Chapter Five
“To Save a Distressed Damsel”—Posted on the blog of Girl Geek on May 15, 2013
Have you ever noticed that one of the greatest motivators for champions embarking on an epic fantasy quest almost always involves a woman?
Either the knight-errant departs on a crusade to prove his love to his lady fair or, more commonly, the lady has been captured and dragged off by big baddies and awaits her hero while locked in a tower or (shudder) a dank dungeon.
Take, for example, the latest in a series of mysterious quests in our oft-bemoaned but much-loved game Dragon Epoch. Players have been summoned to action by the capture of innocent elf princess Alloreah’ala by the race of evil Stone Trolls, who live far under the Golden Mountains.
Every quest, every motivation has something to do with our princess. Every illustration referring to the new expansion of the game has her scantily-clad likeness splayed across it—just to reinforce why it’s important to save her. Because she’s PRETTY and innocent. And helpless.
Oh, and because the King has issued the edict to save his beloved daughter.
Okay, that bag of gold and laundry list of magical equipment might be pretty important, too.
My question is this: why can’t these games assume that the women can fend for themselves? My Spiritual Enchantress has a pretty mean Bedazzle spell in her arsenal and she’s capable of holding her own.
So why is this nonplayer female character so pathetic—one of a long line of pathetic females? Why can’t she defend herself? Why can’t she pull some kickass moves, steal the jailer’s weapon and keys, bash in some bad-guy heads and save herself? Why must she sit and wait, imprisoned, and in the process become just an object to save?
It’s time for the pretty princesses of Yondareth to rebel! Fight your own fight and stop waiting for some dudes to do it for you.
A few days before I was set to leave on a red-eye from LAX to Amsterdam, I went to Heath’s house to go over the details of the trip. He printed out my ticket and whistled, waving it under my nose. I snatched it out of his hand and stuffed it into my bag.
Heath’s green eyes sparkled as he laughed at me. He had unruly dark blond hair and his cheeks were roughened with a few days’ growth of golden whiskers.
“British Airways, first class. So high class, Mia. LAX to Heathrow for a layover and then on to Amsterdam.”
I sat on his plush couch shaking my head while he tapped away at the computer. I’d only flown a few times before—all domestic flights. The farthest was a trip to Washington, DC with my eighth-grade class. I’d never flown out of the country and in fact had only just received my first passport the month before in anticipation of the auction.
He hit a few more keys. Heath typed fast, but always with only two fingers at a time—his pointer fingers. I often teased him about his hunt-and-peck approach, but he never bothered to learn how to use the home keys. “He e-mailed me a signed PDF of the contract, which I printed. So, you need to sign a copy, too. Not that this thing would be legally enforceable, mind you. It’s an illegal agreement in our country, but it’s couched in all kinds of verbiage. Either one of you could weasel out of it. He doesn’t pay any money until you put out and you won’t put out until you see that the money is safely set aside for that purpose. Strange little situation, with these holding accounts.”
I sighed. “I’m so glad I have you and your bestie Joe to work this stuff out for me. There’s a reason law school never interested me.”
“I had a nice long talk with Drake when I got the contract. He’s pretty easy to get to know. He’s not a bad guy—for someone who’d pay almost a million dollars to pluck a virgin flower, that is.”
My mouth quirked at the irony. What type of person was I, for selling it in the first place? I took a deep breath. A practical person, I decided.
“I made sure to emphasize certain stipulations—once the contract has been ‘fulfilled,’ there is to be no further contact between you. No phone calls, no e-mails. Essentially like a restraining order, though we won’t have to go that far unless one of you loses it.”
I looked away, ignoring a weird twinge at the thought of one of us possibly getting obsessed over the other. “Uh huh.”
He tilted his head at me, the glow of his computer monitor reflecting on his stern features. “So, you think you can do this? You were pretty annoyed with him after that first meeting. I knew you were into him in other ways, but you were so determined to go with someone else until something changed your mind. What was it?”
He kissed me and it blew my mind, I thought. How ridiculous. A woman my age being reduced to a blithering moron by one kiss from a desirable—albeit insanely desirable—male.
“I just…did a lot of thinking. He’s young. He’s attractive. It could be a lot worse.”
Heath gave a dry chuckle. “Attractive. Huh. I’d say he’s smoking hot, but maybe that’s just me. He’s not even my type, either, but I’d do him.”
I smothered a giggle at that mental image.
“So I thought Amsterdam was a good choice, given their legal support of prostitution.”
I rolled my eyes. “Can we stop using that word?”
Heath smirked at me. “Doll, you can call it a freaking clown rodeo if you want. Still won’t change the fact that you are going to have sex with a man and he is going to pay you for that privilege.”
I looked away but my cheeks heated. I fiddled idly with a hole in my jeans—fraying it so that it grew. I shook my head. I was not a prostitute and I wouldn’t be a prostitute after this whole thing was finished. It was one night of my life. Just one. I was empowering myself—
And I was going to have sex with a man. That man. His hands would be on my body, that lush, hot mouth on me. I stayed silent and didn’t meet Heath’s gaze.
“We also went over what he can and can’t do. I wanted to be very clear on that. No kink. No bondage of any kind. Straight vanilla all the way for my girl.”
“Vanilla is a very tasty flavor, in my opinion.”
He sighed and shook his head. “You haven’t lived, my dear. But just wait, once you get a taste, I have a feeling you’ll be wanting all sorts of flavors after this.”
I blew out a breath. I highly doubted it. This was a business deal and I was benefiting from something that not only mattered little to me but had only served as a burden up until this point. I wanted to be rid of the stigma of being the twenty-two-year-old virgin without having to deal with any messy entanglements. I hadn’t wanted a relationship for quite some time and didn’t see that changing at all in the foreseeable future.
“And no oral, right?” Heath asked.
I looked at him like he was an idiot. As if he had to ask that. “That hasn’t changed and it’s not going to.”
He sat back against his computer chair, which squeaked in protest. His gaze grew intent. “The man might want to get his money’s worth, after all…” Heath said. He tried to give it that jokey air that he gave most of his words, but these held a dark edge.
A cold pulse thumped at the base of my throat. “Don’t go there, Heath.”
His stared at me. “I don’t think you’re ready for this. You can’t even talk about it.”
“I can talk about it. I have talked about it. You know everything.”
But despite his words, I still couldn’t get the picture out of my mind…that dark summer night, dry winds coming out of the foothills. Out on the edge of town, watching the lights, and I was sobbing, on my knees. Hands wound into my hair so tightly, pulling so hard that my scalp would ache for days afterward.
I shook my head, my hands crunching into balls. “Stop it. I’m fine.”
He shrugged, that nonchalance returning. “Okay. If you say so. Let’s see…what else did we talk about? Oh yes, one night of straight vanilla sex. Positions of your choice and comfort.”
My eyes bugged. “Positions? It’s just one night.”
Heath seemed to be stifling laughter. “Yeah—one night, but who knows how many times that means? He’s young, very fit—he’s probably good for at least two, probably three. More if it’s been as long as he says it’s been. Eight months. Christ.”
“What?” I screeched, horrified.
“Doll, you act like you’re getting your legs waxed or something—well, admittedly it’s your first time so it will hurt a little, but I can guarantee you’re going to be having too much fun to notice. Just hope that he’s not really big—”
I clapped my hands over my ears as if to block off the rest of his diatribe.
“Mia,” he said and waited until I dropped my hands. “Mia, I’m not shitting now. If you can’t even talk about it like this, how in the hell are you going to go through with it?”
I watched him for a moment. My best friend since the eighth grade. We were each other’s only comfort during some of the worst years of our lives—growing up in a small high desert community as awkward misfits, the both of us. When he came out in the ninth grade, I was the first person he told. When my boyfriend sexually assaulted me in the tenth grade, he was the first person I told.
I shook my head. “I thought it would be just as simple as me drinking a bottle of wine and then lying back and thinking of medical school.”
He gave me a sad smile. “It’s never even occurred to you that you might enjoy it, has it?”
I shrugged. “You’ve screened the guy. You say he’s trustworthy. He won’t hurt me?”
Heath shook his head. “There are no guarantees. You’ve got to trust that he won’t. I tried my hardest. Had him investigated. No criminal record, no dirty rumors of deviant behavior.”
I ran a hand through my hair and began to twirl the dark brown ends of it nervously around my forefinger.
Heath cleared his throat. “I gotta ask and I know it’s a really personal question but… did you start taking your pills from Planned Parenthood?”
I nodded. I’d had my period four weeks before and began the Pill at the prescribed time.
“He’s cleared, medically. I saw the report with my own eyes.”
I fidgeted. I wanted to back out. But I’d never in a million years admit that to Heath because he’d jump on that hesitation like a golden eagle swooping down on a rattlesnake.
“He’s in the UK, rolling out the European launch of the latest game expansion. But it’s not too late to back out of this.”
I squeezed my eyes shut. “Please, Heath! Don’t keep saying that. I need your support right now. I don’t need you to talk me out of this.”
“I wouldn’t be your best friend if I didn’t try to talk you out of this.”
And then he approached, plopped himself down on the sofa beside me and wrapped me in his big arms. I planted my face against his broad chest. He smoothed my hair and the panic melted away.
When I left an hour later, I was calm. Reserved. Resigned.
***
I took the entire week off before I left so that I could write, plan and schedule my blogs to be published during my absence. I hoped this would throw readers off the track about what was going on in my personal life. I planted seeds of diversion by mentioning how busy I was getting with my day job. How I’d have to work double shifts for the next little while. White lies to throw the gossips off the trail.
The gossips were already out discussing on other sites when and if the transaction would take place. I had mentioned, briefly, that I would not be able to discuss the results of the auction for many reasons. I’m not sure how many were really interested. My site was about gaming, after all. Most of those guys would rather go on epic raids for their elite gear than get laid—or hear about me getting laid. I understood that. I was one of them.
I also took care of one last thread of unfinished business by telling my mom I was going to be hitting the books heavy for the next few days so I’d be unplugging my phone. It’s true that I was bringing study materials on the plane, but the less I told her, the better.
“You sound tired, Mia. Are you sure you haven’t been studying too much?”
“There’s no such thing as studying too much, Mom. People in my study group have private tutors and one went to a special test prep retreat.” I sighed inwardly, wondering how I would be able to compete with the myriad of hopeful medical students who went to these measures to succeed on their exams. Especially when I’d already proven myself a failure. My chest tightened thinking about how, if I had scored well last year, I’d have my acceptance letter to begin med school in the fall already in my hand.
“I worry that with all you’ve got on your plate between your jobs and studying, you are burning the candle at both ends.”
“I have no classes this semester. Believe me, if I could do all this while I was going to school, I can do it now. Don’t worry, Mom. Now I get to ask you how you’re doing.”
“Oh,” she said lightly. “I’m just great. Things are looking up for me.”
I frowned. Looking up? Had she gotten to be a better liar when I wasn’t noticing or were things actually improving for her? “What’s going on? Has something happened?”
“I’m—I’m not really ready to talk about it.”
I sat back, bewildered. Was Mom finally dating again? I blew out a breath. She’d never had any relationships the entire time I was growing up. She had male friends in the community and I knew some of them may have wanted a romantic relationship, but my mom had never been interested. When I was a teen, I’d asked her why she never dated and she’d shrugged and said she was waiting for me to grow up. Well, I was grown up now. Had she finally decided to get on with her life?
“If it was something serious, you’d tell me…right?”
“Of course,” she said evasively.
We hung up a few minutes later and I stared at my phone for long moments. That was one of the weirdest phone calls I’d had with my mom in a long time. She was always an open book with me.
But who was I to talk, really? I was keeping one hell of a secret from her. One that, if she ever discovered it, would hurt her. I had no right to go digging in her business if I wasn’t prepared to open up about mine. But still, I was worried. I was protective of my mom and given her experience with the Biological Sperm Donor, she hadn’t chosen well in the past.
But Mom was smart and I had to trust that she’d learned from her mistakes. So to take my mind off of my worries and also because I didn’t have much to pack, I spent most of the day before my departure wasting monsters on Dragon Epoch. I kept checking the player list for FallenOne but I was not in luck. My notifications list said that he hadn’t logged in since that day we had played together weeks before.
***
The next day I was on a flight to Amsterdam with a small overnight bag. I had packed light, per Adam’s instructions. He’d clarified in later e-mails that he’d gotten my dress size from Heath and would have some clothes waiting for me. I’m sure he guessed, after spending five minutes in my little dive, that I wouldn’t have clothing fit to be seen at a place like Amstel Amsterdam.
I traveled in my most comfortable pair of jeans, a T-shirt and walking shoes, with a small bag of toiletries and unmentionables tucked under the enormous recliner in first class.
I’d gone through every short line at the airport and not a single person had blinked an eye at my scruffy clothing and threadbare backpack. Everything was full service and everybody catered to my whim.
I’d had a glass of chilled white wine at the first-class lounge. It took the edge off of traveling alone and the uncertainty of what I’d be facing in the Netherlands. I snacked on smoked salmon and crème fraîche to go with the wine. The jitters only dulled instead of dissipating.
But the plane ride was something else entirely. I’d have fifteen hours of travel yet before I would touch down in Amsterdam. So I enjoyed myself in the top floor, front row of the immense 747. Shortly after takeoff for a direct flight to London, I was served more wine and handed a full menu. Dinner came on a white tablecloth with china and full silverware. I unabashedly enjoyed the pampering and the lovely, lilting British accents spoken all around me.
I didn’t sleep a wink on the plane—staying true to the term “red-eye” flight as my eyes were scratchy and gritty by the time I’d deplaned.
Upon our arrival in London, an airline employee greeted me, holding up a card with my name on it. She showed me down to the Heathrow First Class lounge and spa, giving me a list of all the appointments she’d made on my behalf. I was treated to a manicure, pedicure and facial before being handed a towel and a shiny green-and-gold shopping bag. Then she led me into a private bathroom with shower.
After the long plane ride, it felt like heaven. And I still had a few hours before the flight to Amsterdam. The bag contained new clothes—the tags still on them from Harrods department store. A smart dark-green-and-black sundress and even new underthings—silk panties and a matching lacy bra. I blushed to look at them but felt so pretty when I wore them that I could hardly be upset at the presumption.
I’d never been spoiled before. And I could definitely see the appeal. I applied my makeup and dried and styled my hair, feeling like a fresh, new person. I’d stepped into a whole new world, like a modern-day fairy tale. It was just a short one-hour hop from here to Amsterdam, and Adam, who was waiting for me.
In Amsterdam, a driver met me and whisked me off to the hotel, speaking cheerfully in almost perfect British-accented English, though he was clearly Dutch. He had the white-blond hair and pale blue eyes of his Viking ancestors.
I arrived at the hotel just around noon and checked in, per Adam’s instructions. The clerk handed me an envelope and inside was a smart phone. I asked the clerk if it would work in Amsterdam and he gave me a puzzled look and nodded. I glanced at it and noticed a waiting text message from Adam. It told me to order myself some lunch in the suite and he would see me at three p.m. for a day of sightseeing.
The bellhop guided me through a palatial lobby carved out of white marble and up an elegant Y-shaped, carpet-covered staircase to the elevators. I’d learned online that the majestic building dated from the nineteenth century and featured all the exquisite architectural details of an earlier era. The bellhop loaded me into a small elevator—the type that had been fitted in as a nod to modern conveniences and seemed alien in this elegant, old-fashioned building.
On the top floor, he directed me to the penthouse suite. And inside I found a space that could have fit my studio four times over. It was appointed in antique furnishings, with a bedroom and bathroom on the lower floor as well as a sitting room with couch and bar. A dark wood staircase led up to the unknown and I stared at it for a moment, determined to go exploring the minute I was alone. I wasn’t set to meet Adam for another hour, so I had no idea where he was or if he had checked in yet.
“Mr. Drake…” I said to the bellhop.
“I’m sorry, Miss. I do not know. You can call down to the lobby and ask.”
I smiled. “That’s okay. I can text him.”
The bellhop, who had insisted on carrying my ratty backpack for me, didn’t even hesitate or wait for a tip. Instead, he bowed himself out.
A tingle of anticipation started at the base of my spine. I punched in a message on my phone.
Am here. Waiting patiently.
I hadn’t seen him in three weeks and in my mind he’d steadily grown more attractive and delicious. Hell, he’d reached almost godlike proportions by now in my imagination. I was anxious to see him again. This would be the next and the last day that I would.
There was no reply to my text. Likely he was still in meetings or maybe still in the air. I blew out a breath and fidgeted nervously, determined to satisfy my curiosity.
I walked around downstairs and briefly glanced at the room service menu before deciding I was too nervous to eat. I looked in every corner around the bar and the single bedroom, where I’d dumped my stuff. I wondered—if the bedroom was downstairs, then what was upstairs? A terrace?
I galloped quickly up the stairs to find out and landed in an even grander bedroom. It was elegantly decorated with a giant four-poster bed accompanied by similar period furniture in dark woods. The curtains on the sidewall had been pulled aside and the windows looked out over the canals of Amsterdam.
A fresh set of clothes—which I assumed were Adam’s—had been laid across the bed, but there was no one in the room. I entered and walked to the bed—a king-size, decorated in blues, silvers and light gray French toile fabric. My eyes skimmed over the bed, wondering if this would be the place where things would happen tonight. My heart thrummed again and I swallowed, but there was no way I could tell if that was from fear or excitement.
He was here already. I heard a noise at the same moment a doorknob—presumably to the bathroom—rattled. I jumped back but before I could skitter out of the room, it opened and Adam stood in the doorway, frozen in midstep. He’d just exited the shower.
Our eyes locked and my breathing froze. He had one snowy towel slung low around his hips, another draped around his neck. He’d obviously just toweled his hair dry. The short cut was frizzed in every direction as if it had been artfully arranged that way.
And his chest—every creased valley, every firm muscular angle chiseled in perfect flesh—gleamed with steam. I sucked in a quick breath.
“H-hi,” I finally said, tearing my eyes from his bare chest with reluctance.
“Emilia.” He smiled openly with no apparent self-consciousness. “You made it!”
“I’m—I’m sorry for—I didn’t know you were even here yet. I was just exploring.”
“No worries. My meeting let out earlier than expected so I beat you here. Did you have lunch?”
I fought to keep my eyes from drifting downward again, from fixing on those perfect abs, lightly dusted with dark hair, that seemed to have been sculpted by Michelangelo himself. “I—I wasn’t that hungry.”
“Order room service. I could use a roast beef sandwich and theirs is delicious. We can catch up over lunch.”
“Um,” I stammered and looked away and then back to him. “Sure. I’ll—just go do that, then.”
He laughed and pulled the towel from around his neck, throwing it back into the bathroom behind him. And that’s when I saw the tattoo.
Scrawled in elegant jade-green script just under his left collarbone, it was easy to read and very simply designed. Just one word. A woman’s name. Sabrina.
I couldn’t look away, my eyes zeroing in on that interesting detail. He glanced down to follow my gaze and then looked up again.
“If you’d just give me a moment…unless you want to stay and do this now?” he said with laughter in his eyes.
My mouth dropped. “I’ll go order lunch, then,” I repeated lamely before fumbling my way out, nearly tripping down the stairs.
I ordered his roast beef sandwich with the works—he hadn’t told me what he wanted on it, after all—and for myself, a grilled cheese with smoked brie and Gruyère.
By the time I was done with the order, he had entered the room, now fully dressed, thank God. Even in jeans and a button-down shirt, he was the epitome of handsome elegance. And even in my breezy sundress I felt awkward next to him. I wondered if that mega-suit he’d worn at the hotel during our first meeting was a fluke. Computer geeks typically didn’t suit up. Most of the coders I knew liked to brag about the casual dress their jobs allowed. But he didn’t seem like a typical computer geek.
Then again, how would I know? I knew so little about him.
That was the way I’d wanted it, right? Wham, bam, here’s your cash, ma’am? And suddenly it occurred to me—with no small amount of fear—something I’d never worried about until this moment. What if I didn’t please him? What if he found me wanting in the bedroom? I was completely inexperienced, after all. Would he feel cheated? Like he hadn’t gotten his money’s worth? I shook my head, ridding it of the odd thought. What was happening to me?
“Cold?” he said, misinterpreting my headshake.
“No. I’m fine. Thank you for the dress.” I said, smoothing my skirt.
“Thank Heath, actually. He had to talk me out of ordering a chainmail bikini.” When I shot him a weird look, he laughed. “Kidding. I asked him to pick out some pretty things for you on the Harrods website and have them delivered to the airport lounge. Seems everything went off well.”
I snorted. “Heath picked this out?”
He looked puzzled. “Yeah. Why’s that surprising?”
“He has the fashion sense of a barnacle.”
“He is gay, right?”
“He’s gay. But he’s not that kind of gay. He’d wear a burlap sack to work if they’d let him—or if burlap sacks were comfortable.”
Adam’s eye traveled down my form appreciatively, but not lasciviously. “He knows colors, that’s for sure. That color suits your dark hair and eyes perfectly. You look radiant. And more importantly, you don’t look like you’ve just spent fifteen hours in transit.”
I spread my arms out in front of me. “Good thing.”
“Are you tired?”
“I chugged a Dr. Pepper on the flight from London and bought another one when I landed here.”
“Good. Let’s eat and then we can see some sights. I was thinking maybe the Royal Palace and a trip down the canals?”
I brightened and he smiled at my obvious excitement. “That sounds wonderful. I’d love to!”
Room service arrived then, and the waiter set it out on the table as if he was a maître d’ at a Michelin-starred restaurant. And we weren’t just eating some sandwiches.
My croissant and melted cheese was to die for. Adam laughed at my obvious pleasure in the food, but I could tell he was having a similar reaction to his roast beef. “If I could get away with flying these in for lunch every day from Amsterdam to Irvine, I’d do it in a heartbeat.”
“Oh, that’s probably pocket change for you.”
“Nope. I could never bring myself to do it. An ostentatious waste. I already feel enough guilt over my carbon footprint and I pay to offset it. But when I do get a chance to stay here, I make sure to have one. I also took one to space with me.”
“Shut up!” I said, my eyeballs almost falling out of my head. “You’ve been to space?”
He nodded, finishing up his next bite. “I spent ten days at the International Space Station last year. Biggest high of my life.”
Every minute I spent with this man, he managed to surprise me even more. “Are you an astronaut, too?”
“A space tourist, more like. The Russians sell slots on their launches to the highest bidder. I got lucky. It happens often,” he said, shooting me a meaningful look.
But he hardly got a reaction from me. I was still reeling from the news that he’d been to space. “What was it like?”
His eyes drifted off to the side and had a sparkling quality about them, like polished onyx. “It was…indescribable.”
I blew out a breath of disbelief. “Give me something to work with. Come on, just a few adjectives?”
He paused. “Unforgettable. Unbelievable. Like…the entire world had gone silent. The whitest of white points against the blackest black, and the huge, blue world below my feet.”
I took another bite of my delish sandwich, contemplating his words. “That’s very poetic for a geek. It’s fortunate that I can never quote you because you might have to have your geek card revoked if it gets out.”
He grinned. “I’m a geek for life. Not only am I president of the geek club but I’m also a member.”
I snickered and bit into my sandwich. “If your geek card isn’t revoked because of the poetry it should definitely be revoked for having all those muscles,” I said and then blushed scarlet, realizing I was still remembering that vision of him with his shirt off. The firm pecs, the clearly defined abs and biceps, like he’d been chiseled from marble. “Geeks don’t have muscles,” I said, lamely covering my embarrassment.
It was true. What kind of computer programmer had a body like that? He smirked. “The geeks who didn’t like getting picked on in school and decided to bulk up as a deterrent do.”
I studied him as I finished up my sandwich, hard-pressed to imagine any idiot picking on Adam. But I had no idea what he’d been like as a youth, so how could I know? Whatever the incentive, it had worked. It, along with his brilliant mind, handsome face and dark good looks, completed a whole dreamy package. One that, I’d bet, many women tried to get their hands on. I pondered that in silence over the rest of my sandwich. I’d found no information about any previous relationships online. Maybe he’d made those women sign NDAs, too.
We spent the afternoon at the Royal Palace and then on a guided tour down the canal. The city was vibrant, clean, a stunning fusion of old world and new. I’d now stepped into an even stranger world than the one I’d entered in that first-class line at LAX. This world included only one other person and I was sharing every experience, all the conversation—for we were rarely without something to talk about—with him. To use his words, it was like the entire world had gone silent and we were the only two in it.
I couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like the next day when it was time for me to get back on the plane for the return trip home. How would it feel to go back to the real world after dancing at midnight like Cinderella at the ball?
At least I knew better than to expect my Prince Charming to show up at my doorstep the next day, ready to jam a glass slipper onto my foot.
We returned to the hotel at around six p.m. and Adam said we should change for dinner. He told me that everything I’d need was in the wardrobe of my bedroom. So I threw it open. There were three gowns—one red, one black and one in filmy crème, all with matching shoes. I chose the black and wondered if Heath had picked these out, too. There was no way. They were all so gorgeous.
I quickly showered, redid my makeup and arranged my dark brown hair in a simple straight style that brushed past my shoulders to the middle of my back.
The black dress was beaded at the waist and at the scoop of the bodice, catching the light with glamorous sparkles. It hung on thin straps and was backless to the waist, gathering in loose folds there. Because of the design, I’d have to go braless to wear it, but it seemed to support me perfectly, regardless. I picked out a new pair from a handful of pretty underthings—this one a sheer and lacy pair of panties that made me feel naughty just wearing them. I felt like a princess. Or an actress about to take the stage at the Oscars.
I slipped into the matching heels—I wasn’t accustomed to wearing them, but these strappy sandals were works of art, glittering with rhinestones. Every step I took sent a flare of brilliant light in every direction.
When I entered the living room, it was to a wolf whistle. Adam stood near the ice bucket with an open bottle of champagne in his hands, about to pour. I turned—carefully, so as not to trip all over myself—and he shook his head. “You’re going to be the toast of Amsterdam tonight, Emilia.”
My cheer faded suddenly. I was only going to be the toast of this room. Of his bed. And for far less than a whole night. I’d stepped into a dream and now, in the middle of it, was all too aware that it would be over before I even realized it.
“We’ll be dining at Ciel Bleu and, if you are so inclined, there will be dancing nearby in the hotel afterward.”
I gaped. “Dancing? What sort of dancing? You mean like waltzing and stuff?”
He shot me a strange look. He was adorable when he screwed up his face like that. Like a little boy, almost. Almost.
He looked stunning in just about everything he dressed in, whether it was jeans and a casual shirt, a designer business suit or this scrumptious black evening suit and crisp white dress shirt. I couldn’t forget what lay under that polished suit. That perfect body, those hard, defined muscles. That tattoo with a woman’s name just above his heart.
Who was she? And why wasn’t she in his life anymore? I wondered if I’d find the courage to ask before the night was through.
He held a bubbling flute out to me. “Come, have a sip. Then let’s be off.”
I should have told him that I didn’t date. I should have told him that this would be so much easier if we didn’t go out. If we just took our clothes off and did this now. But I didn’t want to. I didn’t want the magic to go away so soon and somehow I knew that the moment the act was finished, it would be.
***
“Not even one little hint? Come on…” I whined over my glass of iced mineral water.
His dark eyes flickered with amusement. “The secrets are not mine to reveal.”
Players of Dragon Epoch had been searching for clues to start the secret chain of quests that lay in the Golden Mountains region for months. It was one of the most notorious Easter eggs ever hidden in an online game, and here I had the CEO and chief designer of the game as my captive audience. Hell yeah, I was going to take advantage and try to weasel some clues out of him.
“It’s your company. Your game! And players have been working on that quest chain for months. There are entire wikis and databases full of clues.”
He grinned, looking off to the side, as if remembering something funny. “Yeah. Half of that stuff is pure bullshit. Some of it was planted by our own developers.”
I sat back and groaned. “Pretty please?”
“Emilia, you can bat those gorgeous brown eyes at me all night and I won’t tell you. I am sworn to secrecy.”
I sighed, surprised at the heated flush crawling up my cheeks. I’d been told before that I had pretty eyes. They were large, round, dark and my lashes were thick. I suppose people found them attractive and I usually accepted the compliment with a self-deprecating smile. No one ever told me that I had a gorgeous butt or lovely breasts. Thank God for that because it probably would have made me die of embarrassment. But it was something about the way Adam complimented my eyes that made me react so strongly. It was so nonchalant. He didn’t throw out the compliment as a way to score points with me or butter me up. He stated that I had gorgeous eyes as if it were a well-known fact—and that no amount of batting them (and for the record, I never batted my eyes!) would get me what I wanted.
I wanted his secrets. The game secrets would be great to start with but as I had come to spend more time with this man throughout our day in Amsterdam I found myself wanting to know all of his secrets. What drove him to be so successful in his business, to enjoy the trappings of his money without being so ostentatious as to fly in a sandwich for his lunch? What was his family life like? Why hadn’t he slept with anyone in eight months and why wasn’t he with someone now?
And who was Sabrina? Why did he have her name tattooed over his heart—a man who seemed so unlikely to make such a sentimental gesture? Perhaps he’d had it done when he was very young or drunk. She was the lost childhood love who broke his heart by moving on to someone else once college came along. Or maybe she was a college sweetheart.
I remembered reading that he’d dropped out of college. He’d already made his first couple million by then. Still, I couldn’t help but wonder why he hadn’t finished what he’d started—especially when he seemed to be such a driven person.
As I was musing over this, he asked me about my own college plans. “So Heath mentioned that you had finished your BS in biology early and are taking the semester off.”
I took a sip of wine from my other glass. I shot him a look. “Yes. I’m calling it a ‘gap year’ without the Europe experience, but this might well count for that, even if it’s only for two days.” I sipped again. There was no reason to tell him I was an utter failure and waiting to retake the damn test that was the bane of my existence. I affected a nonchalant shrug. “I’m taking next year off and then on to med school.”
He nodded. He already knew that, obviously. “What kind of doctor do you want to be?”
I hesitated, as I often had since I’d done so horribly on the MCAT the previous year. Since that afternoon when I’d stared at those results, slowly watching my dream twist down the drain in a whirlpool of suck. I took a deep breath and squared my shoulders. “An oncologist.”
He tilted his head towards me, focusing his attention. “Really. Hard stuff. That would take a special kind of strength to deal with cancer patients all day.”
“Cancer is a bitch that needs to get the crap smacked out of it. I intend to stand on the front lines with a big-ass bat.”
He watched my fist clench on the tabletop. “Sounds like it’s very personal to you.”
I took another sip of wine, studied his strong hand resting on the table next to his dinner plate. “It is. My mom had it.”
“She’s okay now?”
I nodded. For the moment. But as close as I came to losing her, there was always the specter of recurrence hovering near. Were it not for her regular inoculation therapy, that specter would be more than just a wispy ghost. But she’d been telling me for months that she didn’t have the money to keep going in and getting treatments. The possibility that she might consider forgoing them entirely almost paralyzed me with fear.
I lifted my eyes to his. They penetrated like arrows.
“That must have been rough on all of you.”
“It’s just us. Me and her. I’m an only child and I have no idea who my father is, nor do I care.”
His expression didn’t change. He didn’t even move. “So Strong is your mother’s name?”
Another sip. “Yep. She’s both my mom and my dad. And she’s done a pretty good job of it, I’d say.”
“I agree.”
“You don’t even know anything about me.”
“I’ve read your blog.” He looked away with a shrug.
I gazed at him with suspicion. “So just how regular of a reader are you?”
An enigmatic smile hovered on his mouth.
“C’mon. Spill it, Drake. How long have you been reading?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know, a year or so.”
“A year?”
He nodded while gazing at the ceiling. “Yeah. Something like that.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that before?”
“Because you were already freaked out enough when you found out who I was. I wasn’t going to add fuel to that fire.”
“Shit. Then you know a whole lot more about me than I know about you. You asked me questions like you didn’t.”
“How else was I going to get you to open up?”
“And here I thought you were just interested in opening me up in another way.”
At that precise moment, the sommelier appeared to pour us more wine. I blushed crimson, horrified, knowing he’d heard what I said. Adam laced his hands together in front of his face, suppressing his laughter behind them. I shot him a dirty look, which only served to increase his amusement. My eyes narrowed.
“Very funny.” I said, once he left.
He pulled his hands away from his mouth. “Yes, it was, actually. I couldn’t care less about his reaction, but the mortification on your face was hilarious.”
“It’s your turn now. Cough it all up.”
His brows knit. “Cough what up?”
“The goods. Come on. I signed the NDA. It’s not going on the front page.”
He took a deep draught of his wine—the same glass he’d been nursing all night. “What do you want to know?”
I asked him what I’d been wondering earlier. “Why’d you quit college?”
He seemed surprised that I knew that. It was on his Wikipedia page, after all. He’d dropped out after his first year at Caltech. “I wasn’t learning anything new.”
Well, well. He was a boy genius, after all. Had I expected any other kind of answer? He cleared his throat and continued. “Sony offered me a lot of money to work for them.”
“They couldn’t wait a few years?”
“Apparently not. I didn’t work for them long, anyway. I quickly learned that the only boss I cared to answer to was me.”
I studied him. So he had issues with authority—professors, bosses. But he’d been a model citizen, no records of arrests or juvenile delinquency. He’d likely had a strong family to guide him.
“Where were you born? Where did you grow up? Did you have a big family?”
He grinned. “That’s a lot of questions.”
I shot him a sweet smile. “We don’t have a lot of time.”
“True enough. I was born in Pasadena. I lived in Washington State until my early teens, then came back to California to live with my uncle in OC.”
The article on him in Wikipedia had provided scant information about his childhood. He’d already divulged way more than I’d learned by scouring Google. And it was not lost on me that he hadn’t answered the question about his family. Fair enough, I really didn’t want to talk about mine, either. All two of us.
I tried another tack. “What does your dad do?”
“He died when I was four. He was a professor at Caltech.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
He shrugged. “I don’t remember him at all.”
Another thing we had in common, then. We never knew our fathers. But at least his father had wanted him. Hadn’t handed a wad of cash to his mother with the curt order to “get rid of the problem.”
I cleared my throat and coughed. “Okay, so more speed-dating questions…What’s your favorite color? What is your astrological sign? Where does the Golden Mountain quest chain start? What’s your favorite book?”
His eyes narrowed with suspicion but he could not mask the smile curving at the corner of his mouth. “Blue. Aries. Not gonna tell you in a million years. The Art of War.”
“Crap,” I grumped and then we both burst into laughter.
Dinner continued like that. I learned that he loved Mexican and Chinese. Didn’t care much for Thai. I told him about my absolute obsession with the perfect pizza—New York-style Zito’s in Old Towne Orange. He told me he’d had the authentic stuff and refused to eat New York-style anywhere outside of New York.
He was astonished to discover that I actually preferred the Special Edition version of the original Star Wars trilogy.
He shook his head, eyes widened in mock horror. “I can’t even—”
“Oh, c’mon. Three words: better special effects.”
His expression grew dead serious. “Three words: Greedo shoots first.”
I grimaced. “Okay, you have a point there, but I’m not going to change my mind just because of that one little thing—”
“One little thing?!” His mouth dropped. “That one moment changed the entire characterization of Han Solo.”
I tilted my head to the side. “You know, I think I’ve only seen the original version once before?”
He blinked. “Your education is seriously lacking.”
“Hey, last time I checked I was the one with a soon-to-be conferred degree and you weren’t.”
His eyes glowed over his deepening smile. “Touché.” He jerked his chin toward me. “Now it’s your turn. Where’d you grow up? OC?”
I shook my head. “I didn’t move there until college. Heath and I come from the tiniest backwater community in the high desert hills in California called Anza. Our only claim to fame is that the Pacific Crest Trail goes practically through the center of town. Only freaks and geeks come from Anza.”
We talked for a long time, until after dessert. We’d shared a cherries jubilee flambé that had threatened to set the room on fire. At one point, we ended up using our spoons to fence for the last bite. He won, scooping up the last morsel in his spoon and then gallantly holding it out for me to eat.
And just next door, for I had been listening to the strains of the orchestra for most of the night, was the dancing. He offered me an arm, like a gentleman out of a nineteenth-century period miniseries. Awkwardly, I took his arm and let him lead me toward the dance floor.
“I don’t dance like this at all. Just sayin’ that I hope your shoes have metal tips for toe protection.”
“Just follow my lead. It’s the foxtrot. The steps are easy. Slow. Slow. Quick, quick. I’ll lead you.”
I frowned. “And how do you know how to dance like this? Did you time warp out of Downton Abbey?”
He smiled. “My cousin danced ballroom dance for competition. She forced me to be her practice partner.”
“Ah.” Though I had a very tough time picturing him being forced into anything by anyone.
“Come,” he said. “Just follow my cues. I’ll guide you with the hand on your back.”
And after a few minutes of fumbling, I eventually got the hang of it, though I was quite sure no one would ever mistake us for Johnny and Baby from Dirty Dancing.
In this dress, with these glittery heels, in the arms of this man, the sensation of being outside of myself—of living in a waking dream—continued.
After we’d danced a few dances in silence, he spoke softly. “You cold?”
“Nah.”
“You’re shaking.”
Well, yes. Yes, I was. His smell was fantastic and doing indescribable things to me. And he was so close. One large hand clasped mine, the other rested just below my shoulder blade. On my bare back. The heat of him threatened to burn a hole right through me.
I was having trouble remembering to breathe and he wanted to know why I was shaking.
“You nervous about tonight?” he finally asked after a long pause.
I looked up and met his scrutinizing gaze. “Perhaps.”
But that wasn’t the truth. I wasn’t nervous. I was already dreading the drop into reality. The return to normalcy afterward. And the fact that I’d never see him again. How insane. I didn’t even know if this was something I’d enjoy yet. For all I knew, I’d hate every second of it. But that’s not what was on my mind at that moment. Instead, all I could think of was how much I enjoyed being in his company, trading banter, smelling his smell.
And I already knew that my plan to guzzle wine and lie back and think of medical school had gone up in smoke. I doubted this man would allow me to lie back and think of anything else but him.
We danced only two more before he collected my wrap and the car came to take us back to the hotel.
After all the joking and laughter earlier, the air between us had grown somber, tense. Weighted with the expectation of what was to come. My insides clenched, just below my navel. I was becoming aware of some new inner fire. It felt like a candle inside a lantern, glowing bright and hot. It was as if my body was already preparing me.
The entire ride back—less than ten minutes, actually—Adam did not touch me or speak to me. He stared out the window, one hand resting on his knee. He was distant, tense and definitely not present in that limo.
When we entered our suite, he placed a hand on the small of my back, guiding me inside. Every nerve in my body instantly jumped at the contact, as if he’d shocked me. The muscles beneath his touch tightened and my breathing rate jumped.
The lights had been turned on and then down, to an ambient glow. A bottle of wine rested in the place of the champagne of earlier that evening. He pulled his hand away and went to it.
“Wine?”
I cleared my throat. “Anything stronger?” I joked. I actually rarely drank hard liquor, but his reaction to my light joke startled me more than anything else. He wore a dark scowl before his features went blank again.
“They don’t stock anything hard when I’m here, I’m afraid,” he said in a neutral voice.
So he didn’t approve of drinking. “But you drink wine and champagne.”
“Yes. Sometimes. On special occasions. Or a glass with dinner when it’s called for.”
I took the glass of deep plum Cabernet Sauvignon that he’d poured. “Sounds like it’s very personal to you,” I said, echoing his own words back to him.
He took a small sip and settled the glass on the bar, leaning on the hand braced there. “It is. My mother is an alcoholic.”
I nodded, instantly regretting the question. That would explain why he’d come to live with his cousins at such a young age. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
He shrugged. “I haven’t seen in her in years. She lives her life and I live mine.”
“Are you afraid that if you drank the hard stuff, it would happen to you, too?”
He looked up. “It’s a disease, and addiction has a genetic component to it.”
Like cancer. I nodded, suddenly understanding him a whole lot more from the last few minutes than I had in the entire day we had just spent in one another’s presence.
He picked up the glass and reached out a hand. I hesitantly placed mine in his. “Come. There’s something I want to show you.”
I snorted. “Isn’t that someone’s cheesy line to get a girl into the bedroom?”
He laughed. “Not mine.”
He led me up the staircase and to a closed door just before the bedroom. I hadn’t noticed it before, when I’d come up this afternoon. He opened it and we were immediately on a rooftop terrace, looking out over one of the canals. Here on the top floor, we could see the roofs of Amsterdam and twinkling lights stretched out before us. The tiny cars in the distant square jockeyed for position around a complex traffic circle, their headlights glowing bright yellow and white.
A chilly spring breeze danced about our hair and shoulders. I went to the rail and he moved behind me, adjusting my wrap over my shoulders. His hands lingered there long moments before slowly slipping down my arms. I suddenly forgot about the gorgeous view in front of me.
He was touching me. Like he meant it. Like he wanted it. I gasped for breath and his hands fell away.
“I remember the first time I saw this city,” he murmured, still behind me, gazing out at the view over my head. “I had just sold my first code. Took the summer to travel across Europe and started here. Still had about a year until college. I wasted a lot of time that year, but it was the most memorable of my life.”
The display before us seemed otherworldly—all gold, silver and red, like Christmas in fairyland. I remembered the glass of wine in my hand and shakily downed the rest of it. Adam took the glass from me and set it down on a nearby table. When he returned, he stood behind me again, so close he almost touched his chest to my back.
After a few more moments of awkward silence, I leaned backward into him, craving the contact. He exhaled in surprise but said nothing. I shook, feeling every nerve ending where my body touched his. And suddenly I was aching to have his arms around me. “I wanted to do study abroad when I was an undergrad, but the scholarship didn’t cover it. I’ve only been in Europe less than a day and already I’m falling in love with it.”
“It’s easy to do. And you haven’t even seen France yet.”
Paris. God, I’d love to see Paris. I closed my eyes and let my head fall back against him. No gasp of surprise this time. My shoulder blades pressed into his hard pecs. His head tipped down, his mouth pressing to my crown. Energy crackled right through me like a live electric tower. Fear was there, too, lurking in the background like a clammy mist.
Then he reached up and tangled his fingers through my hair, pressing along my scalp. I tensed and jumped, instantly reminded of another man’s hands wound tightly there, pulling with all his strength, forcing my head down.
Icy terror sliced through me. I gasped, my heart beating its way out of my throat in cold fear. I struggled, pushing away from him, my breath not coming fast enough.
“Get away! Don’t—” The world twisted around me and I hit against the railing, holding my hands up to protect myself from him. He’d hit me—so many times—grabbed my long hair and wrapped it around his hands like rope, pulling so hard—so hard. I couldn’t breathe. I had to get away.
“Emilia—Mia!” Adam’s voice cut through the fuzzy haze of panic that clouded my thoughts. He approached me slowly, eyes wide with concern. Spots formed at the edge of my vision and I felt like I might faint. Breathe! Breathe! I couldn’t draw the air in fast enough.
“Mia—My God, are you okay? What is it?”
I put my face in my hands, shaking so fiercely I didn’t think I’d be able to talk. “Emilia…do you hear me?”
I turned away from him and closed my eyes. I was safe, a distant voice tried to tell me. I wasn’t up on the Ridge, alone and begging Zack not to hit me again. I was with Adam. I was safe. I couldn’t stop shaking.
“Mia,” he said again, quietly. He stood closer now.
“I’m… fine…”
“Like hell, you are.”
“Please,” I said, putting an icy hand to my cheek. My heartbeat danced in my throat and I could hardly catch my next breath. I reached up and smoothed my hair. It was all still there. There was no blood. I was safe. There’s no way Adam could have known—hell, there was no way I would have known that him putting his hands in my hair would do this to me.
“Emilia. Slow down. If you keep breathing like that you’re going to pass out.” He took my arm gently and turned me toward him. “Gently. Hold your breath. Close your mouth. Look at me. Look in my eyes.” The panic receded as I stared into his dark eyes. He held both my shoulders now. “You’re safe, Emilia. There, breathe in through your nose. Keep your mouth closed.”
I shook my head, my eyes squeezed tight. “Just…” My voice faded, the cold fear dissipating slowly but leaving an oily trace in its wake. I took a deep breath and continued when I could. “It was just a bad memory. That’s all.”
“You’re white as a sheet. What did I do wrong?”
I shook again and he moved closer, quieting me while I shook in his arms. He pulled me to him and I pressed my face to his shoulder. “I’m sorry—so sorry.”
“There is absolutely nothing to apologize for,” he murmured.
“I just…I don’t like my hair pulled.”
There was a long silence. “Okay. I’m sorry.”
I shrugged my quivering shoulders. “You didn’t know.”
He cleared his throat. “We shouldn’t do this.”
“No,” I pulled back from him and stared into his eyes again. “I’m fine. I’m just fine.” But doubt clouded his handsome features.
“But if that happens again—”
“It won’t. I took care of what I could think of in the paperwork. Except I didn’t think about fingers in my hair.” I shuddered at the memory of it.
He paused. “Did someone hurt you? Do you want to talk about it?”
I shook my head. I didn’t want to talk about it. I hoped he took the shake of my head to mean that someone hadn’t hurt me—hadn’t wound his hands into my hair, tearing chunks from my scalp as he forced his erection down my throat. I shivered again.
He gently pulled me toward him again, as if expecting me to bolt over the rail at any moment. “Whoever did it deserves to have the shit beat out of him.”
I leaned into him and his strong arms came around me, pulling me tightly to him. I was instantly soothed, but my heart was beating an even harsher staccato, pressed up against his sternum. His body felt so hard and powerful next to mine. The smooth material of his jacket caressed my cheek. I closed my eyes.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m fine now. Thanks,” I said, my voice sounding as if it came from a far-off place. From that dreamland I’d drifted to all throughout the previous day. Then I lifted my head and looked into his face and I asked him for the one thing I’d wanted all evening. “Will you kiss me?” I asked in a tiny voice.
Without hesitation, his mouth descended slowly on mine, our lips meeting half the distance between us, both heads pressing in for an urgent taste of the other. His touch was gentle, at first, lips firm but closed. But I wanted more—I wanted a kiss like the one he’d left me with that day in my apartment.
My tongue darted out to outline his lips. He expelled a sudden breath and lowered an arm to the small of my back, hooking my waist closer to him. He opened his mouth to my tongue. I deepened the exploration until he met me with his. Another tight gasp from deep within his chest and I was cinched so tightly to him that I detected every contour and ridge of the muscles beneath his shirt. I tilted my head back, eager for more. I locked my hands atop his shoulders, holding him to me.
And suddenly the control was no longer mine. One hand settled at the back of my neck, careful not to twine in my hair while he laid me open with nothing more than his tongue and lips. His tongue delved into my mouth and I couldn’t breathe, dizzy with desire. I wanted to whisper his name but I couldn’t say anything with the contact so intimate, so deep. And this night it would be deeper still. Fear trembled in my belly. I was actually going to go to bed with a man. This beautiful man.
His mouth left mine, traveling along my jaw to take my earlobe between his lips. His caresses were white hot and ice cold at once. Everything in the center of me curled into a tangled tension, crying for release.
His teeth grazed my earlobe and I whispered his name. His mouth and tongue blazed a trail across my neck, my throat. Each touch made my body jump. I arched my breasts into his chest. A deep groan emanated from the bottom of his chest, the first vocal acknowledgement of his arousal.
“Let’s go inside,” I said, emboldened, my center feeling as if it was on fire and he the only one in the vicinity holding an extinguisher. The boldness was an act. Inside I was shaky and not a little terrified of what this night would be like.
Adam stepped back and took my hand to lead me inside. A rush of warm air surrounded me as we stepped into the bedroom. I thought he would pull me toward the bed, but he stopped beside the couch against the wall. He removed my wrap from my shoulders, slinging it over the back. Then he unbuttoned his coat and did the same. But his eyes never left mine and mine never left his, which glowed like coals under a bonfire.
I was in no doubt now, if I ever had been, really, that he wanted me. That it was as powerful and as ferocious a want as the one singing through my own veins. Before he said another word, I turned toward the bed while I still had the courage. “No,” he said, stopping me. “Not yet.”
I turned back to him and he wrapped his arms around me, pulling me down with him onto the sofa. I landed in his lap and he was kissing me again—hungrily pressing his mouth to mine, my neck, my throat…and then lower. When he pulled his face away, he looked up at me, his eyes glazed with desire and his features flushed. He lifted a hand to my shoulder, stroking softly along my upper arm.
“Your skin is so soft,” he said, his fingers gliding over me as if he’d never touched a woman before.
“Vitamin E,” I said lamely when I didn’t know what else to say. What does one say when the man who is about to sleep with you lavishes you with compliments? “Thank you” seems kind of stupid.
His eyes didn’t leave mine. His hand traveled gently along my collarbone. “Here, too.”
I let out a slow breath, excitement jumping into my throat. His touch was igniting new fires I never knew lay dormant in my body—between my legs, all over. My eyes fluttered closed, concentrating on his touch.
His hands stroked lower, dipping into the V between my breasts. “And here,” he murmured. And before another moment passed, he pulled me off his lap and sat me beside him on the couch, slipping one strap off my shoulder. I felt the cool air touch my naked breast.
Here we go, I thought. It was not unlike staring over an abyss from atop a rollercoaster that had just paused before plummeting full speed down the hill. My stomach dropped.
I opened my eyes. He was watching me as his hand came up to cup my breast. The breath hissed out between my teeth, and his eyes—if it was even possible—seemed to darken.
I’d never exposed myself to a man before. Not like this. Back when I’d dated, there’d been the typical groping in the dark underneath our clothes, parked at the overlook on the Ridge or one of the other places frequented by teenagers. That was as far as it had ever gotten for me before I’d shut it all down and vowed never to date again.
He ran a thumb over the already erect nipple and his breathing quickened. I reached up and grabbed his tie, pulling his mouth to mine. The kiss immediately deepened, his mouth crushing against mine, owning the kiss, like I presumed he owned everything else around him, with confidence, surety.
But his mouth didn’t stay on mine for long. Soon he was pushing me back on the couch, so that I lay flat on my back. He hovered over me, hurriedly undoing his tie, unbuttoning the first three buttons of his dress shirt.
With each motion, those black eyes pinned me down—almost dared me to look away. And I couldn’t. I was so turned on I could barely breathe, the tightness between my legs knotted so that it was almost painful.
When he settled against me again, his erection pressed against my leg. I almost jumped when I realized what it was. I was under him now—half wondering if he would even bother to move us to the bed for the actual consummation of our deal. I supposed there were worse places one could lose one’s virginity than the couch in the penthouse suite of the most luxurious hotel in Amsterdam.
His mouth was on mine, pushing his tongue into mine with urgency, ferocity. He lifted up his body enough to pull the other strap of my dress down, baring me to the waist. I was too delirious with the sensations he was evoking in me to feel embarrassment.
Then his mouth was on my neck, my throat, gliding along my collarbone before it settled on my nipple, licking and sucking tenderly.
White-hot fire blossomed from my breast and I gasped, arching my back. He surged against my leg. If he pushed up my skirt and did it here and now, I would have no complaints. I couldn’t wait much longer.
And I’d never even bothered to ask Heath how long this would last once it started.
I wanted it to last forever.
My fingers clutched at the nape of his neck, wanting to drag his gifted tongue and hot mouth to my other breast. The throbbing tension inside me grew impossibly urgent.
“Adam,” I whispered. “I want—”
And that’s when his cell phone rang.
At first he froze but didn’t move, his mouth still pressed to my nipple, his body tensing beneath my hands.
It stopped. After not even ten seconds, it started ringing again. He lifted his head and sat back, fishing it out of his jacket pocket.
When he looked at the caller ID, he exhaled sharply. “Fuck.” And then he put the phone to his ear.
“What?” he barked, and I felt sorry for whoever it was on the other end of the line.
I sat up and looped the straps of my dress over my shoulders, my body throbbing from lack of release. Adam looked at me as he listened for a long time on the phone without saying a word. With each passing minute, his face grew grimmer. I reached over and put a reassuring hand on his thigh and he immediately stood up and walked to the window.
“How bad is it?” he finally said, his posture stiff, his shoulders tense.
I grew cold without his body heat near me. I grabbed my wrap off the back of the couch and pulled it around my shoulders.
“Walt, it’s fucking midnight here, the team is still at work. They have mandatory overtime in all their contracts. They’re putting in late hours tonight.”
He turned back to me and shook his head apologetically. I shrugged, giving him a smile. I could be patient. He could deal with this and then come back to me. Strangely, I wasn’t tired at all despite the lack of sleep in the previous twenty-four hours.
“No,” he said, and it was a sharp, irritated sound. “I’ll handle it. That won’t—I said I’ll fucking handle it, but no one goes home, is that clear? If they do, then they clean out their desk and take their shit with them.”
He started to pace in front of the window and I sat back, reminded of a puma. His movements were sleek, graceful. I could watch him walk for hours. It would be better if he were only wearing that white towel around his hips, though.
“Give me a minute to get wired in. Yes. Call me in ten.”
He set the phone down and turned to me. “I’m sorry. That was my operations manager. We had the servers down today to install a patch. The team found some corrupt code and servers can’t come back online until it’s fixed—”
“Oh shit, yeah, you don’t want a horde of angry gamers pounding at your door. If I wasn’t here, I’d be one of them, demanding you get my game up.”
In spite of his darkened mood, he smiled. “I’m going to get my notebook so I can see what’s going on. Why don’t you grab something for yourself out of the bar? I’m sorry.”
I cleared my throat. “Will this take long?”
He sighed. “Yeah, probably. I think our night is shot.” And despite his obvious irritation and disappointment, he sounded remarkably calm about it.
Me? I was very annoyed. All my hopes fell. So much for the auction. So much for coming to Amsterdam a girl and leaving a woman. So much for—
I turned and left the room. He met me downstairs a few minutes later with a stylish leather laptop case from which he extracted one of the sleekest, most expensive-looking machines I’d ever laid eyes on.
His name was engraved in the stainless steel across the top: Adam Drake, Draco Multimedia Entertainment, with the company’s logo: a field of stars depicting the constellation Draco. Some girls got excited about jewelry, others about designer bags. Me, I got all hot and bothered over hardware. And while that earlier impression of his other hardware had begun to affect me, this bad boy he’d just whipped out of the case made my heart palpitate. That sexy little box was probably ten times faster than mine.
Adam set the notebook on the table, opened it and looked at me. When he noticed the focus of my attention he smiled wryly. If I could only jimmy his password…I wondered how many game secrets that thing carried on it.
“Why don’t you go get comfortable? This is going to be intermittent and if you’re not tired, I could use the company.”
I trundled off to my room where the bellhop had dumped my bag. I shimmied into some clothes I’d brought with me—yoga pants and a tank top. Then I went to the mini bar, and pulled out a chilled glass and a Dr. Pepper for myself. After asking what he drank—he took coffee—I fiddled with the automatic coffeemaker and brought it to him, settling on the couch to watch him work.
Once in a while he’d glance up at me. “Why don’t you see if something’s on TV?” he asked, his hands moving over the keyboard with lightning speed while he spoke. “I’m going to be running a program here in a minute and can come watch with you while I wait.”
My mouth quirked. I wondered if they aired reruns of Friends 24/7 in Amsterdam.
In the lounge, I flipped through the channels until I found a showing of a famous B movie from the fifties, Forbidden Planet. I’d seen it several times before and could have followed it easily had it been dubbed into Dutch. But this late-night version was in the original English with Dutch subtitles.
After two more phone calls and about ten minutes, Adam joined me on the couch. I grimaced, realizing I looked wretched in my yoga pants and tank top—a far cry from the glamorous black dress and glittery heels from earlier.
During the commercial break he told me he’d be right back and climbed the stairs. When he returned, he was wearing dark blue pajama bottoms and a white T-shirt. He again settled on the couch next to me. This time, I leaned against him, nestling into the crook of his arm. He rested his arm on my waist, almost hesitantly at first. As if he was reluctant to touch me.
When I looked up at him, his expression lay somewhere on the spectrum between fear and puzzlement. Had I surprised him with this show of sudden affection? It was nonsexual yet comforting, at least to me. And I had no idea if I could explain why it was so.
After an hour, he was back at the computer and soon I felt my lids growing heavier as Commander John Adams and Altaira, wrapped in each other’s embrace, witnessed the explosion of Altair IV from space. I was soon drifting off to sleep.
Sometime afterward, I had the sensation of being carried by strong arms. Was this the moment? Would he lay me across his bed, wake me and have sex with me now?
But it didn’t happen and my brief flirtation with consciousness soon evaporated as I sank back into blissful slumber. I dreamt of Adam, of dancing on a cloud with the sound of the orchestra emanating from a bank of computers in the background.