I’ve kissed a few men in my life, but no one stacks up to Carson. The way he keeps thrusting his hips at me is just a tempting preview of what he’ll be able to do to me once we’re both naked, but it can’t be here in his office.
It’s not because it’s his office, per se. It’s more the fact that it’s the King Communications building. Given both the history and the future between our families, intimate time between the two of us would be better spent away from this atmosphere.
I want to tell him I love him; it feels right even though it’s definitely way too soon. I don’t, though—not today, not right away. I realize anything can happen and at any moment he could be taken away from me without ever having heard my true feelings, but I’m doing my best to express how I feel through my kiss, my touch, even just my presence here in New York.
This time it’s him who backs away from our kiss.
“What?” I ask. My legs are still locked around his waist and my arms around his neck. He holds me under my butt, and our faces are inches apart.
“We need to stop or I won’t be able to stop.”
I grind my hips down on his obvious erection. “Does that change things?”
He gives me a look that’s so full of lust and warning that I immediately drop my legs from around him.
“Sorry,” I whimper as I back away, and he chuckles.
“Where are you staying?” he asks.
“My luxury trip for two set me up at the Gansevoort.”
“Fancy. You’re staying with me.”
“Excuse me?”
“The Gansevoort is nice, but you’re staying with me.”
“Nice? The Gansevoort is nice? It’s the nicest hotel I’ve ever stayed in.”
He steps toward me and lowers his voice to a gritty husk. “It’s very nice, but it’s a hotel. Its walls are thin, and I have plans for you. I plan on making you scream as I make you come. I plan to fuck your mouth in my kitchen. I plan to lick every inch of your skin in my living room. I want your scent on my sheets and your body in my bed—my bed, not some hotel bed.”
“Oh,” I say, all conscious thought leaving my brain as my instinctual need to mate with this man kicks in. I’m speechless and a little breathless as I pant at the thought of screaming while he makes me come…and all that other stuff he said.
He leans in and peppers my jaw with kisses before backing away again.
“How’s that sound, cupcake?” he asks with a grin.
I swear to God, if he calls me cupcake one more time…
What? What will I do? Probably nothing, maybe fall to my knees as I unzip his pants.
I can’t think like that. I need to get out of here before I ruin first-time sex with this man by impulsively having it on his desk rather than somewhere with a bit more forethought.
I head for the door despite the disappointment that lances through me. I may as well take advantage of the spa certificates the hotel gave me with my package.
I pause before I reach the door. “You’ll take me to dinner first, of course.”
“Of course. I’ll text you the time and the place.” He grins. “But it won’t be a business dinner this time.”
“What else would it be?” I ask, and I wink as I open his door to leave.
There’s a man standing just on the other side of the door with his hand poised to knock.
“Is Carson in there?” he asks.
I nod as I pass him by. “Yes. We were just finishing up with a meeting.”
The man knocks on the doorframe, and I hear Carson’s frustrated voice before I exit the office. “What do you want, Paul?”
I giggle to myself, and then I make my way to my hotel. On the way there, I call to book my spa appointments—massage, facial, and a wax. I’ll be in tiptop shape for the night I’ve been looking forward to since the day I met Carson King.
It’s sort of surreal that it’s really happening now. This is no longer a dream. He says he wants to be with me, and I want to be with him. Now I just need to ask the tough questions at dinner to make sure I believe I’m the only woman he wants to be with, because I’m terrified of getting into something with him only to have him to realize he’s bored now that he won the challenge.
* * *
“First kiss?”
“Sixth grade, Becky Hadaway, a seventh grader, on the hill behind school. You?”
I raise an eyebrow. “Sixth grade? Early bloomer.”
He shrugs but I don’t miss the arrogance in the movement. I giggle.
“Mine was freshman year at the winter formal. Joey Rodgers. It was sloppy and I was in love.”
He chuckles. “Do I need to worry about this Joey guy?”
I shake my head. “We went out for all of two weeks before he broke up with me over the phone.”
“Bastard.”
“Seriously.”
“Next question.”
I think for a minute as I take a bite of my soup. I was so nervous the entire flight over here, but as soon as I saw Carson earlier in his office, I knew everything was going to be okay. Now, after a relaxing massage, I feel positively vibrant.
I set the tone for the night by telling him I wanted to get to know more about him, and I started firing questions at him immediately. He’s an open book, and I’m loving every page he’s allowing me to read. “Were you popular in high school?”
“I suppose. I was a football player, and football was pretty much the only sport that mattered at my high school.”
I roll my eyes. “Says every high school football player ever.”
“I know it sounds cocky, but I swear I’m not saying it to be a dick. The school has lots of state titles under its belt and a former professional player on the coaching staff. It’s a big deal. It always overshadowed the other sports.”
“It did at my school, too. Games were always packed, but you could barely get one row of bleachers filled at a girl’s volleyball game.”
“Did you play volleyball?”
I nod. “All four years, and my parents attended every game.”
“Mine attended my games, too. It helped that we played weekends.”
“What position did you play?”
“Tight end.”
I grin. “Yeah you did.”
He shakes his head as he looks modestly down at his plate with a smile. “Next question.”
“So you’re good at kissing. You’re good at what you do. You’re good at being hot. What aren’t you good at?”
“Confrontation.”
“No one’s good at that.”
“My father is. He loves it.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Really? I hate it.”
“Can I be honest with you?”
“You better be.”
“I hate it so much that it makes me physically ill sometimes. That day I went in to talk to your dad about the takeover, I nearly lost my lunch on the sidewalk outside afterward.”
“Really?” I’m actually shocked by that. He always seems so cool and confident.
He nods. “It’s all an act. I really don’t have my shit together in the least.”
I giggle.
“You go—something you’re bad at.”
“Well, I’ll show you some of the things I’m really good at a little later.” I lift my wineglass to my lips and wink, and he shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “I’m really bad at math.”
“Math?”
I shrug. “I need a calculator for basic computations.”
“Most people do. I guess that’s not a deal breaker, cupcake.”
“If you were next to me instead of across the table from me, I’d hit you for that comment.”
“What comment? Cupcake?”
I roll my eyes. “I’m actually starting to get used to that one. I meant the deal breaker comment.”
He laughs. “Why would you hit me for that?”
“You’re already looking for an out before we even get started.”
His laughter fades and he gazes across the table at me with such an intense heat that I squirm a little in my chair.
He lowers his voice so just I can hear him over the background din of the restaurant. “The only thing I’m looking to get out of is this meal so I can finally take you home and fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk tomorrow.”
My little squirm turns into a much bigger squirm at his words.
I take another sip of wine. I think I might need a vat of it.
He grins across the table at me.
“What?” I snap.
“You. You’re so adorable.”
I drink more wine. “God, I hate you.”
“Why do I get the feeling that isn’t the last time I’ll hear those words?”
A blonde woman with legs about three feet longer than mine approaches our table. Okay, that may be a bit of an exaggeration, but they are pretty long.
“Well if it isn’t Carson King,” she says. She glances over at me with a look of disgust before she innocently turns her big, blue eyes over to Carson.
“Heather,” he says with a nod.
“You didn’t return my call,” she says. “Who’s this?” She jerks her thumb in my direction.
“This is Sylvie, and no, I didn’t return your call. I’ve been busy.”
“With her?”
“I’m afraid that isn’t your business, Heather.”
She looks highly insulted, but Carson maintains his cool.
She leans in and lowers her voice. “It seemed like my business when we slept together a few weeks ago.”
To his credit, Carson doesn’t even bat an eye. Instead, he says, “If you’ll excuse us, Heather, we’re actually on a date tonight.”
She looks at me with venom in her eyes. “A date? Ha. Enjoy your night with him, sweetie, because you won’t hear from him tomorrow.”
She spins on her heel and stomps away from us.
“A jilted lover?” I guess, trying to diffuse the sudden tension at our table.
“Something like that,” he says dryly.
“How many more of those can I expect?”
“Probably fewer in San Diego than we might run into here in New York.”
I press my lips together. “That’s great. That sort of leads me to my next question, anyway.”
“What’s that?”
“Are you kind of a womanizer?”
He cocks his head to one side and then the other, as if he’s stretching his neck. “I wouldn’t label myself that way, but I could easily see how others would. The way I look at it, I was sampling the menu before I found the right one.”
“So all that…dipping into the pool…did you use protection?”
He nods. “Always, plus annual physicals. I’m responsible to a fault. I’ve got too much going for me to fuck it up by being dumb.”
I clear my throat. “What if I told you it would be safe to…um…be dumb with me?”
He raises his eyebrows and thinks for a few beats. “I’d say let’s get downright fucking stupid.”
I giggle. “One more question.”
He nods.
“How serious are you about this?” I motion between the two of us. “You got me. I broke it off with William. The chase is over. Do you still want this?”
“I’m uprooting my life to move to San Diego. I’m transferring to your office. I spoke to my father about something I’ve kept secret for the past twenty years. Does that answer your question?”
“Yeah, I guess it does.” I don’t know what to say. Sometimes he says such deep and meaningful things to me and it’s not at all what I expect from him, but it calms every fear I have. I clear my throat and go for a subject change instead. “Is she the type of girl you go for? Because she’s not like me.”
“I realize that,” he says. “She’s about as opposite of you as it gets. She’s the type of girl a man spends a night with. You’re the type of girl a man spends his life with.”
I’m at a loss for words after that statement. “His…His life?”
He shrugs and presses his lips together to conceal his smile, and suddenly I’m not so anxious about what the future might hold for us.
* * *
As the car Carson ordered for us pulls to a stop in front of a building in Midtown, my nerves start to get the best of me. I thought the relaxation from the massage would carry me through the whole night, but I know what comes next, and while I’m excited, I’m also a ball of anxiety. This is something we have waited for, and I get the notion that Carson isn’t used to waiting. I get the feeling he doesn’t have a whole lot of patience, yet he waited for me, and that speaks volumes about his feelings for me.
It’s been a long time since I’ve been with someone new. I was with William for two years, and I had about a six-month drought while we played the will we get together or won’t we game. William was a good lover, gentle and kind, and he always took care of my needs, but I can’t say he ever gave me a good and thorough fucking. I have a feeling Carson knows how to do just that—and do it well.
He gets out first and holds his hand out to help me out the same side of the car. He thanks the driver, who he calls Geoffrey, and then we walk toward the building. He doesn’t let go of my hand even when he opens the door and nods to the doorman. He doesn’t let go of my hand as he calls the elevator and we step on or when he inserts a code before we ride up to the penthouse level—naturally.
I have nothing with me aside from my handbag. It feels strange going to someone else’s place when I’ve lived with the same man for close to two years. It’s like I forgot how to do this, how to just date someone, even if this actually feels like a whole lot more than just dating.
When we walk into his place, I’m not surprised at what I find. We enter through a foyer, and directly to our left is an expansive living room. He tosses his keys onto a small table by the door before leading me into his place.
His furniture is black and his décor is simple and modern. The floors are hardwood and the walls are white. Artwork hangs in different places, but these aren’t black and white abstracts like the ones at my house. These are vivid scenes—Las Vegas, Paris, and London are just the first few I spot. His place is neat and clean, but it’s not white-glove, museum perfect. There’s a book on the coffee table and a couple of magazines on an end table.
I’m drawn to the picture windows overlooking skyscrapers and smaller buildings. I walk over to them and stare out. It’s dark outside, but the buildings are lit like it’s Christmas.
I see Carson walk up behind me in the reflection in the glass. He loops his arms around me from behind, pressing his front to my back, and I’m immediately enveloped by his warmth and his scent.
“This is gorgeous,” I murmur. “I can’t wait to see the view in the daylight.”
He chuckles and lowers his mouth to my ear. “I can’t wait to fuck you up against this glass.” I gasp, and he adds in a whisper, “And out on that balcony.”