Call Me Saffron (Greenpoint Pleasures) (6 page)

Though Saffron was kind and warm and even a little flirty at times, her schedule was crazy busy. She wasn’t sure when she could fit him in, but she’d let him know. Then she was laid up in bed with a bad flu. If it worked for Jeanine, why not me? And then I—or rather, she—said she couldn’t see him again. That it was too close to a real date.
 

Yeah, a little bit of truth crept in there, despite my best intentions.
 

Then he stopped emailing. And that felt worse.
 

The first month, I told myself I could live on the memories and my handy-dandy vibrator.

The second month, I stopped by Greenpoint Pleasures on my way home to pick up another vibrator. My old one was obviously faulty.

The third month, I tossed the new vibrator. It buzzed louder than the ancient window air conditioner keeping my room semicool in the midsummer heat wave. Mostly, it wasn’t the same as the real thing.
 

The fourth month, I leaned over the divider at work and asked Rudy if he had time for a quick lunch. Anything to distract me. To remind me there were other men. We sat at a plastic booth in a pizza joint around the corner and munched on calzones. Rudy was charming and funny, and I felt nothing for him. We did have lunch again a couple of weeks later, though.
 

The fifth month, I told Jeanine I was taking a vow of celibacy. She laughed. I smacked her with a pillow.
 

Now, six months after the most intimate night of my life, I sat at my drafting table in the large main office at Alvarez and Associates and tried to work on a remodel of a Greenwich Village brownstone, but my mind kept wandering. It had been exactly six months. To the day. May 15
^th
to October 15
^th
. Dylan had undoubtedly moved on. I should too.
 

I bent back to my work. Let’s see, if we removed the wall between the living and dining room, we’d have to add a couple of columns to maintain the structural integrity…

A voice rumbled through me. It came from behind me. Was it my imagination? The fact that I’d been thinking of him? It had to be. What would Dylan Krause be doing here? And why on earth would he be saying, “We’d have to examine the costs of building from scratch versus renovating the sales floor”? Clearly, I was mishearing the Juniper Designs guy Fernando was meeting with this afternoon while dreaming of that amazing night six months ago.
 

Still, I turned around on my stool to check. Even while I scolded myself, I turned around. And couldn’t breathe.
 

It was Dylan. Far too handsome in a slim-cut dark blazer and a pale blue shirt, no tie. Clean-shaven. Hair only a tiny bit mussed. Rock-star hot.
Here
.
 

I hastily turned back to my drafting table. Maybe he hadn’t spotted me. He’d been focused on my boss as they walked together down the aisle toward the corner office. I gripped my pencil so hard, it snapped in two. Another second and he’d be safely past me.
 

No such luck. I felt his sudden looming presence by my table. “Saffron?” He sounded incredulous.
 

Compelled, I looked up into those dark eyes. Hungry? He looked ravenous. And something else, something I hadn’t seen that night: a quiet fury, tightly leashed.
 

Fernando was right behind him. And if Dylan was the client, then damn. Because Fernando had been talking all week in meetings about how big this fish was, how important it was that we land this account. If I screwed it up by being Saffron at the wrong time…

I stuck out my hand. “Samantha Lilly. Nice to meet you, Mr…?”
 

He wasn’t fooled, not for a second. “You work here?”

“So it would appear.” I tried for light, casual. Puzzled, even.
 

Fernando was frowning. “What’s going on, Sam?”

“I’m not sure.” I turned back to Dylan, cocking my head. “Oh, wait, I think I remember you. Didn’t we meet at the Steiners’ cocktail party, back in May?”
 

Please, Dylan, take the hint.
 

He did. “That’s right. I’m sorry, I guess I forgot your name.” I could see his fists clenched by his sides and the twitch in his cheek, but, with luck, Fernando couldn’t.
 

Dylan turned to Fernando. “I’m sorry, do you mind if we delay our meeting a few minutes? There’s something I’d like to ask your colleague.”

Fernando looked baffled but nodded.
 

Dylan grabbed my arm. “We need to talk.”

I got up. He kept his grip firm, as if he thought I might bolt.
 

I glanced back over my shoulder at Fernando. “It’s the Steiners. Their situation is complicated. Big fight. Disaster of a party.”
 

My last glimpse of him as we walked away was a furrowed brow. Fernando wasn’t a dumb guy, even if he was a little stuffy. I’d have to come up with something more plausible later. But right now Dylan was holding my arm, and I had to find a place we could talk where my sexploits wouldn’t be broadcast through the entire office in a matter of minutes.

Marie’s office. She’d gone out on maternity leave two weeks ago. She had an office with a door that closed and no window glass. Completely private. I led Dylan there through the familiar warren of computer workstations and drafting tables, trying not to think about what this all meant, what Dylan would say. Trying to ignore the frisson of pleasure that snaked through me at the thought that he was here, walking mere steps behind me, his footsteps hard on the cement floor.
 

Once safely inside Marie’s office, I locked the door and heaved a sigh of relief. Dylan turned to me, his face a mask. He thrust his hand out. “Dylan Krause. And you are…?”

I ignored it. “I know, it’s weird. And I understand if you’re angry.”
 

Though he didn’t seem angry, not exactly. “Is it something you do on the side for kicks?” He picked up a snow globe from the desk and shook it, then stared at the white flakes drifting over a plastic palm tree as if what I said didn’t matter one bit. Which was how I knew it did.
 

“I didn’t do it for kicks. I did it…” How to explain? “I got roped into it by my roommate. I’ve never done anything like that before. I’m not a call girl. That’s why I didn’t respond when you emailed. That’s why I couldn’t see you again.”
 

“Because you didn’t want to admit you’d lied? Or because you couldn’t have me as a repeat client because you didn’t want to see me again?”

Oh God. “Neither. Both, I mean.” I couldn’t look at him.
 

He set the globe down. “I thought about you constantly. Every time I spoke to Persephone, or even her lawyer, God help me. Every time I sat on my couch. Every time I sliced into an apple. I still do.”
 

He took a step toward me. I couldn’t move. Didn’t want to move.
 

“Are you saying you forgot me after that night? Are you saying you didn’t feel it too?”
 

I was wildly turned on. Aware of his heavy breathing, his dilated pupils. His smell. His nearness. My own heart beating wildly out of control. My groin throbbing like he was going to take me against the wall, and oh, I wanted it. Desperately. “I didn’t. I don’t.” My breathing gave me away. But if I told him the truth, I’d be giving him too much power over me.

He knew, though. He brushed my lips with his finger, the lightest touch imaginable, and yet it was the most sensual contact I’d ever experienced. “If I kissed you, if I fucked you right now, would you still feel nothing?”
 

“Try me.” It came out in a near whisper. As if I was telling him a secret. And maybe I was, at that.
 

We stared at each other for a long, suspended moment, and then I grabbed him by the shoulders, or he grasped my waist, or we both moved at the same time, and then, thank God, then we were kissing. Lips smashed together, mouths open, bodies crushed against each other. Nothing gentle about this kiss, nothing tender. I wrapped my arms around his neck and brought him closer, sought his tongue with mine, and wriggled my body as close as possible to his.
 

This. Him. Right now.
 

I fumbled at the fastening of his pants. He inhaled sharply against my mouth. Apparently he hadn’t thought I’d go through with it. But I wanted this so badly, I was shaking. Six long months living on the memory of one night. It wasn’t enough.
 

Thankfully, Dylan took over, unbuttoning the pants. I shoved them down his legs, exposing his impressive erection under a thin fabric covering. Thank God for the slit in his boxers. With a twist of my fingers, his cock was free. I slid my hand down the shaft, and he groaned.
 

“I can’t—we shouldn’t—this is crazy.” His voice cracked, a broken whisper.
 

I put my fingers over his lips. “Crazy. Yes.”
 

He grabbed my hand, sucking one finger into his mouth while his other hand reached down to my panties. I helped him pull them down. They dropped to the floor. Marie’s carpeted floor. The office.
 

We
really
shouldn’t be doing this.

I didn’t care.
 

Dylan sucked rhythmically on my finger. The sensation was unbearably erotic. And I wasn’t wearing panties. And his cock was hard and hot against my belly, through my skirt. He gripped my ass with his large hands, lifted me up, and slid inside. I opened my eyes, gasping at the sensation, only to see him staring at me, fierce and hungry, and that made me even more turned on.
 

“Do you want me?” His voice was husky.
 

“So much.”

“Then why?” He shoved into me again, and I rode the rhythm, the building pleasure, my insides clenching around him. “Why didn’t you want to see me again?”

“I did.” I gasped again as he moved again, hard. Fierce. “I thought about you every day. Wanted to feel you like this.” It felt so painfully good. Shivers up and down my arms, shivers inside my belly. “Inside me like this. Fucking me so hard.” I inhaled. He watched me, intent, hungry. “So good.”
 

“Have you been with anyone else since?”

“No. Didn’t want anyone else.” I tangled my hands in his hair. “More. Please. More.”
 

He gave me more, and I nearly lost my mind.
 

I bucked up against him, rode him, my buttocks slapping the wall as I slid against him. I could feel his muscles straining under my weight as he held me up and pushed into me again and again. The feelings spiraled so fast, so intense, and, like a thunderclap that shook my body, I came. He pulled out and let me back down to the floor, and I gave a sobbing, shuddering breath. Even though I was done, the spasms receding gradually, making me weak and boneless, I didn’t want to lose this connection, this link, this delicious, terrible encounter.

He staggered to his knees, clutching his cock. No condom. Right. I hadn’t even given it a thought, caught up in that primal drive to have him.
 

I knelt in front of him and wrapped my hand around his erection. That was all it took. He came with a groan. I found a box of tissues on Marie’s desk to clean up, then we collapsed on the floor, breathing into each other. Recovering. His pants were mussed, my skirt was a mass of wrinkles, and my panties were under my foot.
 

“Should I ask what I owe you?” Dylan’s mouth had a sardonic twist that I didn’t like.
 

I pulled away from him. “Are you kidding me?”

His gaze challenged, almost playful. “Shouldn’t I?”

“God, no.” I laughed, but it came out as more of a sob. “Maybe I should pay you. You’re pretty talented.”

“Good to know. So?”

“So?”

“What now?”

I stood, straightening my skirt as best I could. “Nothing. It happened. We got it out of our systems. We’re done.”

He stood too, picking up my panties from the floor. “Why are we done?”

Panic rose in my throat. He wanted to see me again? “Because you’re getting over a spectacularly bad marriage, and I’m hardly relationship material. It was an amazing encounter. Can we leave it at that? If we go further, we’ll screw this memory up. I’d rather keep it, thanks.”

“What are you so scared of, Saffron?” His eyes glinted. He was using the wrong name on purpose.
 

“I’m not scared. It’s not a good idea, that’s all.” I brushed my hair back into some semblance of a no-I-didn’t-just-have-sex-in-Marie’s-office coif and set my hand on the doorknob. “I need to get back to work. And don’t you have a meeting?”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

I frowned. “Can’t we leave it at this?”

His mouth twitched as he proffered my panties. “This. I meant this.”

“Oh.” I wasn’t about to put them back on, not after I’d stepped on them. “Throw them away.” I patted my skirt. “No pockets.”
 

He slipped them into his jacket pocket. That worked too.
 

I unlocked the door. Before I swung it open, he stopped me. “If anything comes of this…”
 

“A baby, you mean? Or an STD? Or AIDS?”

“I haven’t been with anyone but you in a year. I’m clean. I meant a baby.”

“Unlikely.” He hadn’t come inside me, after all.
 

“If it does, you know where to find me.”

I nodded. Fair enough.
 

As I walked back to my drafting table, I avoided looking at my coworkers. I’d have to deal with them in the break room. It was all too obvious what we’d been up to. I cursed Dylan in my head. I’d kept my sexuality out of the workplace, and now he’d made it the first thing on everyone’s mind.
Thanks a lot, pal.
 

But that wasn’t fair. What happened in that office was at least as much my doing as his. I had wanted it so much. Wanted him so much.
 

Could I really keep away from him?
 

Yes. I had to. If we started something, I knew in my gut it would get serious in a heartbeat. Hell, sex between a supposed prostitute and john—anonymous, no-strings-attached sex—had turned into an all-night confessional. What would a week, a month, a year of Dylan be like? My heart couldn’t take that much emotional openness. A man like that—a strong, passionate man—he could tear my heart open with a spoon, leaving me hollow. Like my mother.