The Heiress Page 7
As soon as we were outside in the corridor, he lightly placed his hand on the small of my back to lead me to the elevator. It was a simple gesture, but it implied I was in some small way his. My inner feminist wanted to push his hand away, but my weary soul felt a kind of relief I’d never felt before.
Why did I feel so relieved? The answer was as simple as the gesture: I wasn’t alone.
“What did you give Layla?” I asked as he pressed the call button for the elevator.
He smiled. “Nothing important.”
I shook my head. “Your constant refusal to answer questions is infuriating, you know that?”
He was silent for a moment, relishing my frustration as we waited for the elevator. Finally, the doors slid open and we stepped inside. He pressed the button for the second level of the underground parking garage, where he’d parked. As soon as the doors slid shut, he turned to me, his green eyes locking on mine.
“I asked her how much an event like that birthday party would cost. She told me, and I gave her a check for that amount.” He tilted his head as he waited for my reply, but he quickly realized I was still confused. “To pay for Rebecca’s party.”
“You paid for that little girl’s party?”
He shrugged. “It was the least I could do. She didn’t have to invite us in. She did that out of the kindness of her heart. It ended up being one of the best dates I’ve ever been on. I thought it would be a nice way to thank her parents for raising a good kid.”
I stared at him for a moment, my mouth agape. Before I could stop myself, my hand reached out to touch his chest. “Are you real?” I whispered, clearly feeling the solid warmth of his body beneath his clothes.
He lay his hand over mine, not breaking eye contact as he leaned closer, until his lips brushed against mine, sending a chill cascading over my skin. Each breath he exhaled made my heart race faster. I leaned into him, pressing my lips to his as his hands came up to clasp both sides of my face. A smart move, as I began to feel unsteady on my feet.
Then, as fast as it began, it was over.
Daniel turned away to face the elevator doors, his hand finding its way to the small of my back again. “Define real,” he said as the doors slid open.
Dark Truth
Define real. It wasn’t the answer I was hoping for, but somehow it put me at ease.
He kept his hand on my back, gently leading me through the dimly lit parking garage. I glanced up at him a few times, hoping to meet his gaze for some indication as to what he was thinking, but his eyes were focused everywhere but me. He seemed to be scanning our surroundings, almost as if he were assessing the building for possible threats. Finally, when we were just a few cars away from Daniel’s Range Rover, he looked down at me with a look I could only describe as pure conflict.
I didn’t know him well, but I considered myself a bit of an expert in human emotion.
In my attempt to become a better artist, I’d read at least a dozen books and completed at least a thousand art studies solely on the subject of facial expressions and body language. If I had to sculpt Daniel’s face in this moment, then explain to someone what he was thinking, I would say he was trying to decide between two courses of action: Should he 1) take me home and leave me at my door with a stiff peck on the cheek, or 2) push me up against one of these cars and fuck me right here?
A difficult decision, no doubt.
My mind worried I wasn’t being cautious enough with Daniel. My mind voted for option number one. The pulsing ache between my legs and my racing heart meant my body was campaigning very hard for option number two.
As we arrived at the passenger door of the Range Rover, it seemed Daniel’s body was going to throw in his vote with mine. He was eye-fucking the shit out of me. He sidled up to the door, effectively blocking me from reaching for the handle.
I looked up at him, my gaze landing on his full lips, then glancing at his hands, and back to his lips, sending him a less-than-subliminal message to slide those strong hands under my skirt.
His eyes were locked on my mouth. As his hand found my waist, I closed my eyes and held my breath in anticipation. A long, torturous moment passed before, just as I had hoped, the weight of his body leaned into mine. With one hand on my waist, he pressed me up against the side of the SUV as his other hand came up to cradle my face. Then, his mouth found mine, delivering a slow, tender kiss.
His kiss felt downright pornographic. It was straight-up mouth sex, to the point that I could physically feel him moving in and out of me despite the fact that we were fully clothed.
As his tongue brushed against mine, my body quaked with desire, all the way down to my bones. Then came the aftershock, rippling through my every muscle as he bit my lip and refused to let go. I whimpered and he responded with a hoarse chuckle that sent chills over my skin.
Holy shit. If he fucked even half as good as he kissed, I was in for the ride of my life.
Suddenly, I was very spatially aware of my body. Without any conscious effort, my right hand had reached behind me, pushing against the glass window. My body was working on its own free will in a carnal attempt to keep Daniel and me pressed together like pages in a book. My left hand clung to the side mirror in a white-knuckled grip.
The breath in my lungs stuttered as I inhaled deeply. His fingers slipped through my hair as he balled up his fist. A brief involuntary gasp escaped my throat as he tugged my hair to pull my head back.
His kiss deepened.
Heat spread over every inch of my skin as his tongue moved in sync with mine.
The blood in my veins burned with hunger as he crushed his hips against mine.
He tugged my head sideways and swept his lips across my jaw, landing on my ear, and the throbbing ache between my legs intensified.
The sound of his breath in my ear sent a shiver of pleasure surging through me.
The heat of his body pressed against mine was reassuring.
The pulsing warmth of his skin was like the soothing hum of a sports car, all revved up and ready to go.
I lifted my leg to wrap it around him, to relieve the ache between my thighs.
He groaned softly into my ear as he grabbed my leg behind the knee to steady me. He pushed his hips harder into mine, teasing me with his promising bulge. I let out a satisfying moan as he rotated his hips, massaging my spot through the fabric of our clothing. He chuckled softly as he bit my earlobe, then he stopped suddenly and tilted his head back.
I opened my eyes to protest, ready to throw him on the ground and straddle him if necessary. Then, I saw it. An older couple stood behind the sedan that was parked next to us, politely and awkwardly waiting for us to move.
I dropped my leg immediately and smoothed down my skirt as Daniel apologized to the couple and opened my passenger door. I quickly slid into the passenger seat, thankful that Daniel didn’t waste any time closing the door behind me. I turned away from the window as the man got into his car. Instead, I watched Daniel slide into the driver’s seat with a huge grin on his face.
“That was mortifying,” I said, covering my face as I waited for the sedan to pull away.
He laughed as he pressed the button to turn on the SUV. “On the contrary, that was hot,” he said, making no attempt to avoid staring at my lips.
I shoved his shoulder to break his trance. “Aren’t we supposed to be going somewhere?”
He smiled as he reached up and tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. “Where to, madame?”
I rolled my eyes as I reached for my seat belt. “Don’t act cute. You were going to show me your place.”
And just like that, something had shifted.
When I turned back to Daniel, his smile had vanished. He stared straight ahead, lost in thought. Narrowing his eyes, he seemed to be at odds. He was once again the conflicted Daniel I’d seen a moment before he pressed me up against the SUV and thrust his promising package into my life.
He gave a curt nod as he reached for his seat belt. “Right. My place
.”
He drove along the streets of Manhattan, maneuvering through the Friday night crowds with a deftness I’d only seen in seasoned taxi drivers. A woman in a Prius turned right in front of us, cutting us off as if we didn’t exist, and Daniel dodged this near collision with the grace of Neo dodging bullets in The Matrix. Nothing would slow him down. He was a man on a mission.
At first, I thought I knew where we were going, but then we seemed to end up on a street we’d already gone down. Were we driving in circles or was he trying to confuse me so I wouldn’t remember how to get to his apartment? Or maybe he was one of those paranoid people who always thought they were being followed and he was trying to lose the tail? Or maybe he was being followed?
I asked him if we were headed toward the west side, but he told me to be patient, we were almost there. I tried not to get anxious. What if he was driving me to an abandoned warehouse, where he was going to murder me, and no one would ever find me because I didn’t know where I was?
I didn’t really think he was going to murder me, but I had to at least indulge the possibility, or I would feel even more reckless than I already did. It was reckless to accompany a man back to his place on a first date. I acknowledged that, to myself. But I felt safe with Daniel. That had to count for something.
We pulled in front of what looked like a four-story historic brick townhouse on Prince Street and he turned off the car. “Welcome home, Picasso,” he said with a grin.
“Is this where you live?” I was surprised to find that, despite the steady flow of traffic on this street, there was an empty parking space right in front of the townhouse.
“This is a relatively new property. Moved in a few weeks ago, but I still don’t have all my stuff here, so it’s a little sparse.” He followed his last sentence with a long pause and a shrug, as if he was trying to mentally shrug something off. “Anyway, I gave the staff the weekend off.”
“The staff…” I repeated his words softly, mostly to myself, wondering if he understood that my mother used to be “the staff” before she became disabled.
The front of the townhouse was dark, with no lights on outside or inside. That could be because there was no one home, since he’d given the staff the night off. Nevertheless, I began to feel uneasy. What if I was falling into some kind of trap?
“Maybe we should just grab something to eat and call it a night,” I blurted out, still staring at the house so I wouldn’t have to see his reaction.
“Are you usually this nervous on a first date?”
I turned back to him, shooting him a piercing glare. I wanted to contradict him, but I hadn’t been on a real date in so long, I couldn’t even remember if I was usually this nervous on a date.
Hookups didn’t count as dates. With a hookup, there was no pressure about whether or not you were making a good enough impression, because the last thing you wanted was a follow-up phone call to remind you of your momentary lapse in self-respect. Of course, I also hadn’t hooked up with anyone since NYU, so it was possible the rules for hookups had also changed.
I leaned back in my seat. “Yes, actually, I am usually this…nervous.” I stared straight ahead at the pickup truck parked in front of us. “It’s been a long time since I’ve…done anything like this.”
“You mean, it’s been a while since you’ve been on a date?”
Though my gaze was still locked on the license plate of the truck, I could hear the smile in his voice. I didn’t want to look at him and see the amusement on his face, to see him laughing at my lack of romantic experience.
“Maybe I should just go home,” I said, crossing my arms.
“Hey, I’m not smiling because I think it’s funny.” He turned in his seat so he was facing me, but I kept staring ahead. “I’m smiling because you’re full of surprises—the good kind.”
I finally turned to him and, as hard as I tried not to, his smile made me smile. “So what kind of surprise do you have waiting for me in there? A dark basement and a pair of handcuffs?”
His eyes widened. “Like I said. Full of surprises. I didn’t know you were into that kind of thing.”
I shook my head as I threw the car door open and stepped out onto the sidewalk. He quickly appeared at my side with a spring in his step, ready to close the car door for me. Then, he held out his arm and I grasped on to him as if he were a life raft in this sea of uncertainty I’d jumped into. As he led me up the stairs to the front door, I heard a whirring noise followed by a heavy click. The porch lights turned on, as well as all the lights in the two lower levels of the house.
“What was that?” I asked.
He smiled. “That’s the smart-home features I added. As soon my cell phone gets within three feet of the front door, I have an app that automatically deactivates the smart lock on the front door and turns the house lights on.”
I cocked an eyebrow. “Well, aren’t you Mr. Fancypants?”
He shrugged as he opened the front door. “Makes it easier to bring home the unsuspecting young women I abduct and keep in the basement.”
“You realize that’s not funny,” I said, watching as he stepped inside the brightly lit foyer.
“Relax, Kristin,” he assured me, holding his hand out for me to take as I entered. “The world is not as scary as you think it is.”
I swallowed the angry retort my brain immediately conjured, then I followed him into a living room the size of my entire apartment.
My eyes widened as I took in the beautiful teak floors laid in a sophisticated herringbone pattern. The furnishings were sparse, and a bit modern, but among the gray tweed sofas and stark white walls were soft wine-colored throw pillows, plush ivory throw blankets, and a romantic chandelier hanging in the foyer. The fireplace mantel was honed from what looked like a single piece of gorgeous white marble carved in an ornate pattern.
The space didn’t feel very lived in, but it still felt comfortable and inviting.
“Would you like something to drink?” he asked, as I followed him down the stairs to a lower level.
“I don’t drink,” I replied matter-of-factly, holding back the full, colorful explanation of how I didn’t start and quit drinking until after I almost got caught driving under the influence.
We only had to take a few steps before I could see he was taking me to the kitchen and dining area, where a wall of windows looked out onto a well-lit, multilevel backyard garden area.
“You don’t drink,” he said, reaching the bottom floor. “Do you eat? I’m not sure what we have in the fridge, but there might be some berries and cheese.”
“What we have in the fridge? Do you live here with someone?”
He chuckled as he opened the built-in refrigerator door. “No, I don’t. Just a habit, I guess.” He grabbed a white bowl of strawberries out of the fridge and placed them on the island between us. “Sometimes, I still wake up thinking I’m going to come downstairs and find my mom and siblings having breakfast.”
I took the berry he held out for me, then took a seat on a stool at the island. “Isn’t it lonely living in this big house all by yourself?”
He smiled, but only with one side of his mouth. “I keep myself busy with work and social events. I have parties here sometimes. It’s…not usually this empty.”
I raised my eyebrows as I brought the berry to my lips. “Well, excuse me. I didn’t realize I was infringing on your busy social calendar.”
He shook his head as he chuckled, and I took the opportunity to eat my strawberry, which, unsurprisingly, was the sweetest, juiciest strawberry I’d ever tasted.
“That’s not what I’m implying,” he began, plucking another berry out of the bowl and exchanging it for the stem in my hand. “I actually prefer quiet evenings more than the schmoozing and partying. It can get a little stale having to constantly figure out what angle to approach everyone from, as a potential business partner, investor, or a genuine friend. Not to mention the gold diggers and the bloodsucking socialites are just depressing.”
He smiled as he watched me bite into my third piece of fruit. “You? Not a chance. You’re as real as it gets.”
I thought of what he said to me in the elevator: Define real.
The lines between fantasy and reality were blurring, and I didn’t care. I welcomed this new limbo. Part of me knew it was the old risk-taker in me that was getting high on this experience. But I was certain that if I googled “quotes about taking risks,” I would find some famous person who had once said something wise—probably taken completely out of context—that would help me justify my behavior with Daniel. Just knowing this was enough for me.
“That sounds like a compliment,” I said, handing him my third stem and refusing a fourth berry.
“Are you always this observant?” he asked, tossing the stems into the sink, then placing the bowl of berries back in the fridge.
“I wish I were more observant.”
He turned to face me again, his eyebrows scrunched up in confusion. “How so?”
“I wish I could…” I swallowed hard as I reconsidered my words. “Nothing. I guess I just have a hard time reading people…sometimes.”
“Like me?” He smiled at my raised eyebrows. “I’m not that mysterious,” he said, rounding the island until he was next to me. “I want the same things you want.” He held his hand out for me to take, then he began leading me toward the glass doors overlooking the patio. “I want comfort and security. I want to feel needed…and I want to need someone.”
My heart raced as we stepped out into the brick-paved backyard garden. “It’s dangerous to need someone,” I replied, breathless as he led me to some stairs leading up to a courtyard on a higher level.
The courtyard was well lit with pathway lights and spotlights illuminating a few trees, which lined the back wall of the garden. We sat on a concrete bench in the center of the courtyard, a chill racing through me as he laced his fingers through mine.