CHAPTER 3
We’re out on the freezing cold sidewalk and Sydney is just standing there twitching, her eyes wide with panic. Did she change her mind about me?
“So which way is your place? I’ll walk you home and we can talk if you want.” I’m praying that she doesn’t tell me to get the hell away from her. Playful, fun Sydney is gone and the nervous and scared Sydney from the other day is back.
She turns her unfocused eyes to me and seems to snap out of her daze. “Okay. That sounds great.” Sydney rattles off her street and building number. Her address is just a few blocks from mine, but then, Bruce already told me that.
God, I really am a stalker.
I feel the overwhelming need to hurry up and find out more about her in case she doesn’t let me spend more time with her after this. Her place is close, so I may only get fifteen minutes at the most.
“So, how long have you lived in Manhattan, Sydney?”
Her face pales at my question. Damn, this girl is beyond private. She answers me reluctantly, “Twelve years, you?”
Good, actual back and forth conversation. That’s much easier than trying to wheedle information out of her like a creepy lurker. “I’ve been here for ten years. Funny how the island is only thirty-three square miles but we can both live here for a decade and never meet and then run into each other twice in a week,” I ramble, trying to fill the silence and encourage her to open up.
It’s like fate, don’t you think?
I decide not to ask the last part. She’d run away for sure, especially since it’s not fate that I found her, I’m a goddamn fucking stalker. I smile at the ridiculousness of this situation, of what I’ve become since meeting her. A love sick puppy with a creepy stalking habit and a perpetual hard-on.
“That’s what I love about New York. You can be invisible if you want to.” She actually cringes after she tells me this. Who fucked this girl up so much? There has to be a reason that she’s so afraid of discussing herself. I want to beat the ever loving shit out of whoever did this to her.
I stop, and grasp her small arm gently. I don’t want to freak her out but I can’t let her talk so badly about herself or watch her cower on the sidewalk like I’m going to kick her. “Sydney, you could never be invisible.”
She came out of nowhere and fell into my isolated world, making me feel things I haven’t felt in a long time and she can’t see how amazing she is. It’s so frustrating to finally find someone real and interesting, only to realize that they think they’re worthless.
I let go of her arm and keep walking toward her place. I don’t want her to see how upset I am, if she sees my horrific temper this early on, she’ll never want to talk to me again.
We reach her building and stop out front. I’m relieved to see that it’s a nice place. Safe, with a doorman and a concierge. I relax knowing she lives here and not in some dump. Her doorman greets her and steps aside to let her enter. “Miss Allen, welcome home.” Sydney Allen, now I have a last name to go with her first.
The mysterious Sydney Allen speaks to me, her cheeks and nose slashed with pink from the cold. “Ummmm, do you want to come in and continue talking? I mean, well …”
Thank god, I had been holding my breath, anticipating her blowing me off and having to think of a way to stretch out this encounter. Grinning, I gladly accept her invitation to go upstairs.
Okay, so Sydney Allen has money. A lot of money. I wonder what she does. She’s not in show business, that’s for damn sure, and she’s too young to have earned it on Wall Street. She can’t be older than her early twenties.
“This place is great,” I tell her as I look around. Her loft is big, maybe four or five thousand square feet if I had to guess. There are only two doors in the hallway, so I’m assuming she has half of the floor. Pre-war, five-thousand square foot, updated loft in the West Village with a doorman? Big money for sure.
She stops in the foyer and holds out a slender hand. “Thanks. Let me take your coat and, uhhh, hat.” She looks disgusted by my choice of headwear.
My hat. I forgot I have my lucky Red Sox hat on. She probably wouldn’t care that catcher Trevor Caldwell wore this for the entire 2004 World Series-winning season. He gave it to me when I met him and practically bowed at his feet.
I hand her my coat but keep the hat, removing it and tossing it onto the nearby coffee table. I can’t wear it in the house, it’s impolite, and besides she looks grossed out by it. “That’s pretty old and sweaty; I wouldn’t want you to have to touch it.”
I try to hold in my laughter as she wrinkles her nose at my hat. It is fairly disgusting if you didn’t realize that it was kept unwashed on purpose for an entire season of baseball in order to win with World Series. Well, maybe it’s disgusting even if you do know that.
I wander into the living area and she turns toward the kitchen. “Would you like a drink? I know it’s not even five o’clock, but I have no shame in indulging in a beer this early”
“A beer would be great. Thanks, Sydney,” I call out to her.
While she’s making noise in the kitchen, I take a closer look around the room, trying to gather any little bit of information about this girl from her possessions. She’s not super forthcoming about herself so I’ll take what I can get. A quick peek around and a few photos of her in Europe are the only personal items I can find. Even her home reveals nothing.
Sydney comes back and hands me an amber bottle of beer. “You’ve been to a lot of places.” I motion toward the photos and look down at the drink in my hand. She gave me a Sam Adams, my hometown’s best brew, and she drinks it straight from the bottle. Seriously, is there nothing about this girl that I’m not already in love with?
She stands just out of my reach, eyeing me speculatively. “Yes, I’ve traveled a bit. How about you? Ever been to Europe?”
I don’t want to talk about me, Miss Allen.
“Yes, I’ve been to most of Europe.” I answer and take a seat on the couch, my eyes not leaving her. She sits on the other end of the couch and downs a huge portion of her beer, probably out of nervousness, but it’s still sexy watching those lips wrapped around the bottle.
I need to know more about her. “I noticed that you really don’t own a TV, unless you’ve hidden it somewhere. So, why don’t you like the entertainment industry, Sydney?” I could be skating on thin ice with this question. She might recognize me and tell me to get the hell out.
Sydney’s eyebrows shoot up in alarm and her shoulders hunch forward just a bit, like she’s trying to protect herself again. “I … I really don’t feel like answering that right now, if that’s okay with you?”
Fuck, I upset her. Her eyes dart away and she drinks another huge gulp, leaving only a little beer left in her bottle. I’m making her uneasy, I need to fix this. I shift a little closer to her, so I can see her expressive eyes. “Sydney, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. Maybe someday you’ll feel like you can trust me enough to tell me. I’m patient.”
I shouldn’t lie to her. I’m far from patient. Patience isn’t even on my radar. I want her and I want her now, but for her I’ll wait.
Her eyes open wide in surprise and her mouth falls open. I have no idea what she’s thinking, and I’m usually very good at reading people. “Even though I barely know you I do feel like I can trust you, Drew, but that’s a part of me that I don’t like talking about. I’m just not able to go there. Not yet.”
She gives me a tiny smile and I let out a huge breath. She trusts me, which is strange, because she’s barely told me a thing about herself and knows next to nothing about me. I can only imagine how she treats people she doesn’t trust. She pounds the rest of her beer and gets up, grabs the empty bottle from me that I don’t remember drinking, and heads for her kitchen.
No way am I letting her get in there alone and give her time to decide to kick me out. I hop up and follow her. I’m going to go all in and see if she’s as attracted to me as I am to her. Like I always say, go big or go home.
When I enter the kitchen, she’s placing the bottles in the sink with her back to me. I walk right up behind her and get as close as I can without touching. She turns around and I’m inches from her gorgeous pink lips. Shit, it’s so hard not to just throw her on the table and take what I want, what I’m used to getting without even trying. I know I could probably have her like that, but she’s different. I’m interested in her, I want more from her.
I breathe deep and lean my hands on the countertop, trapping her between my body and the sink. She smells like oranges and flowers and I can feel the heat coming off of her delectable body. This girl is destroying my willpower. I can barely speak above a whisper, her closeness is making me crazy. “Are you hungry? We could order in, hang out. What do you think?”
Sydney meets my eyes with a dark look that makes my dick twitch. “Sure. Why don’t you start a fire? Everything you need is in the wood box next to the fireplace. I’ll just order the food, is sushi okay?” Her voice is raspy and her breathing is heavy. She’s attracted to me all right.
No, I just want you, thank you very much. I smile at the thought of her naked and writhing beneath me. I need to leave the room before I do something stupid. “Sure thing, Sydney. Sushi sounds great.”
Fire, living room, stop thinking about sex, dumbass.
I head out of the kitchen to try and tame the erection growing in my pants. I haven’t had to work this hard to get a girl in almost ten years, and this moment makes it totally worth it. Women agreeing with everything I say, sucking up, trying to take their clothes off five minutes after meeting me… I think I prefer the building tension that’s happening between me and the secretive girl in the other room.
Sydney’s fireplace is wood burning, but it has a gas starter. Thank god. I won’t have to look like an idiot if I can’t get it started with just matches. It only takes a few minutes to get a good fire going. Working with the fireplace proves to be a good way to calm my dick down enough to keep her from seeing a giant bulge in my pants.
Sydney strides purposefully through the living room into what I assume is a bedroom and comes back with a huge quilt. She spreads it out on the floor in front of the fire and shrugs saying only, “Picnic-style,” and produces a bottle of wine and two glasses.
We end up drinking wine and eating sushi on the floor. She ordered a bunch of different types for us to share and her concierge brought them to her door. She lets me feed her from my chopsticks, and watching her open that luscious mouth is enough to make my pants uncomfortable again for another twenty minutes.
We laugh and talk about random things. I stick to safe topics, nothing personal about her or me. I still want to know about that asshat Adam Reynolds and the Warren Hotel, but I’ll have to wait, even though thinking about him makes me want to punch his face repeatedly.
My need to take her here on the quilt in front of the fire is another story altogether. I can’t stay here much longer and not try to get her into bed. When she gathers up her dishes and brings them to the kitchen I decide it’s time to leave, but not without a promise that she’ll see me again tomorrow.
We place our things by the sink and head back toward the living room. It goes against every instinct I have to get my coat out of the closet by the door and put it on. She stops and looks at me, pressing her lips together tightly. “I’d better be going, Sydney. It’s pretty late.” I can see the disappointment in her eyes, she wants me to stay and fuck her. I can practically smell it coming off of her.
Without thinking, I step towards her and she instinctively backs up into the door. So fucking hot. When she lets out a little pant at my proximity, I reach out and stroke her soft, lightly freckled skin from her cheek down to her collarbone and lean forward to breathe in her scent. Everything about her draws me right in, I can’t help myself.
Struggling to contain the lust coursing through my body, I force my brain to win out, refusing to let her get away. I will get what I want and I want her, all of her. “Can I see you again?” She closes her eyes and parts her lips, waiting for me to take her against the door.
No, not until you answer me, Miss Allen.
After a few seconds, Sydney blinks open those big blue eyes. “What? Am I wrong to expect a kiss goodbye?” she asks, somewhat confused and upset. I think she’s disappointed that I won’t make a move.
You’re going to get kissed Sydney, as soon as you give me what I want.
I lean in just a little more so I can inhale the scent of her soft hair again, already addicted to it. “I’ll kiss you. As soon as you say that you’ll see me again.” I pull back so I can see her face, once again resisting the overwhelming craving I have to rip off her clothes and sink into her wet heat.
She tilts a tiny bit toward me and whispers, “Yes, I’ll see you again Drew. Now please, kiss me.”
Fuck. I snap. My control evaporates when she says that to me. One step forward is all it takes to press into that soft, hot body. My mouth crashes over hers and I run my tongue over her luscious lips to see if they taste as good as they look. When Sydney moans and opens her mouth, my dick takes the driver’s seat. I grab her tight ass and pull her against my hard cock in an attempt to get some badly needed friction. Our mouths clash together and I get even harder.
Trying to calm down, I run my teeth down her neck and put some space between us. I can’t take her to bed tonight. Sydney is definitely not like any of the other women I’ve had and I’m not going to treat her like a groupie. I’m going to get her number. “Give me your phone, Sydney.” She stands there with a blank look, her lips swollen and wet from our kisses. “Your phone. Please.”
Her eyebrows pinch together in confusion as she reaches for her purse, pulls out her phone, and drops it into my hand. Good, now I’ll have her phone number. I hastily send a text message from her phone to mine and hand it back to her.
Beep
Smiling, I pull my phone out of my pocket and wave it in front of her. “Well, well. You texted me and asked me to dinner tomorrow night.” I type out a response and her phone beeps almost immediately in her hand. I slide mine back into my pocket and look right at her. “I said yes.” I reach up and hold her face, giving her a quick kiss, any more than that and I won’t stop. “I should go, Sydney. It was great seeing you again. I’ll see you tomorrow?”
She nods and steps aside so I can leave. “Yes. Tomorrow.” Sydney is adorably disheveled. She’s as dazed as I am.
I grin at the thought of her wanting me. “I can’t wait.” Kissing her cheek, I force myself to walk out of the loft.
Thank god the elevator is slow. By the time I reach the lobby I’m able to walk without a tent in the front of my pants, but not without the huge, stupid smile on my face. I met a girl, and not just any girl. A gorgeous, interesting, secretive, sexy girl who’s been living two blocks from me for six years and has never heard of Andrew Forrester. She likes Sam Adams and coffee, hates movies and television and Adam Reynolds interviews.
I think I’m in love.