Authors: Maryn Sinclair
“I will. And stop smirking.”
“Absolutely,” Lenore said. “No smirking from me.”
Charlotte winked at her manager, picked up her purse from the desk drawer, and met Alex in the store. “Ready?”
“I’ve been ready from the minute I saw you.” He put up a caution finger. “And don’t say I’m bullshitting, okay? I don’t say things I don’t mean, and I don’t lie.”
“No, I doubt you do.”
But you don’t tell everything, Alex Andros. What better way not to lie?
When they got out of the store, he snaked his arm around her, settling his hand in the curve of her waist. His touch blurred all common sense and reason.
He opened her car door, ever the gentleman, and waited until she sat. He kept his eyes on her as he walked in front of the car to his side and got in. After settling behind the wheel, he leaned over and kissed her. No words, just a kiss. He put the car in gear and wove through six o’clock traffic with the skill of a NASCAR racer. When he pulled into the circle of a modern high-rise
on Boston Harbor and parked there rather than in the garage, she figured she wasn’t staying overnight. Knowing Alex, even during their short time together, if he had that in mind, he’d have insisted she pack a bag. Mixed feelings surfaced. On the one hand, he wasn’t taking her for granted. On the other, maybe he’d chosen to pull back.
Stop your paranoia, Charlotte. Why do you overthink everything? Don’t think. Enjoy.
As soon as she stepped out of the car, the refreshing sea breeze whipped around her and all her doubts disappeared. People
strolled the wharf, sat on benches, and viewed the harbor scenery. The moment infused her with energy.
The doorman greeted Alex and pressed the button on the elevator. Inside, Alex slid the penthouse key into a slot, and up they went. The elevator opened directly into his apartment.
So he occupied the top floor. Not surprising.
The aroma of garlic and herbs hit her the minute they entered. “
Mmm, smells wonderful. I was surprised when you said you were a vegetarian. You look like a meat-and-potatoes kind of guy.”
“Never make assumptions about someone by looks alone,” he said. “You’ll probably be disappointed.”
His statement resonated with a deeper meaning. She assumed he meant it. “Or delighted.”
“That too.”
He took her jacket. Charlotte glanced around the massive room and couldn’t believe the exquisite decor―masculine but warm, with large comfortable furniture. An intricate Oriental rug covered the floor, and magnificently framed Old World master drawings hung throughout the living room, each one illuminated, though not directly, with high-tech lighting fixtures.
“These must be the etchings you spoke of.”
“They are. I like drawings. Some paintings, but drawings are my passion.” He walked to the bar. “Wine okay, or would you prefer something stronger?”
“Wine’s fine.”
“Good. I uncorked a bottle of Chianti earlier.” He poured the wine into two Mexican goblets he slid from an overhead stem holder. He handed her a cocktail napkin and the wine, picked up his, and held it out for a toast. “To an evening of adventure.”
She wanted to ask what that meant, but the mystery appealed to her. “Adventure,” she repeated, and they
clinked glasses.
Charlotte sipped her wine. A drawing hanging on the far wall caught her attention. She sauntered over and studied it closely. It was about ten by seven, with a sepia wash and pen and brown ink, heightened with what looked like touches of white chalk. “This one is incredible.”
Alex drew close enough to radiate heat, brushing her hip as he did. He spoke near her ear, his voice low and intimate. “It was my first major purchase. I bought it in Europe in ’95, before the prices of Renaissance drawings went sky high. I have others more valuable, but this one is still my favorite.”
The same cologne filled her nostrils, and if she closed her eyes, it brought back their first encounter as they stepped into her apartment.
When his hands and mouth were all over her. When his tongue awakened feelings she’d never experienced. Her heart thumped at the remembrance, and she stuttered a reply. “I’m…I’m an art history major, but I wouldn’t hazard a guess.” He’d moved closer. He brushed her hair aside. Goose bumps rose on her back from the gentle movement.
His lips grazed the back of her neck, and his answer left his hot breath
tingling her skin. “It’s a Veronese. An underrated artist, in my opinion.”
She turned, and their lips met.
“I couldn’t resist,” he said.
Desire prickled her skin from head to toe. “The drawing or me?” she managed to say.
“Both. One I had to have; the other I have to have.”
Her breath caught in her throat. “Have is present tense.”
He leaned back, kept his focus on her eyes, and took his time answering. “Exactly.”
She was in his thrall, and he knew it, and if she didn’t break from his magnetic hold, she’d tackle him onto the floor and do something foolish. Stepping back on wobbly legs, she said, “I’m…I’m impressed with your collection. I’ll have to study the rest of them.”
“Not many people have seen it. In fact, I can’t remember the last one.”
She surveyed the rest of the room, trying to act nonchalant. “Did you use a local decorator?”
“No. I did it myself. What do you think?”
“I think I should hire you.” He dipped his finger into his wine and grazed her lips, parting them, so she could take it into her mouth and suck on it. The motion was sensual and suggestive, causing liquid heat to sizzle between her thighs.
When he removed his finger, he sucked on it. “Your being my boss is a tantalizing idea.” Now his mouth neared her ear again. A tiny nibble. “One of these days I might need a job. I’m very good at what I do.”
Charlotte didn’t doubt that, and for a moment she lost all time and place. She
wasn’t even sure what he said, only that he stood close. She required total concentration to break away for the second time and took a baby step back.
They hadn’t even
eaten, and she couldn’t wait to make love. If she faced him, he’d read her lustful expression and see her wayward nipples poke through her silk blouse. How could he not think she had some secret malady? Maybe hardening-of-the-nipple disease or swelling of the nipples. He was Mr. Cool, and she was an open book. Flustered, she tried to concentrate on the panoramic view. She walked toward it. “Oh, my. If I saw this every day, I doubt I’d want to do anything other than stare out the window.”
“There are days it’s tempting. Unfortunately I need to work for a living so I can
afford this incredible view I don’t have time for.” He came up behind her and placed both hands on her shoulders.
“That’s always the problem with working people, isn’t it? No time.” Her head fell back onto his chest as his fingers gently kneaded her trapezius muscles. “That feels so good.”
“You’re tight. You’ve had a stressful few days. Let me loosen you up.”
Maybe my shoulder muscles are tense, but if I get any looser, I’m going to collapse like a string of dominoes.
She swirled around, thrust her empty wineglass at him. “How about a refill?”
He smiled that teasing smile he’d perfected as well as any actor and took the glass from her hand.
“Coming right up.”
Maybe more wine would curb her raging libido, or at the very least anesthetize her to hold on through dinner.
Why act so coy, Charlotte? It’s not like you haven’t already given in to your lust.
He went to the bar and refilled their glasses. “Come on. I’ll show you the rest of the place.”
Reprieve. He was giving her time. He handed her the wine, and she took a much-needed sip. After clasping her hand, he led her through an elegant dining area, its table formally set. A maze of rooms branched off a main hall. More Old World drawings lined the walls, each with its own light, shining over but not on the artwork. The last room was his bedroom. An inviting down comforter lay atop the iron sleigh bed, and draped across it were four beautiful silk scarves. They exchanged glances. She didn’t need to ask what they were for. She knew. She had time during dinner to make up her mind.
Alex, always courteous.
Always the gentleman.
“Come in the kitchen while I whip up the salad dressing.”
She followed him, her mind racing in three different directions.
Stay.
Leave.
Trust
.
She realized the latter accounted for the scarves and the reason for her nervousness. He wanted her to trust him. She studied him. Did she―this man she knew so little about? Darcy’s warning and her own abysmal track record with men cycled through her
mind.
“Oil, balsamic, a little Dijon,” he said, shaking the ingredients in a bottle and splashing it on the prepared salad mixings. He noticed her silence and placed the dressing on the counter. He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her around. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. Making love should be a sensual adventure. I want to pleasure you in ways you’ve never experienced, but the choice of what to do and how far to go will always
be yours when you’re with me.” He kissed her. “Okay?”
“And what do I get in return? Will I find out who the real Alex Andros is? Does trust work both ways?”
“I promise to tell you everything you want to know. Trust me a little longer. That’s if you trust me at all.”
She drew a deep breath.
Moment of truth. “I do. With reservations.”
Four Scarves
Charlotte pushed back from the table. They finished with a delicious store-bought lemon sorbet, but the dinner was gourmet quality. “How many more of those eggplant dishes do you have in your freezer?”
“That’s the last one. I make two at a time, eat one, freeze the other. That’s not the only dish I make.”
“I always thought I could be a vegetarian, except for the damn beef. And chicken and pork and fish and―” She stopped naming her temptations because Alex was laughing so hard she doubted he could hear what she was saying.
“Oh, Charlotte.
You are damn cute.”
“Well, I love veggies, but I need a good steak every now and then.”
“Then that’s what you should have.” He got up and walked around the table to move aside her hair and plant a soft kiss on the top of her spine. “It’s all about choices, and no one should make them for you.” He pulled back her chair. “Let’s have an after-dinner drink on the terrace and watch the remnants of the sunset. I’ll clean up later.”
The postponed cleanup signaled the third clue he was going to take her home. She felt like a silly woman who didn’t know what she wanted until she couldn’t have it.
Alex didn’t play games. He held back parts of himself for a reason, not to be mysterious. He’d already parted with secrets when he told her about his father and what he considered his lack of trustworthiness in a previous relationship. It was that story she wanted to hear. She’d go along until she couldn’t, or until he shared whatever he believed would turn her away. She wasn’t naive enough not to suspect what she’d hear, but every story had an explanation. Jack’s vile pictures proved that.
Alex poured two brandies, and they stepped outside. The ocean breeze off the water she’d encountered earlier had turned chilly in the higher altitude. She stood against the railing, watching the action on the wharf below and enjoying the cognac warm her insides. Alex’s intense body heat as he stood next to her had the same effect.
Lights flickered in the fading day as the bright coral sunset changed to deep purple streaks across the sky. “This view is breathtaking, and with a terrace on every side of your apartment, you can watch the sunrise and sunset all year round.”
“Another feature I couldn’t resist when I bought
the place.”
“I don’t see anything from my place except a bit of the Commons on one side and part of
Newbury Street on the other.”
He leaned on the railing. “Somehow, no matter what’s going on in the world, life seems better when you look out over this.”
She glanced at his profile. It reminded her of a classic Greek statue with its straight nose and strong chin. He caught her looking and smiled.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah, I am.” The breeze picked up, and she shivered.
He drew her close, adding his warmth.
“This is an unusually cool evening for this time of year. Let’s go inside.”
“It is a little nippy.” She turned. His gaze dropped to her breasts. She looked down. Her nipples were pushing through her blouse, as big and hard as hazelnuts.
“Have I told you I love when that happens?”
“Nipples do that in the cold.”
“I’d prefer to think I have something to do with it.”
She poked a finger into his chest. “You’re a bad boy, Alex Andros. And you’re making fun of me.”
“Not at all. I could never make fun of you.” He flicked his finger under her nose, like he did the night he left her standing in her hallway, wet and needy. He kissed her cheek and, placing his hand in the small of her back, led her through the terrace door.