Chapter Fifteen
Jane
“I hope I don’t regret this. I hope I don’t regret this. I’d better not regret this. There’s still time to turn back and pretend this never happened. He can’t hold it against me. That would be sexual harassment, right? He can’t risk that sort of lawsuit.”
The words pour out of me in one long whisper that barely spares any breath. I shift my weight from one foot to the other as I stand in the elevator. I should go home. This isn’t a good idea. I know it isn’t a good idea. I’m smarter than this, aren’t I? I may not have been born a city girl, but I know the way things like this work. I’m not the girl who wanders into her boss’ apartment, all wide-eyed and naive, thinking all he wants is an innocent night of conversation.
The thing is I don’t want innocent conversation. If I’m being honest, that’s the real reason I’m still on my way up to the penthouse in one of the most exclusive buildings in the city, right across from Central Park. I want more. Much more. That only makes it worse.
So here I am, in the private elevator car that goes straight to the top floor. Where he’s waiting for me.
“You can handle this, Jane. You’re a smart person. You can be strong and not do something you’ll regret.” I nod firmly to myself as I step off the elevator. His door is just in front of me, and it’s standing open. Am I supposed to walk in? Would that be rude?
I hate second-guessing myself.
“Hello?” I ask, knocking.
The door swings open further, revealing the most jaw-droppingly gorgeous apartment I’ve ever seen. Hell, it’s more beautiful than all the houses I’ve seen in my life. The entire far wall is floor-to-ceiling windows, revealing a breathtaking view of the city. When I step inside, I see that all the exterior walls are windows, like a panoramic view. If I lived here, I would never do anything but stand there, staring out the windows. I’d lose my job. Then again, if I could afford a place like this, I probably wouldn’t need to work.
“Hello?” I whisper this time, like it’s a reverent sort of place, the sort of place where everything gleams and people must speak in hushed tones. My apartment is roughly the size of a corner of the living room, with its shiny wood floors and the glass-walled fireplace in the center. There’s a fire flickering there, casting an amber glow on the tasteful leather furniture.
And I’ve only seen this single room. I can’t even imagine what the rest of the place is like.
“Jane? In the kitchen.”
Like I know where the kitchen is. I follow the sound of Anthony’s voice down a short hallway and end up in a spacious, bright room with shiny steel appliances. Surprise of surprises, Anthony is standing in front of the stove. I watch, slack-jawed, as he expertly tosses a pan full of vegetables in the air to stir them. Probably the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.
“I didn’t know you were going to be cooking.”
He smiles over his shoulder. “What’d you’d think I meant by a proper thank you?”
It’s a relief when he turns back to the stove so he can’t see my cheeks turning crimson. Here I am with a dirty mind that immediately went in the wrong direction. The man only wanted to cook dinner for me. He hasn’t lured me here to seduce me. I’m the one who’s been seeing things that aren’t there.
“I hope you like shrimp,” he says. “I guess I should’ve asked first.”
“Oh, that’s great.” My voice sounds hollow to my own ears.
He adds some to the pan with the vegetables.
“Have a seat at the island.”
I see he’s already poured me a glass of wine. White. It’s crisp and almost fruity. I guess he took a clue from all the vodka cranberries I’ve been drinking lately.
Minutes later, he turns around with a platter of shrimp, sautéed vegetables and pasta in his hands. I applaud, and he gives me a little bow. “It’s the least I can do after everything you’ve done for me. I’m afraid I’ll always be in your debt at this rate.”
“I’m sure you can think of lots of ways to pay me back.” Where the hell did that come from? I wish I could reach out and grab my words and shove them back in my mouth. What’s wrong with me, saying something like that?
He only grins. “I’m sure I’ve already thought of a few ways.”
There go my cheeks again, burning like my face is on fire. I’m not any good at this sort of thing.
Time to change the subject. “What made you learn how to cook?” I ask.
He smirks. “Do you want the honest answer?”
“Um…I guess?”
“To impress women.” He shrugs as I laugh. “Hey. No shame in my game.”
I take a taste of the food. Wow. “Mm. Your game is strong.”
“You’re not the first woman to tell me that.” He winks.
A pang of jealousy goes through me, and I tell myself that it doesn’t matter. “I bet I’m not. I half-expected to find a revolving door when I reached your floor.”
“The contractor’s coming next week to give me an estimate for installing it.” He shakes his head as he gives me a wry grin. “Smartass.”
Are we actually flirting? I know I shouldn’t, but it feels natural. There’s a strange sort of easiness between us, totally unforced. It’s completely new to me. Men like him normally leave me tongue-tied and wishing I were dead.
“Do you have any more dishes in your repertoire? Or is cooking a second meal never a concern for you?” I sip my wine, which of course perfectly complements the food. Because he knows about things like that. Meanwhile, I usually go for whatever’s cheapest since it’s not like I have a lot of disposable income.
His chuckle sends a sexy shiver down my spine. “I’m pretty good with breakfast.”
Fuck me. I bite my bottom lip and tell myself to stay cool. I want to hang in and flirt and have a good time. Dissolving into nervous giggles won’t exactly do the trick. He’s used to sophisticated women, not the sort of simple person I am. I toss my hair over one shoulder and then feel like an idiot for doing it.
“That’s a shame. I don’t normally eat breakfast.”
Yes, because that makes more sense.
His eyes travel over my face, then further down to the little bit of cleavage I decided was safe to expose. “It’s okay. That means more time doing other things.”
The way he’s looking at me is making it hard to breathe. I wish he would stop, almost as much as I wish he would never stop. Our eyes meet, and it feels like an electric spark crackles between us. I really hope he’s feeling this too because I’d feel like an idiot if this is just me.
He’s not looking at what he’s doing as he reaches for his wine glass, and the liquid spills all over his shirt.
“Shit!”
It soaks in instantly, revealing the shape of his chest with the sort of detail that makes my stomach clench. I’m going to suffocate right here on this stool in the middle of his kitchen. It’s official. This is how I’m going to die. Death by sexiness.
“I’ve gotta get out of this. Excuse me for a sec.” He goes down the hall to a room at the end, unbuttoning as he goes. I tell myself I shouldn’t look, even when he leaves the door open and practically begs me to watch as he slides the shirt over his shoulders and down his back.
Silly me, thinking it was hard to breathe before he was shirtless. There’s no way he’s real. His body is perfect, like a fucking fitness model or something. Like a guy from the cover of Men’s Health. Abs that are the very definition of washboard, a back just begging for my nails to rake up and down…
What’s wrong with me? It must be the wine. I don’t usually think this way about any man, although he’s not just any man. Maybe it’s him. He does affect me in a funny way. Or it could be the way the city seems to surround me as I sit there in the lap of luxury.
Whatever it is, it’s all going to my head and making me extremely brazen. Brazen enough to slide off the stool and march down his hallway. Brave enough to walk into the bedroom, go straight to him, and take his face in my hands before crushing my mouth against his.