I peered at it dubiously. “Seriously?”
He just looked at me, not answering.
“Evan!”
“Hey, if you don’t want to …” He trailed off, then leaned forward and told the taxi driver to take us back to the condo.
I goggled at him. “What are you doing?”
“Rules are rules.”
“Fine,” I said, snatching it out of his hands. I slid the mask on over my eyes. And in the moment before the world disappeared from sight, I was pretty sure that I caught the driver’s smirk in the rearview window.
“Better?” I asked.
“Much,” Evan said.
“And you’re not going to even give me a clue?”
“Not even,” he said.
“I know this area pretty well. I could probably count stops and turns. I’ve watched enough espionage thrillers to know how that works.”
He laughed. “Good point.” He sat silent for a moment, and then I felt him drape something across my lap. “You look a little cold,” he said. “Let me warm you up.”
I started to tell him that my legs weren’t cold, but in that same instant I felt his hand upon my thigh. I realized as he gently stroked my skin—easing his fingers higher and higher toward the mid-thigh hemline of my dress—that he hadn’t put the jacket there to keep me warm, but to give us privacy.
He eased the hem higher, and it was all I could do not to whimper. I felt on fire, my thighs craving more of his touch, my sex so sensitive that even the slight rubbing of my panties against my flesh in time with the movement of the car was making me hot. And, so help me, the fact that I was blindfolded and we were in the back of a taxi, not four feet away from some anonymous driver made the whole thing that much more arousing.
“Evan,” I said, because we should stop even though I didn’t want to. Even though I wanted this rush. This heat.
“Hmm?”
“What are you doing?”
“Distracting you so you can’t count turns,” he said, even as his finger slipped under the tiny strip of material that made up the thong part of my teeny-tiny panties.
“Oh.” My breath was a gasp, the word forced out even as he slid his finger inside me. “Oh, well, um, okay.”
He chuckled. “Just relax, sweetheart. We’re close.”
“Yes,” I said, because he was right. I was close, so damn close, but he was keeping me on the edge, slipping his finger in and out, making me wetter and wetter, playing and teasing and trailing a soft fingertip all over my sex, between my legs, on the soft skin between my cunt and my thighs. But though his touch fired my senses and made me crave more, it was more that he denied me.
He was deliberately avoiding my clit, and I had no way of complaining. I couldn’t say a word—I couldn’t even shift my hips and writhe in silent demand—unless I wanted to advertise what was going on to the driver. And, yeah, he might already be clued in, but since I was blindfolded I was happy to live in the fantasy that he was completely oblivious.
Which meant I had to sit there, perfectly still, as Evan’s fingertips played me as skillfully as an instrument. As my body warmed. As every inch of my skin became so sensitive that every tiny hair seemed to send sparks shooting through me.
By the time the taxi finally pulled up in front of our mystery destination, I was taut and ready and totally primed.
I didn’t know where we were going, but I really hoped that getting naked was next on the agenda.
“I don’t think he bought your excuse about the cold,” I said, as I stood blindfolded on what I assumed was a sidewalk. “It’s in the seventies this morning and he didn’t even have the AC on.”
Evan’s arm held on to my elbow as he guided me forward. “You may be right. But I wanted what I wanted, and that was you.”
“Hmm,” I said, adding a hint of censure to my tone.
“Don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy it.”
I frowned. “I take the Fifth.”
He burst out laughing. “Fair enough. But I know the truth. You told me, remember? You’re a woman who likes to let go. Who likes the rush. Who needs it.”
I wanted desperately to peel the blindfold off and look at him. “I do,” I said. “But it also scares me.”
“That was the point, Lina. You were with me. You can do anything with me.” He leaned in close, his lips brushing my ear. “Anything. Because I will always be there. I will always catch you if you fall.”
I didn’t know what to say. He’d managed to twist the moment around completely. From a casual sexual encounter in a taxi, to a moment of pure intimacy.
“Evan,” I said, turning blindly toward him and finding his face. I pulled him toward me for a kiss, deep and long and sweet.
When I pulled back, he gently stroked my cheek. “What was that for?”
“Wherever you’re taking me, whatever we’re doing, I know it’s going to be amazing. And just in case you have me so distracted later I forget to say it, I wanted to say thank you now.”
“You’re welcome.” He took my hand. “Are you ready to go inside?”
I nodded and let him lead the way.
“Distracted, huh?” he said as we entered a very air-conditioned room. “I can’t imagine how you think I might distract you.”
I grinned, absolutely delighted with the man, with the morning, with the whole damn world.
I knew better than to ask where we were. There was stone, not carpet, beneath my feet, and the space had an echo when we walked. It felt empty, too, and I assumed it was some sort of lobby. My assumption was confirmed when I heard the ding of an elevator. A moment later, we stepped onto one. And ascended, higher and higher and higher still.
“About that flying thing,” I said. “If you’re thinking about hang gliding off the roof of one of the sky-rises, then I think I’m going to have to exercise my veto power.”
“That’s tomorrow’s agenda,” he says. “Today’s Sunday. I figured something less active would be appropriate.”
I wanted to scream with frustration because I had absolutely no idea what he had up his sleeve, but I also didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. So I stayed calm, cool, and collected. And kept my curiosity soundly buried.
Finally, the elevator slid to a smooth stop. The doors opened, and I heard a few people moving around, but not too many. I heard the clattering of dishes and—happily—I caught the scent of coffee.
“Know where we are?”
“One of the clubs? A breakfast buffet?” Uncle Jahn belonged to the Metropolitan Club and had taken me and Flynn there for drinks and appetizers to celebrate Flynn’s first trip as a flight attendant.
“Not a bad guess,” he said. “But no.”
“Well, I give up.”
“That’s okay. You don’t have long to wait now.”
I’d been walking carefully, his hand on my elbow, and now he had me turn just slightly. The floor beneath us changed texture, and I heard the scrape of a chair.
“Here you go,” he said, helping me sit. He stood behind me, his hands on my shoulders. He bent over, and his breath rippled my hair as he asked, so very gently, “Are you ready?”
“I think so.” I didn’t have a clue what I was supposed to be ready for, and he clearly expected me to be astounded. For a moment I feared that my reaction would disappoint him, but the fear faded quickly. If anyone knew how to overwhelm, it was Evan. “Yes,” I said more firmly. “I’m ready.”
“Close your eyes.”
I did, effectively blocking out the tiny bits of light that had crept in under the mask. His fingers brushed my hair as he gripped the elastic and pulled the mask up and off my face. “All right,” he said softly. “Open.”
I did, and then gasped in awe and wonder. “Evan—oh my god.”
I have no memory of moving, but I must have, because now I was standing, and all of Chicago was spread out beneath and around me, and my heart was pounding because we were suspended above the city and all I could think was that there was no place more perfect that he could have brought me. “It’s the Skydeck,” I said. “You brought me to the Ledge.”
“I did,” he said, moving to stand beside me. I’d gone to the edge, and now my hands were pressed to the glass, but I wasn’t looking out, I was looking down, watching the world falling away beneath our feet as we stood in this clear box that hung from the side of the Willis Tower.
“Are you ready for breakfast?”
“What?” I asked foolishly.
He took my shoulder and gently turned me around. I saw the chair where I’d originally been sitting next to a white cloth-covered table topped with dishes and a shiny silver coffeepot.
For a moment I frowned. “Breakfast? I’ve wanted to come here for breakfast since I learned they served, but I thought it was closed on Sundays.”
“It is,” Evan said. “I arranged catering for a private party.”
“A party?” I asked, lifting a brow.
“A very small party,” he said. “Will you join me for breakfast on this lovely Sunday morning, Ms. Raine?” he asked, holding out his hand and drawing me toward him.
“Yes, Mr. Black. I’d be delighted.”
He held my chair out, and as I sat, I looked down at the city again. The world seemed to swirl around me, making me both dizzy and excited, making my heart swell and soar. But no matter what, I knew that I wouldn’t go crashing down to earth. I was safe here. Safe on this ledge, and safe with Evan.
“Thank you,” I said. “This is incredible. More than incredible, in fact. It’s perfect.”
“I told you I’d make you fly,” he said.
“Yes,” I agreed. “You did.”
Esther Martin swooped into my cubicle, her smile as wide as her eyes were sad. She crossed the small space in one stride, arms outstretched, and folded me into the kind of genuinely emotional hug that most women of Esther’s money and breeding usually eschewed.
“We’ve missed you,” she said, releasing me. “Are you doing okay?”
I nodded. “Yeah, I miss him. But I’m doing okay.”
“Oh, honey. We all miss him.” She stood back so that she could look me up and down. “You look good. You got some sun.”
I nodded. “I spent most of yesterday outside.” I shrugged a little. “It was nice.”
Nice,
in fact, was an understatement. After a breakfast among the clouds, Evan and I spent the day like petals on the wind, soft and lazy and with no purpose other than to move and to explore the city. After breakfast on the Ledge, we’d walked from the Willis Tower all the way down the Magnificent Mile to the Oak Street Beach. I’d expected him to balk when I’d suggested it, because most people don’t share my love of simply walking around big cities, soaking up the vibe and absorbing the energy. But Evan didn’t complain, despite the fact that we walked about three miles even before our adventure truly started.
I pointed out my favorite haunts along the way, including the funky water tower. The real one, not the mall, though as far as shopping went, I fully approved of the multistoried shopping complex.
“It’s a castle in the middle of the city,” I’d said, tugging Evan to a stop and pointing at the building that had miraculously survived the Chicago Fire. I dragged him inside, ignoring his mock protests, and we stood with our hands pressed against the Plexiglas as we peered down at the tubes and equipment before going into the adjacent tourist center.
“Can I help you or answer any questions?” the clerk asked as we entered. And Evan, with a straight face, told him we were tourists with only thirty-six hours to spend in town, and we needed to figure out how to do everything.
The clerk, bless him, actually had some decent suggestions, and we left with a handful of brochures and a plan that started with bike rental from the stands that dotted the city. Then we continued on to the beach, leaving the bikes parked as we walked barefoot in the sand.
“I don’t have a favorite part of Chicago,” I’d said. “But if I did, this might be it. How cool is it that we’re in the middle of a continent and walking along a sandy beach?”
We’d gathered rocks to toss back into the water, drank beer at a beach-hut style restaurant, and watched an old man search for treasure with a metal detector. Then we’d backtracked to The Drake hotel and bought two cheap backpacks from the gift store downstairs. After that, we took our rented bikes and cruised along the lakefront and zipped through the parks, finally ending up at the famous Bean sculpture. We’d made faces at ourselves in the curved reflective surface and held hands while we walked underneath and peered up into the interior that seemed to me like the vortex of a black hole.
“Where to next?” he’d asked. “Wait, let me guess. The Art Institute?”
I paused beside my rented bike and grinned, delighted that he knew me so well. “Where else? After all, it’s in keeping with today’s theme.”
“We have a theme?”
I moved toward him and took his hands in mine, then lifted myself on tiptoes to kiss him. “Art makes me feel like I’m soaring—and that’s how I’ve felt all day with you. Hanging over the city at breakfast, walking hand in hand. And now, just looking in your eyes.”
“Careful,” he said, with a tease in his voice. “You’ll make me blush.”
I laughed aloud. “That, I’d like to see.”
We left our bikes at the kiosk and continued strolling through Millennium Park toward the Art Institute. “Have you ever been to Europe?” I asked.
“A few times,” he said.
“I haven’t. I’ve always wanted to, though. I want to see the Louvre and the Sistine Chapel. I want to stand there and feel the power of what those men left behind because it’s important and it’s enduring and—” I cut myself off with a shake of my head.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing. Never mind.”
He reached for my hand and gave me a little tug.
“Nothing, really. Just random stupid thoughts.”
“Those are the best kind for a Sunday afternoon stroll.”
“Fine,” I said, shaking my head in mock exasperation. “I was thinking about my dad. I love him, I do. But there’s no passion in politics. There never has been for me. I did the work and I earned the degree, but it never got inside me, you know? Because it’s not creation, it’s consumption. Politics is all about taking what others created and divvying it up.”
“And yet you’re leaving for Washington.”
I looked away, shrugging. “It’s an excellent opportunity.”
“It is,” he said.
My eyes snapped to him. “But?”
“I just wonder if it’s an excellent opportunity for you.”