Brooklynaire Page 12

  “Okay,” Lauren agrees. “Under one condition. You let me take your key card and come back to check on you in a couple of hours.”

  “Deal.” I don’t really think I’m in any danger, but if Lauren wants to babysit me, it’s her funeral. “Card’s on the desk.”

  Sleep takes me the minute I get the words out.

  * * *

  I have nice dreams.

  There’s a sale at Bloomingdale’s. All the cashmere is 70% off, and I’m the only one who’s noticed. Everywhere I turn, there are more sweaters. I’m flipping through a rack of cardigans, my try-on pile growing huge, when someone sits down on the edge of the bed and strokes my hair.

  But I’m too sleepy to care much. And I have a cardigan with funky buttons to try on. So I turn my face away and continue to dream.

  “Rebecca,” says a voice.

  “Nmrph.” The pillow is my best friend in the whole world.

  “Bec,” it tries again.

  My subconscious prods me. Lauren had said she’d check on me. But that’s not Lauren’s voice.

  I roll over and open one eye. “Nate?” It comes out hoarse. The fact that he’s on my bed in a hotel room ought to seem strange. But whatever.

  He brushes the hair off my forehead, and his touch is so tender that it wakes me up a little. The brush of his fingertips across my brow feels amazing and unfamiliar. “What’s the matter?” I manage to grunt.

  “Nothing,” he whispers. “Just checking on you.”

  I realize what this means. “Lauren tattled on me?”

  “No.” He smiles at me in the dark. “I saw you leave the party looking shaky. I was asking around for you and Lauren only told me where you were on one condition—that I don’t yell at you.”

  “Oh.” I yawn, but the truth is I’m awake now. Stretching, I sit up in the bed, leaning against the upholstered headboard.

  Nate makes a soft sound of surprise, and it takes me a moment to realize that my skimpy lingerie is most likely the cause. I look down and see my boobs looking back up at me, barely covered in lace and satin. But it’s dark, so I’m not too worried. And, hey—if you sneak up on a sleeping girl, you’re going to get a glimpse at her jammies.

  “You just woke me up from the best dream,” I say suddenly, the memory coming back to me.

  “Urghl?” Nate coughs. “Really?”

  “Yeah.” I lean back with a sigh. “All the cashmere sweaters were on super sale. And there were good colors on the rack. Not just the yellow ones, you know? And I think I saw a sign about a shoe discount. I was going to check that out next.”

  Nate’s eyes widen, and then he laughs. “Sorry to ruin your shopping dream. Just wanted to make sure you were still breathing.”

  “I feel much better, honestly.” Taking the water glass off the bedside table, I drink it down. Nate takes the empty glass from my hand and goes to the darkened bathroom to refill it. “I’m totally awake now, you jerk,” I say when he returns to hand it back. “What time is it?”

  “Twoish.” He sits down beside me on the opposite side of the bed. Then he kicks off his shoes so he can pull his feet up onto the comforter, knees bent. He’s still wearing his tuxedo shirt, but his jacket is missing and his bow tie is hanging loose around his neck. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

  “I swear I am. The dizziness is gone now. It was just one glass of champagne, and I didn’t believe that it could…”

  He holds up a hand. “You don’t have to explain it to me. Not my business.”

  “Really?” This is more surprising than Lauren being so nice earlier. “Here I’m handing you a golden opportunity to say ‘I told you so.’ Leap on it, man.”

  Nate tips his head back and lets out a soft laugh. “Can’t do it. I promised I wouldn’t.”

  “You promised Lauren?”

  He turns his head toward me, and his eyes are bright even though it’s dark. “I don’t want to nag you, Bec. You’re obviously fine. And you take good care of everyone, including yourself. Lauren just made me admit it. That’s all.”

  I think of Lauren in her blue silk and revise my opinion of her for the hundredth time. “She sure looked glamorous tonight.”

  “So did you.” Nate’s voice is weirdly thick. He reaches over the comforter to squeeze my hand. And his touch is warmer than I expect it to be.

  I’ve had millions of conversations with Nate. And often alone. But this is oddly intimate. It’s the middle of the night, and it feels as if we’re the only two people awake in all of Florida. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure,” he says, and his hand doesn’t leave mine.

  “Why did you switch my job for Lauren’s two years ago?”

  The question catches him off guard. His mouth opens and then closes a couple of times. Then he withdraws his hand.

  “You can tell me the truth,” I whisper. “If you think Lauren is sharper than I am. Or more skilled at handling the bigwigs who call you. I won’t be offended.” Not much, anyway. “But it’s always bothered me that I didn’t know why.”

  “It has?” He looks oddly miserable.

  “Yeah,” I admit. “I spent a lot of time trying to figure out what I did wrong.”

  “Fuck,” he whispers. “I’m sorry. That was never my intention.”

  I feel a wave of relief I didn’t even know I was waiting for. “It wasn’t?”

  “Jesus, no. You didn’t do anything wrong. Not a single thing.”

  “Then why?” My voice cracks a little—it’s the sound of the question breaking free from my heart. I guess I’ve needed to ask this for a long time.

  “Because I’m a goddamn idiot.”

  That’s a lot of cursing for a mere personnel issue. I feel like I’m on the verge of learning something important. I wait for him to go on, but he doesn’t say a word. “Aren’t you going to explain?”

  “Not if I can help it,” he mumbles.

  “Nate!” I turn and rise up on my knees just so we’re the same height. “Just tell me, okay!”

  “What if you don’t like the answer?” he fires back.

  “But maybe you owe it to me anyway. I think you’re being illogical right now!”

  “No kidding!” he fires back, turning to face me. We’ve squared off. “I can’t be logical when it comes to you! Can’t do it. Not for years.”

  The words just sort of hang there in the dark between us. I don’t really understand them. But when he lifts a hand to cup my cheek, I don’t feel so confused anymore. His fingers are so gentle on my face that everything grows quiet inside me.

  This isn’t how we usually touch each other, but for some reason it’s not weird, even though I’m not exactly wearing clothes. I stare into his kind eyes and I swear nobody even breathes for a long time. “Why?” I whisper one more time. And then, “Please.”

  He closes his eyes, and his thumb sweeps over my cheekbone. I didn’t know I had so many nerves in my face. I have the urge to lean into his hand and beg for more. But then he starts talking. “It was two years ago in March, and you had just started dating that…guy. The artist. He liked to come by the office to talk before you left together.”

  What? For a long beat, I can’t even conjure a memory of dating an artist. “Wait… That kid who was a courier, and also painted? Why would he matter?” I dated him for the emotional equivalent of about ten minutes.

  Nate shakes his head, and then reaches out with his other hand, too. He’s cupping my face so gently that my skin tingles under his warm palms. Except he’s giving me a look of exasperation—like it’s causing him pain just to have this conversation. “I couldn’t stand it, Bec. I wanted you to have someone and be happy. But I didn’t want to watch.”

  I almost ask why once again. But then it starts to sink in. And what he’s saying is big. No—it’s huge. And I really didn’t see it coming.

  Meanwhile, we’re having the world’s most heated staring contest. His eyes—which are an unusual shade of light brown in the daylight—are as black as the
night. I’m studying him so closely that I swear I can see the flecks of gold even in the darkness. And he’s staring back at me like the future of the world depends on his refusal to blink.

  And maybe it does. Because his hands move, sliding down from my jaw to my very bare shoulders. I’m suddenly so aware of how close our bodies are right now. The point of contact between his palms and my body seems to hum. If we break this standoff, something even crazier might happen here. His face is mere inches from mine. We’re so close that I can feel the heat rising off Nate. Goosebumps prickle my bare skin.

  The possibility of his kiss is a brand new thing. I have stood in front of this man a thousand times before without being half so aware of his mouth. It’s a very handsome mouth, one I’ve seen smiling from magazine covers and smirking at me over cups of coffee. But for the first time in years, I want to know how it would feel against mine.

  “Why?” I whisper again. But this time the question means something else. It means, why am I suddenly so aware of you? Why are my breasts heavy against the lace of my nightie? Why is there so much heat in your eyes, and what is it doing to me? Why is…

  He kisses me.

  Again I’m caught off guard. His lips are so soft. But my mouth is suddenly super sensitive. The snick of his kiss echoes inside my chest, and the hairs rise up on my arms when his lips brush over mine again. It’s overwhelming. I grab his biceps and let out a gasp.

  The sound sort of vibrates between us. He feeds on it. He cups the back of my head, and his kiss tilts, perfecting our connection. There’s nothing tentative about it now. I now know exactly how Nate’s mouth would feel against mine. It feels awesome. I part my lips and his tongue touches mine.

  And, goddamn it. That zing I’m hearing now is all my hormones firing all at once. And it pisses me off. I make a loud, startled sound, from deep in my chest. Because… goddamn.

  The sound startles Nate into jerking backward, breaking the kiss.

  “Nate!” I squawk. “What the hell?”

  “Jesus,” Nate whispers. “I’m sorry?”

  “You should be!” I squeak. “You just broke the seal! We spent seven years not doing that! And now I know what it’s like.” I didn’t know that Nate’s kiss would light me up everywhere, or that he’d taste like whiskey and heat. “I mean…” I put my fingertips to my lips and let out a strangled sigh.

  His head tilts to the side like a Labrador retriever who can’t quite figure something out. “Bec, listen—I will apologize again and get the fuck out of your room. But for the love of god, help me understand—are you pissed off about the kiss? Or are you pissed that I stopped?”

  “That’s not an easy question!” Obviously.

  His handsome forehead wrinkles with confusion. “But it’s multiple choice!”

  All I can do is stare up in confusion at this man to whom I’ve spent years cultivating a sexual immunity. Not that he makes it easy, with his unusual eye color and intelligent stare. That scruff he wears on his elegant jaw because he’s too busy inventing the world to shave.

  At that moment I find the whole picture as arousing as he is infuriating. He’s blowing up my head with confusing thoughts and this sudden, uncomfortable lust.

  What. A. Jerk! Obviously, I am forced to retaliate. I grab that famously handsome face in two hands, and crush my mouth to his.

  “Ungh.” His moan is all shock and awe, because I’ve finally got the edge on him. I tilt my head and kiss him again.

  But Nate is a fierce competitor. Less than a second goes by before he slips an arm behind my thighs and slides my body down onto the bed. He pushes me into the pillows and takes control of the kiss.

  And I experience a whole host of sensations in a big hurry. Because Nate is good at this. It should come as no surprise, since he’s good at everything. But I’m caught off guard as his lips massage mine with slow, dragging kisses. Each one is a little deeper than the last, until his tongue finally strokes against mine.

  I hear myself moan into his mouth as his tongue teases me toward recklessness. I used to wonder what it would be like to kiss him. It was a lot of work to put it out of my head, thank you very much.

  And now I’ll never forget. Goddamn it.

  In spite of my irritation, I slip an arm around his waist so I don’t lose contact with his bossy mouth. My tongue slides against his. So hot.

  This will prove to be a horrible idea. I already know it. But he started it.

  Didn’t he?

  My brain is melting.

  His might be, too. Neither of us is ready to stop and think. Our kisses never end—each one just rolls right into another. Hot and ceaseless. Then he drops his hips onto mine and I moan at the new connection. I welcome his weight, pressing me into the bed. I close my eyes and just give in to the desire that’s rising up inside me.

  Whenever Nate decides he wants something—a Fortune 500 deal, a hockey win, a late-night pizza—he goes full steam ahead. And suddenly all that attention is focused on me. His mouth worships mine with such focus and hunger that it’s all I can do to keep up.

  I do my best, sliding my bare toes across the arch of his foot, and sifting my fingers through his hair. It’s softer than I’d expected. I’ve known Nate’s mind for years, but his body is a foreign country I’ve never visited before. Somehow I already speak the language. My palms coast down his neck and over the muscles in his back. He’s solid under my hands. The cotton of his tuxedo shirt isn’t much of a barrier. I can feel the heat pouring off him.

  And we can’t stop kissing. It’s like a full-body kiss now—heat and pressure everywhere. Somewhere in the depths of my soul I’m still aware that I’m making a big mistake. But it’s the middle of the night, and Nate’s kisses are both hungry and reverent. And yet it’s wonderful in the same way as my Bloomingdale’s dream—pure possibility without the burden of explanation.

  My judgment is 70% off tonight.

  That must be why I decide to work a hand up under Nate’s untucked shirt. His skin is smoother than I guessed it would be. I run a hand up his side and sigh into his mouth. And when I trace a fingernail along the back waistband of his trousers, he shivers into his next kiss.

  That helpless reaction emboldens me. So I drop a hand to his very firm ass and squeeze. Even through two layers of fabric, I can feel that he’s solid muscle. And when I do this, his kiss stutters as he groans.

  I won’t lie—my newfound power is a huge turn-on. Nobody ever throws Nate off his game.

  So I’m feeling really pleased with myself until Nate ups the ante. He drops his head and runs his tongue across the swells of my breasts. All my senses leap at the sensation of that wicked tongue so near my nipples. I gasp, and the gust has barely left my lungs when he cups one breast and pinches the nipple. And now it’s me who’s making poorly controlled moans and whimpers. He’s turned the tables on me, and I didn’t even see it coming.

  It’s a negligee I’m wearing, not a bra. So Nate is able to work the fabric downward until my breasts are revealed to him. The fabric corrals my boobs together, exposing my nipples. He admires his work with a dirty gleam in his eye.

  For me. It’s mind-blowing.

  I grab his head and lower it onto my breast. He groans, bending to swirl his tongue over my nipples, one at a time. Then he draws one into his mouth and looks up at me, eyes dark and full of lust. He gives a good suck and I shudder with anticipation. I can feel need pooling between my legs, and the sight of him mouthing my tits is almost too much.

  Please, my body shouts. More. Now.

  I might even say some of that aloud as I shove his suspenders off his shoulders, then reach for Nate’s shirt and tug. But it’s still buttoned, so this proves futile.

  Nate has some sympathy for the problem, though. He sits up, kneeling beside me. I scramble to a vertical position, too, helping myself to his shirt buttons. I expose a V of skin, my fingers working furiously. In the moonlight I can see the pulse jump in his throat. I stop working and put my fingertips there, jus
t lightly. It’s humbling that I’ve caused his heart to race like that.

  Me.

  I didn’t know.

  He takes my hand in his and lifts it, kissing my palm. The intensity of his gaze burns right through the darkness. I know exactly where this is heading.

  So does Nate. He threads the lace of my tiny nightie between his fingertips and lifts the thing over my head.

  “Jesus.” Nate takes a deep breath and tips his head up, then lets it out in a hot gust.

  During our long history together, Nate has seen me in many different states: bleary on red-eye flights, and drunk after a boozy business dinner in Paris. Once he watched me puke on hotel shrubbery after a grueling run we took together in Arizona during a tech conference. That was embarrassing.

  But I have never felt so exposed as I do right now. I give in to the urge to cover my generous boobs with two hands.

  Slowly, he removes his shirt and tosses it on the floor. Then he covers my hands with his own, leaning in to kiss me. His thumbs stroke the backs of my hands, their arc whispering onto the skin of my breasts, too. I lick into his mouth and try to forget my self-consciousness.

  We’re doing this wonderful, terrible thing. If I think too hard, I’ll ruin it.

  Summoning my courage, I pull my hands out from under Nate’s. He makes a low, guttural sound as his palms cup my bare breasts. With a groan he pushes his tongue into my mouth, and it feels like a preview of coming events.

  My heart kicks with heady anticipation, and my hands begin to explore Nate’s hard chest. He’s nearly hairless except for the center of his tummy. My fingers crest all the ridges of his abs and then play in the little strip leading in to his trousers. Nate makes a desperate sound as I reach for his fly.

  The last frontier.

  When I undo the button, he knocks my hand aside, lowering the zipper himself. I watch as he reaches in and takes himself in hand, drawing his cock out. I would have thought he’d be long and lean like the rest of his body. But when I reach out to touch him, he’s thick and hard in my hand.

  That makes everything seem dirtier and more shocking. I don’t even know why. The head is dark and full, with a pearly drop on the tip.