A Week in New York (The Empire State Series Book 1) (5 page)

I’d dressed conservatively on purpose. I didn’t want him to think I was a
sure thing. Even though I was totally a sure thing, I didn’t have to dress like
it. I’d worn palazzo pants and a long-sleeved, silk, cream shirt. The concession
to sexiness was that shirt buttoned low so I couldn’t wear a bra with it.

“Thanks. Let’s go.”

“Do you want to come in for a cocktail?” Leah shouted from behind me.

I shook my head. “No,” I shouted back.

“I wasn’t asking you,” she replied.

“Let’s go,” I said to Ethan, and he backed out the door as I grabbed my
clutch from the console table and I pulled the door behind us.

“Cocktail making isn’t a core skill for Leah,” I explained.

Ethan nodded.

I felt his hand on my back as we waited for the elevator.

“You look beautiful. Did you enjoy your afternoon?” he asked.

I nodded.

“
Pretty Woman
?”

I nodded again.

“You? Did you have a good afternoon … constructing?”

Ethan laughed throatily. “I was a little distracted after seeing you at
lunchtime, but yes, it wasn’t bad.”

Way. Too. Smooth.

“Thanks for lunch,” I said quickly realizing I’d not thanked him sooner.

“It was my pleasure.”

“Thanks for dinner.”

He laughed again. “Don’t thank me yet. You might hate it.”

Ethan’s driver met us on the curb, and like the night before, I slipped
in and rolled down the window.

“You don’t like the air conditioning?”

“I like the cool. The breeze. Do you mind?” I asked.

He shook his head and looked at me as if he wanted to say something else.
I had to look away. His eyes, I’d forgotten how blue they were.

After a few moments he spoke, “It seems that you’re a little distracted.
Was I wrong to be so insistent about dinner?”

I shook my head. “No, sorry.” I turned to look at him again. “You know.
It’s just.” I shrugged.

He drew his eyebrows together. “No, I don’t know. Tell me.”

“It’s just that there are rules, and yet here we are. And I want to be
here, but I don’t want to be
here
. Do you know what I mean?”

“Not really.”

“I’m just sick of this cycle of disappointment I seem to be in. Hence the
rules.”

He turned my hand so my palm faced up, and then linked his fingers
through mine.

Ethan

It’s not that I’d never held a woman’s hand before, it was just that I’d
never felt the
urge
to hold a woman’s hand before. I wanted to touch
her, to soothe her, to take away the cloud that seemed to surround her. I just didn’t
know how.

“What cycle of disappointment? I’ve never had a problem getting it up, if
that’s what you’re worried about.”

Her head snapped around and she looked at me and laughed—a genuine, full,
unaffected laugh. “I believe that. Maybe you’re the fun I need,” she said
almost to herself.

“Maybe I am.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll be better company when we get to the restaurant, I
promise.”

“I don’t want you to be anything but yourself. You don’t have to put on
any act with me.”

She stroked her thumb across my skin and I squeezed her hand.

We arrived at the restaurant sooner than I would have liked. I enjoyed
having her next to me in the car with no one around us. I was close to
suggesting we just go back to the hotel right now. But that would sound like I
wanted to get into her underwear, which of course I did, but it wasn’t just
that. I didn’t want to share her.

I knew instantly I’d chosen the wrong restaurant. We walked in and heads
turned toward us, straining to see who had just arrived. It didn’t suit her.
She wasn’t going to be impressed with seeing some powerful hedge fund guy or some
Hollywood actor. I’d gotten this totally wrong. Fuck.

We were showed to our table toward the back of the restaurant. I was
jumpy. I was very close to fucking this whole evening up.

“You ok?” she asked as we sat.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Sorry for going all Sylvia Plath in the car.”

I laughed. “You don’t have to apologize. I just want you to be yourself.
I’m just a bit concerned this restaurant isn’t the right place for you.”

“Really?” she looked around. “It seems nice. You don’t like it?”

“It’s fine. I just don’t think it’s the type of place that I should have
brought you. I should have picked a better restaurant.”

“It looks plenty fancy enough.”

“That’s the point. It’s too much I think. You suit something …”

“You don’t think I’m worth taking somewhere fancy?” She was smiling but
it concealed an edge to her question.

“I think you’re worth taking to the fanciest place in New York City. But
I’m not sure you’d like it as much as you’d like something a bit more relaxed.
Less pretentious.”

She raised her eyebrows at me. “I can do fancy,” she said simply.

A very nervous waiter came over and went through the menu with us. I
watched her as she smiled and nodded at him, trying to put him at ease. It was a
kind thing to do, and when he left he looked like he was a little bit in love
with her.

“What are you going to order?” I asked.

She was looking over my shoulder, not at the menu. She shrugged. “I’ll
have whatever you have.”

“You will?”

She nodded. “I hate menus. I hate the deciding, so I prefer not to look.”

“So now I have to order something I think you’ll like. Like a test.”

“God no, that’s awful—what kind of women do you normally date? Just order
what you want. It’ll be fine.”

“But if you don’t like it?”

“Then I won’t eat it, but I’m sure it’ll be fine. It’s not a test,
honestly.”

I ordered. Sea bass. I wouldn’t normally order fish, but women liked fish,
didn’t they?

“I don’t date,” I said when the smitten waiter had taken our order. Or my
order for both of us.

“What?”

“You asked me a question about the kind of women I normally date.”

“Oh, yes. You don’t date?”

I shook my head.

“Oh, right. I can see there’s something of a monk about you.”

I laughed. “I didn’t say I was a monk. I said I didn’t date.”

“I’m not following you. You don’t like to call it dating?”

“Call what dating?”

“Dinner, drinks, back to your hotel. Do you live there?”

“No, I don’t live there. I just … book that suite sometimes.”

“Somewhere to stay with your non-dates?”

“I don’t stay there.” Why was I telling her this stuff?

“You’re talking in riddles.”

I took a deep breath. “I don’t do the dinner, drinks, dating thing
usually … or ever. I book the suite, I fuck in the suite, but I don’t stay
over.”

She looked at me but didn’t say anything.

I waited and she still didn’t say anything. Fucking hell. I knew I was
going to fuck this up. This restaurant. Telling her about my relationships, or
lack of them. What was I thinking? I should never have run into her at lunch.
This was a disaster.

“You haven’t said anything,” I reminded her.

“I don’t know what to say.” She gulped down half her glass of wine. “You
don’t need to woo me. I fucked you last night. I’ll fuck you again tonight. You
didn’t need to bring me to dinner. You don’t need to tell me that I’m different—that
you don’t normally sleep over, but you made an exception for me; that you don’t
normally take women to dinner, but you made an exception for me. I told you
last night. I don’t want the bullshit. I can take it if it’s only sex. That’s
all I want. I just want the truth.”

She took her napkin off her lap and pushed it onto the table and stood
up.

“Let’s go,” she said. “Let’s get to the bit where we’re fucking. That’s
what we’re here for. The rest of this is just bullshit.”

I reached across to her and circled my hand just above the wrist. “Sit
down. Please.” She looked beautiful. Unguarded.

It hadn’t occurred to me that she’d think it was a line. But I guess she
didn’t know that I didn’t do that. I didn’t need to do that. She didn’t know
that I had a no-bullshit policy. Why would she? She’d been fucked over by a
series of douchebags full of lines like that. Why would I be any different?

She hesitated, but she sat down, her eyes fixed on the wine glass in
front of her. I grabbed the bottle from the bucket beside the table and shooed
away the waiter who came to assist. I topped up her glass.

“Thank you,” she said.

“I’m going to promise you something.”

She shifted in her seat, uncomfortable.

“I know you don’t want me to, but I’m going to do it, anyway. I’m going
to promise you that I’m not going to bullshit you. You can choose to believe me
or not. I’m not going to tell you that I’m going to tell you everything, but
everything I do say to you will be true. I like you. You’re funny and sexy and
amazing in bed. You’re here for a week. Then you’re gone. You’ve said you need
a little fun in your life and I’m happy to oblige. Why don’t we just hang out
for the week? We can have some fun and then say goodbye. No bullshit. No
promises. Just great sex and a few laughs.”

She looked at me for the first time since she sat down. I could tell she
was trying to think of a funny response. I grinned at her and she took a sip of
wine rather than grin back, although I could see the twitch at the corner of
her mouth. Wow, she was stubborn.

“Is that such a bad offer?”

“No bullshit,” she repeated.

“I promise. But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to pay you a compliment.”

“You can only do that if it’s not bullshit. Not because you think it’s
what I want to hear, or what you think you need to say to get me into bed.”

“Agreed.” I nodded. “You look beautiful tonight.”

“Fuck off,” she grinned.

“You do. Suck it up, buttercup.”

Anna

Once we’d established our no-bullshit rule, I allowed myself to relax.
We’d laid it out there. I was here for a week. And I wanted some fun and some
good sex. No complications, no promises, no bullshit. He was easy company. And
easy on the eye, that was for sure. Was it possible to be as handsome as he was
without being a total douche? Well, he put on a good act, because he seemed
funny and charming and nice to the obviously very nervous waiter, despite the
fact he wouldn’t let him pour our wine. I was determined to just let myself
enjoy the here and now.

Dating back in London was never about the here and now. I was always
skipping ahead, fast forwarding the relationship in my head. Would my friends
like him? Would my parents like him? Could I live with his quirks? Would he be
a good father? It didn’t have to be like that with Ethan. It was only ever
going to be for a week, so I was forced to live in the moment.

“Shall we go and find a cocktail bar and an after dinner drink?” he
asked.

I shook my head.

“No?”

I shook my head again. “I want to see you naked again.”

“Well that’s a coincidence. Because I want to see you naked again, too.”

He grinned and asked for the check.

Unlike the night before, our car journey this evening was full of
chatter. He seemed to know every building in New York City and pointed his
favorites out as we drove along. A couple times he pulled me toward him so I
could see better.

It seemed we were headed back to Daniel’s apartment. “Where are we
going?”

“The hotel. Is that ok?”

I nodded. Had I hoped we would go back to his place? Maybe a little. But
it didn’t matter where we were going, because wherever it was I was going to
have the best—or the second best, after last night—sex of my life. He stroked
my cheek with his thumb and leaned in and kissed me softly on the lips. It
seemed, romantic almost. He pulled away and put his hand around my shoulders
and pulled me closer.

When we got out the car, he held his hand for me and I took it and we
crossed the lobby as if we were a couple. As we got in the elevator, despite
being surrounded by other guests, my skin started to fizz. I knew what was
going to happen when we got up to his suite. The delay of only minutes felt too
much. I looked up at him, to try and see what he was thinking. He looked back
at me with darkened eyes and shook his head and looked away.

“Don’t,” he said quietly and the fizz of my skin grew. His hand on my
hand was not enough. I needed to feel him.

As the last guests got off the elevator, the door hadn’t quite shut when
Ethan released my hand. For a brief moment I was confused, until he pushed me
against the wall of the elevator and kissed me hard. His tongue pushed straight
into my mouth, and his hands thrust into my hair, as if he couldn’t stop
himself. I reached around his neck, drawing him closer. He smelled so good. It
had been less than 24 hours since my body had been taken by him, but I felt
like it had been months. I felt a longing from somewhere, like it was never
going to be enough with him.