for us to settle back and watch the stars while we enjoy it.
I draw my chair around to his side of the table, and before I know it, the waiter returns with a plush, fluffy white blanket to offer us, before he opens up the top of our dome for better viewing.
“Wow,” Charlie whispers, his voice a faint breath right against the curve of my ear, as I curl up against his chest.
Above us, more stars than I ever guessed you’d be able to see from the city spiral past. And as we watch, one, then two, then a whole flurry of shooting stars, or meteors—I never did learn exactly what the difference was—streak past, turning the whole sky into a lightshow. Charlie runs his hands through my hair absently, leaning his chin against the top of my head.
I smile, and I can feel his chest rise and fall with his steady breaths. Underneath, I can also feel his heartbeat, a pulse that races and skips in tune with my own. Especially when I shift against him, adjusting my body, shuffling a little bit closer.
“This was a fun night,” I murmur, my voice echoing against his chest.
“I have a feeling any night would be fun with you,” he replies, and the words make my heart tighten in my chest, my veins singing with anticipation. I tilt my chin back, my eyes searching out his, because damn the meteor shower, his are the sparks I want to seek out in the darkness, the eyes I want to gaze into for as long as I possibly can.
He leans in, one eyebrow raised in a silent question, our faces inches apart, the air between us electric. Finally, when I can barely stand it anymore, I reach up and cup his chin with one hand, the stubble of his barely-there beard tickling my palm, and I pull him down into a slow, searing kiss.
His lips melt into mine. He tastes like the chocolate cake we were just eating, sweet and dark and heady. He’s like shot of whiskey, going straight to my head, making my brain hum, my blood warm up.
I want to stay right here forever. I want to sink into him and lose all track of time and space. I want his arms around me again, his body pressed up against mine fully. I want to tear away the clothes tha
t separate us. But more than that, I want to get to know him. To peer past the guy staring down at me, and get inside his head.
“What?” Charlie asks when we break apart, and I realize that I’ve been staring at him in silence.
“Just wondering what you’re thinking about,” I admit, a faint smile on my face.
He grins right back, easily. “I was thinking that there’s nowhere else I’d rather be right now than on this rooftop, with this gorgeous, sexy girl in my arms.”
My face flushes with heat. But rather than twisting away from him or trying to deny the compliment like I normally would, like my usual instinctive reaction … I let myself accept it. I sink closer to him, tilting my face to press my cheek against his chest once more. “You aren’t what I expected, Charlie Cross,” I murmur.
“Neither are you, Lila Baker,” he replies, and the thrum of his voice sends a trill of pleasure through my body, dancing down my spine.
“I have to admit, this was a pretty good first date,” I add. “Though, I wonder if I’ll need to mention in my article how, shall we say, untraditionally you behaved…”
He chuckles and leans down to kiss the crown of my head. “If you did, you would probably also have to admit that you weren’t exactly ladylike yourself. And that I appreciated your misbehavior just as much.” He smirks, wide enough that when I tilt my chin back to peer up at him, I catch the corner of it.
I lean up and kiss that corner of his smile, until he turns to capture my whole mouth with his. It’s a long while before we break apart again, and when we do, we’re nose to nose, our lips barely a breath apart, our eyes locked. “Maybe I can keep a few pieces of this article just between us,” I whisper, smiling.
“Maybe you should keep more than a few a secret.” He grins. “Because our night is only just getting started…”
The Husband Game Page 7
