Sky High (Three Contemporary Novella's) (5 page)

Rick came by to take their orders and within a few minutes, he returned, bringing a myriad of things on small plates “just for a taste” while they waited. They tasted all of it, and then dove into their entrees when they arrived. Simon hadn’t exaggerated about Rita’s abilities in the kitchen. Like the fig jam, every bite seemed to stimulate her whole body. Maybe it was the second bottle of wine they ordered, or maybe it was the way Simon offered her bites of things off his fork now and then, watching her mouth the entire time. She’d never felt so drunk off a meal, and she wasn’t sure anymore if it was the wine or the man.

“Try this,” he urged, holding yet another forkful of food up for her.

“I already tasted that.”

“You had a bite of the pasta with a bit of sauce. This is the pork. You really need to taste it. Rita stews it all day with garlic and rosemary and—” His enthusiasm for every aspect of his meal was adorable. It wasn’t just the way it tasted. He was interested in every ingredient and how it had been made. His idle dream of a restaurant was looking like more of a calling. Hopefully he made a go of it one day.

“Okay, okay!” she laughed. “Gimme a bite, already.”

She leaned forward and closed her mouth around the fork. They’d already developed quite a nice little rhythm of food-sharing, just in the space of one meal.

“Oh,” she mumbled with her mouth full.

“See? I told you.” He grinned and reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. It was an unconscious and intimate gesture. It said a lot about how relaxed they’d both become that he didn’t seem to register he’d done it.

“I’ll never doubt you again.”

“Who knew your trust could be bought with a well-made pork ragù?”

It was a joke, but she felt the truth of it simmer through her stomach. In reality, her trust wasn’t easily bought. It might not be available at all anymore where men were concerned. Maybe people were born with a predetermined amount of trust and once it was burned up, there wasn’t any more for anyone else who might come along. She feared that was the case with her. Mitchell had used up the last of her trust, and now she was doomed to spend her life eyeing guys like Simon with suspicion, only able to see their potential for destruction.

But she didn’t have to trust him to enjoy having dinner with him, or even to sleep with him. As long as she was cautious, she was safe.

They ordered dessert. Of course they did. It was some ridiculous rich concoction of chocolate and cream that Rita brought to their table personally, since the restaurant had begun emptying out. Rick came over for a bit, too, pouring them glasses of rich Tawny Port and telling stories about their last trip to Italy. Simon chatted easily about Europe with them and it was clear he’d been all over Italy, Greece, France, and half a dozen other European countries when he’d still lived in England. She’d been to all those airports, and several nice corporate hotels, but she’d never eaten at tiny Parisian bistros in far-flung neighborhoods off the tourist radar, or sampled wine straight from the cellar in a Spanish vineyard. She really needed to schedule a proper vacation soon.

When the check came, she made a grab for it, fully intending to split it. That was what she always did. But Simon’s hand came down on hers, his fingers curling around her wrist and brushing against her pulse.

“I’m buying.”

“But—”

“Cass, let’s just call this what it is.”

She blinked at him, unbearably aware of his hand covering hers. God, could he feel the way her pulse was racing under his fingertips? “And what’s that?” she asked, her voice thick and quiet with nerves.

“A date.”

“This is a date?”

He shrugged casually, one corner of his mouth curling up in a smile. His fingers slowly slid higher on her arm. “Yes, a date. We might not have set out to go on one today, but that seems to be where we’ve found ourselves. So let’s go with it.”

“On a date.”

His smile grew wider and he nodded once. He was positively caressing her arm now. “A date. Which means I’m buying.”

She didn’t protest when he slid the check out of her reach. After tucking his credit card in the folder, he took her hand again, turning it over and skimming his thumb over her palm. Her breath caught in her throat. Such a tiny, insignificant touch and yet she felt it in so many places.

“Since we’ve agreed that we’re now on a date, maybe you won’t mind me doing this,” he murmured, lifting her hand and pressing his lips against the pounding pulse in her wrist. He looked up at her, his lips still brushing her skin. “Okay?”

She nodded. “Okay.”

“And this?” He kissed the center of her palm, slowly, deliberately, and she was fairly certain she felt his tongue flick out to taste her skin. She pressed her knees together as her nerves and muscles slowly melted. She wanted to climb into his lap, straddle him, push his shoulders back, grab him by that tie…

“That’s okay, too.” Her voice had turned into a rasp.

“You’ve got some chocolate on your finger,” he murmured, his breath washing across her palm. “Right here.”

There was no errant spot of chocolate, but she said nothing as he drew the tip of her index finger into his mouth. She thought she might combust on the spot. It didn’t last long, just a whisper of his slick, warm mouth around her fingertip and then he let her go, sitting back and smiling with an expression that was nothing short of salacious. “I’ve wanted to do that all day.”

“You have?”

“Well, I’ve wanted to do a lot of things. But we’re in a public place. For now.”

Good God, she wanted him so much. She didn’t care if Simon had dinner here with a different woman every night he was in town. Because tonight the woman was her. For tonight at least, no one else existed and real life didn’t matter. She’d have this night with an incredible, hot Englishman and she’d enjoy the hell out of whatever they decided to do together, and pretend there was no tomorrow.

As they lingered by the door waiting for the bartender to drag their carry-ons out from the back room, Rita came out of the kitchen again to say goodbye with Ron. Rita kissed her cheek when they left and Ron made her promise to come back in the summer when the fresh tomatoes were in.

There was a moment, when they first stepped outside, when Cassie was frozen with indecision. Maybe she should mention catching a cab, leaving him open to suggesting…more? But before she could, Simon gave her a small, secret smile and nudged her elbow.

“My place is around the corner. Do you want to come up for a drink?”

They stared at each other under the orange sodium glow of a streetlight. It felt like the whole of their dinner had been some kind of foreplay, knowing this still lay before them. There was really no doubt in her mind what she was about to do.

“Sure. I’d like that.” He smiled, not charming, not bashful, not friendly. This one was all new, the smile of a man who knew what was coming next and was already savoring it.

“I’m this way,” he said, indicating the direction with a nod of his head.” They wandered down Washington Street to the end of the block.

“This is me.” He motioned to a glass door, framed with brushed aluminum. He was right, it was a stone’s throw from the restaurant. Through the door she glimpsed a small, hip lobby with an artfully weathered mirror on one wall and a bright red love seat under it.

He unlocked the door and led her to the elevator, low lit and lined with mirrors. She watched their reflections as he punched the button for the fifth floor. They looked surprisingly good together, his patrician, blond handsomeness and her willowy, tall frame. He glanced up and met her eyes in the mirror.

“Nice building,” she murmured.

“I like it. You know…when I’m here.”

The air in the little elevator felt so charged with potential that it might ignite. They’d talked so easily all day long and now words were sticking in her throat. Thankfully the trip was short.

The building wasn’t one of the modern new skyscrapers popping up all over the neighborhood. It was a converted early 20th century warehouse and Simon’s apartment was on the top floor, one of two units. He unlocked the door and ushered her in, plucking the handle of her carry-on from her hand as she passed.

“You can leave this here.”

There was a light left on over the sink in the open plan kitchen, but the rest of the apartment was dark. Simon made no move to turn on more lights. He watched her in the gloom, leaning back against the kitchen counter.

“What can I get you?”

Did she want a drink? Not really. They both knew she didn’t come up here to sip another glass of expensive red wine. So she let the strap of her bag slide off her shoulder. It hit the floor with a thunk. His eyes flicked to it and then back to hers. He looked beautiful and sinful in the half light, like some kind of finely tailored fallen angel. It made her next move much easier. Or maybe it was easy because this—like everything else that had happened today—didn’t quite feel real. And if it wasn’t real, she could do anything, be anyone, be brave enough to make the first move.

Her heels on the hardwood were the only sounds in the room as she moved towards him. When she reached him, she laid her palms flat on his chest and tilted her face up to his. He didn’t hesitate, as if he’d been planning to do this himself if she hadn’t done it first. He straightened and reached for her, grasping her face in his hands, and lowering his mouth to hers.

Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was that long, sensual dinner. Maybe it was this improbable day, ending in this magic moment. But this was like no first kiss she’d ever experienced. There was no tentative exploration, no slow start and gradual build. She didn’t hover slightly outside herself, debating her partner’s kissing technique. She didn’t worry about her
own
kissing technique, or anything else. They just
kissed
, thoroughly, deeply. It was a kiss born from hours of thinking about kissing, imagining the feel of the other person’s skin under yours.

Her fingers found his hair, which she’d wanted to muss since she first saw him. It felt as good as it looked, perfectly soft and feathery. She ran her fingers through it and wrapped her arms behind his head, wanting to wrap her whole body around his. Simon tilted her face and kissed her from a new angle, sweet and hot and perfect.

When he finally released her face, his hands skimmed down the sides of her neck, her shoulders, her ribcage and waist. His arms came around her, enfolding her in his strong embrace, pulling her up to her tiptoes. His body was pressed against hers all the way down to her knees. It felt like a shocking intimacy after spending the day at a careful physical distance.

His palm slid up between her shoulder blades, his splayed fingers practically spanning her back. Then he twisted his wrist, gathering the long fall of her hair and wrapping it gently around his hand. He tugged her head back as his lips left hers and skimmed down her arched throat. Parting his lips, he pressed soft, open-mouthed kisses to her neck, pausing to dip his tongue into the hollow at the base. A spear of desire shot through her, landing right between her thighs. She moaned.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he murmured.

Cradling the back of her head, he lifted her mouth back to his. This kiss was different—hard, a little sloppy, a hint desperate, lips and tongue and teeth tangling with hers. Her hand traced the side of his face, the angle of his jaw, and her fingers tugged at the loosened knot of his tie. It was time to unwrap this beautifully tailored package and see what was inside.

Simon raised his head, his eyes finding hers, just inches away. “Come to the bedroom?” Still a question, even after this long day, when sex seemed a foregone conclusion hours ago. He was still inviting, not expecting. She nodded. He leaned in and kissed her again, soft and light, then took her hand and led her through his darkened apartment. One wall was all windows, and the omnipresent New York City light pollution acted like a night light, outlining the shapes of his furniture, hinting at pictures on the walls, but concealing the details. She was a little curious, wondering what his apartment would look like, what he would choose to hang on his walls, but not enough to stop to look now.

There were windows in his bedroom, too, giving off the same faint glow from the streets. Simon turned when he reached the middle of the room, taking both her hands in his. She expected him to pounce right away, to push her onto the bed and get on with it, but he didn’t. Still looking at her face, he ran his hands up her arms, over her shoulders and down to the first button on her blouse. Then he very deliberately began to unbutton it. Her breath left her in a whoosh. It was hard to hold still. She was used to this first disrobing happening in some groping tangle on the bed, no time or space to worry about her body and what he might think of it. Simon seemed to relish this, though, this slow revealing of her. And when she could stop worrying, being the object of such heated, single-minded attention was hot. Her whole body was tingling and he wasn’t even touching her. Button by button, he opened her blouse. When it hung loose, he reached up and slid it back over her shoulders and down her arms. She took a deep, quavering breath. His eyes watched her breasts rise and fall.

“Stop over-thinking,” he said quietly. “You’re unbearably lovely.”

She opened her mouth to ask how he knew what she was thinking, but then he cupped her breast in one hand and lowered his head, kissing the swell just above the edge of her bra. Her words were lost along with all her rational thoughts. His thumb rubbed her nipple through the lace and she shuddered. His free hand slipped behind her and deftly undid the clasp. He didn’t raise his head as her bra fell away, only replaced his thumb with his mouth. Her fingers curled into his shoulders as desire rocketed through her.