Читать книгу Desire Inc. - Zoe Zarani - Страница 6

The next morning, a bleary-eyed me was trying to pick something to wear for the seven o’clock interview with Aileen Gerber. I’d gotten as far as putting on bra and panties when I thought I heard the buzzer. I wasn’t sure as I sleep at the very back of the loft, far from the front door. I stuck my head out of the bedroom. Sure enough, the buzzer. Stubborn Leila, as usual disregarding my insistence she sleep late. She’d worked hard enough, first straightening up what the caterer had missed, then running down on unsteady feet to Starbucks two blocks away to get Aileen’s Frappuccino. I wanted her to get some rest. I could handle the interview by myself. She did like to think she was indispensable. Which she was, but sometimes her hovering got to me.

Leila had her own set of keys, but last night, after downing vodka and polishing off a bottle of Dom Perignon, we’d both been high. On my way to bed, I noticed she’d dropped the keys to my place on the couch.

‘Coming,’ I yelled out, even though she couldn’t hear me. I padded barefoot to the door and let her in. I left the door open and went back to my room. Scrambling through my jammed closet, I picked a pair of black jeans and a boat-necked celadon jersey top.

I kept the clothes on their hangers to show Leila. ‘What do you think?’ I asked, walking out into the showroom.

‘You’re even more beautiful than last night.’ Thorne was standing in the middle of the room, looking like the king of men in his navy suit, pale-blue shirt and yellow tie with a face so incredibly handsome it could launch a thousand missiles.

I just stood there, my heart doing bungee jumps. ‘What are you doing here?’ I forgot I was half naked.

He walked up to me. ‘I couldn’t start my day without kissing you.’ He took my head in his hands, tilted it to meet his. ‘Nicole Wenders, I haven’t stopped thinking of you for one second.’

My insides started trembling. I felt caught, powerless, pinned like a butterfly against a wall I couldn’t kick down. That scared me. I grabbed his head, pulled it towards me and kissed him, my tongue reaching to every corner of his mouth. An electric surge ran through me. I was in control again. I loved his thick lips pressed against mine, his tongue trying to outdo mine. He grabbed my ass, pressed me tight against him so I could feel how hard he was. I wanted to pull him down on the floor and eat him until he groaned for mercy.

I pushed him away. ‘You’ve had your kiss. Now get out of here.’

He grinned, not in the least put out. ‘I’ve got an important meeting this morning. If it goes through, it’s going to do a lot of good things.’

‘To you, of course.’ I had enough sense now to pull the top over my head which left only my panties showing. Let him get his eyeful down there. He wasn’t going to have me. At least not on his terms. I walked to the door, opened it.

He took the hint and followed me. He stopped on the threshold and gave me a sweet smile that threw me. The arrogance was gone. ‘Woman of my dreams, you’ve got the wrong idea about me. I do have a heart. By the way, good choice of clothes and I don’t mean your skimpy underthings. It’s the colour of your top. Brings out the green in your eyes. And wear your hair up and show off that swanlike neck.’ He kissed my forehead and then he was gone. I stood there for a moment, trying to figure out what I was feeling. I was wet, which was perfectly normal under the circumstances, but I stood on that threshold half-dressed and stared down at the stairs. The picture of his disappearing back kept playing in my mind like a YouTube video gone beserk.

I want him back. Not just for sex. I want to listen to him. I want to know who he is.

No, I’m hung over. Confused. Tired. I don’t care if I ever see him again. He’s got me all wrong. My eyes are more blue than green and wearing my hair up makes me look older. In fact, I never want to see him again.

Shit! I forgot to thank him.

An hour later, I handed Aileen Gerber a Frappuccino and a plate of smoked salmon and cucumber tea sandwiches left over from last night. I was dressed in leggings and a blue silk hip-length tunic with my hair loose over my shoulders. The photographer hadn’t shown up yet.

‘Thanks.’ She quickly ate two sandwiches, finished the drink. I sat down in front of her, fighting to keep my mind on this woman, this moment. An interview with WWD was a dream come true, but I could still feel Thorne in my mouth, his hard-on against my stomach, his hands kneading my ass.

Aileen fished into her backpack, extracted a notebook and pen. I uncrossed my legs, sat up. A chance in a million, Nicole, I thought. Don’t blow it.

‘You always show only twelve bags. Is that right?’

‘A lot of hard work goes into making a bag. It’s all I can manage right now.’ I threw a look at the front door. ‘Where’s your photographer?’

‘I told him to come at seven-thirty. I wanted to get some facts down and a little human interest stuff. Never hurts.’ Aileen wrote something down in her notebook. ‘OK. How did you start?’

‘Making bags when I was a kid,’ I said, happy to move away from the number twelve. ‘I’d cover paper bags with magic marker doodles, then sew ribbons on them for straps. By the time I got to high school I’d moved on to cloth bags, selling them to my friends for a couple of bucks each.’

‘Why handbags?’

‘Here I was, six, seven years old wanting desperately to be grown-up. Grown-ups wear heels and handbags. I knew I couldn’t make heels with paper bags. Besides shoes only hold feet. A bag, it can hold all you need to get through the day. You can hide a secret inside if you want.’

‘Not if you have kids.’

‘You’re right.’ I went over to the work table and picked the closest bag, a patchwork satchel in different shades of grey. ‘That’s why my bags all have a hard-to-find pocket that I hope will keep a secret safe. At least from kids.’ I opened it up and handed it to her. ‘See if you can find it.’ I loved going through my mother’s bags, rolling and unrolling the lipstick, running her silver-edged comb down my hair, burying my nose inside and taking long sniffs of that wonderful mom smell that always made me feel safe. Until the day I found a letter tucked under the lining where the stitching had come undone. She had folded it and refolded it so many times the page was falling apart.

Aileen rustled through the bag. ‘I can’t find the pocket.’

‘On the outside.’ I upended the bag, showed her the two-inch slit. I extracted a note, showed it her.

‘“Desire,”’ she read. ‘Clever idea.’

‘I’d go to Barnes and Noble and look through all the fashion magazines to get ideas. My idol was Princess Di, of course, like every other girl I knew. She wore the most elegant bags.’

‘You’re young. Mine was Audrey Hepburn.’

‘I’ve seen her in a few movies on TV. She was great-looking.’

Aileen sighed, reached for another sandwich. ‘Go on. I’m listening.’

‘I made a clutch for Princess Di cut out of an old tweed coat.’ That coat had belonged to my father. Mom was throwing it away because he had just thrown us away. He’d gone, to another woman, to another city, state, country. I never did find out.

‘I sewed sequined Ds all over it and sent it to Kensington Palace.’ I poured my heart into that purse. I was desperate to make something beautiful. The purse was meant for Mom – her name was Dorothy. A present to stop her sobbing day and night, but she didn’t want it. She didn’t want anything or anyone except my father. I had read in the magazines that Princess Diana was also unhappy so I sent her the bag. ‘She sent me a handwritten thank-you note. I treasured it for years.’

‘If she’s the one who wrote it and not some secretary. It should be worth a sum if you want to sell it.’

‘It got lost in a move.’ I buried the note with my mother along with my father’s letter she’d kept all those years.

Aileen checked the time on her cellphone, frowned. ‘Who are your backers?’

‘Backers? The bank.’

‘A young woman with no business experience? You must have really impressed them.’

‘I got lucky. And I had some money of my own.’ What had gotten Desire, Inc. started was a small inheritance from Mom and selling the house I’d grown up in in Newburgh. The bank had stepped in after two years, when I had something to show them.

The sound of the buzzer. ‘That must be the photographer.’

‘Better be. I’ve got to be uptown at the Lauren show in thirty minutes. Thank God they never start on time.’

Leila stepped out of the elevator.

‘Hey, good morning,’ I said in too loud a voice, happy at the interruption. Aileen’s questions had unleashed bad memories and Thorne was still on me.

Leila walked in with a kid in tow. ‘Meet Kyle.’ Loaded down by two enormous cameras, Kyle looked all of twenty. He was in jeans and a Pink Floyd sweatshirt that hadn’t seen a washing machine in months. A Yankees cap worn backwards held shoulder-length hair in some kind of order. He had a cute, sleepy face.

‘You get lost?’ Aileen stood up and brushed the breadcrumbs off her skirt. ‘After I pick the bags you got ten minutes to shoot.’ She turned to me. ‘I do the picking. Maybe you want to go to your office or somewhere. Put some more makeup on. And pin your hair up. Shame to waste that neck. We’ll take a picture of you before we go.’

I raised my hands in surrender. I wasn’t about to argue with WWD. At least not at this point of my career. As I walked toward my office Leila winked at me. I laughed. My losing control always gave her a kick.

‘What’s with necks?’ I asked Leila as soon as Aileen and her photographer left.

‘Beats me.’ Leila hated her own neck, which was much longer than mine. She thought it made her look like a giraffe. I thought it made her look regal. ‘You’ll be happy to know she picked all the funky bags without my help.’

‘Good.’ I walked into the office, a windowless room just large enough to fit two IKEA desks and chairs, a metal filing cabinet I’d found at the Salvation Army and a drawing board. To spruce up the place I had covered the walls with my watercolour designs, even the ones I had rejected. Leila had added a sprinkling of bright Tunisian tiles from her own collection. Geoffrey had offered to decorate the office for free, but I liked to work in an efficient, pared-down space. Luckily so did Leila. It was our private work space. No client was allowed in.

Leila followed. ‘You should have worn that new green top. Brings out your eyes.’

I groaned. ‘The article is never going to appear.’

‘It will.’

‘I usually appreciate your confidence, but today I find it irritating.’ I sat down. ‘Let’s go over the last orders.’

Leila sat back, folded her arms and grinned at me, which was even more irritating.

‘What?’

‘Thorne called, huh?’

‘He showed up here with me in my undies.’

‘Oooh. Fun.’

‘It wasn’t.’

‘That explains why you look soft, out of focus. Very beddable. Someone’s finally gotten to you. I think that’s great. Just what you need.’

‘He hasn’t and it isn’t. Thorne has nothing to do with anything.’ I was trying to convince myself. ‘The interview brought up some bad stuff. I wish I could shake my parents’ story for good.’

‘Bad stuff makes us fighters. Don’t knock it. Give Thorne a chance. You might discover love is what’s been missing.’

‘Thorne would sink me.’

‘You’re so frigging obstinate! You think you know it all.’

‘You don’t?’

‘But I do know it all.’ She rummaged through her backpack. ‘At least about Mr Archer Thorne.’ She extracted a small stack of papers stapled together and slapped them on my desk. ‘The Internet is full of him. Articles in Business Week, Time, The New York Times. From what I read he’s a great guy. And –’

‘Not interested!’ I shoved the papers aside. ‘Tonight Geoffrey and Giles are showing off that Central Park West apartment they decorated. What are you wearing?’

‘I’m not going.’

‘But you accepted the invitation.’

‘I know I did, but something’s come up. I’ve already called Geoffrey to apologise. The place is going to be jam-packed. They’re not going to miss me.’

‘I’ll miss you. I can’t stand those parties. Please come. I don’t want to be alone.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Leila didn’t look in the least bit sorry. It had been a while since I’d seen that sparkle in her eyes.

‘OK, what’s up?’

Leila beamed a smile. ‘Remember Melissa? I met her at last year’s AIDS Walk.’

‘Sure. You didn’t stop talking about her for weeks. She’s changed her mind about going out with you?’

‘I ran into her at Whole Foods two days ago. I decided I had nothing to lose and called her last night. We’re meeting in the West Village for a drink. I’m going to convince her to have dinner with me, too.’ Her face was glowing with hope.

‘That’s great, but be careful.’ Leila had a habit of falling in love with women who didn’t reciprocate.

‘I will not be careful!’ She slammed her hand on the desk. ‘You walk around like a turtle with its head tucked in its shell. That’s not me. I want to love, be alive. It might end up hurting. It might not. If I don’t try I’ll never know. Worry about yourself, not me. Stick your head out, open up. Fall in love. Give it a try at least.’ She picked up the phone and held it out to me. ‘Call him. His office number is on the top page. Invite him to Geoffrey’s open house.’

Why not? I owed him a thank-you. Oh, to hell with being polite, I wanted to see him again. We’d end up in bed. It’s what we both wanted. I knew that from this morning. I’d never shied away from having sex with a handsome man before. No reason to do so now. I took the phone and with my stomach doing somersaults started to punch in the cellphone number he’d written on his note. It was already imprinted in my brain. Halfway through the number I switched to the office number for The Thorne Company. The idea that I was making a business call gave me a kick.

A dark, low voice answered. ‘Thorne speaking.’

My breath caught. Why was he answering the phone? Where was his receptionist? His secretary?

‘Who is it?’ he asked.

My heart pounded wildly.

‘Are we playing games?’ he asked, his voice now a cashmere-soft caress.

I pushed the off button.

‘I’d like to think that was a wrong number,’ Leila said, ‘but your face is as red as a cooked lobster so I guess you got the man himself.’

I felt dumb and ashamed. I had acted like a twelve-year-old. ‘I’m not ready for him. I’m sorry.’

‘So am I, but it’s your life.’

She dropped the subject. So did I. We spent the rest of the day working. Leila stayed in the East Village office to sort out orders and make calls to prospective buyers. I took the subway up to the Bronx work place I rented to oversee the women who sewed and assembled my bags. Most had lost jobs in the shrinking New York City garment industry. They knew how to work fabric. I taught them what I had learned about leather in Florence, and they paid me back with hard work, precision and loyalty. Whatever bad mood I brought to the workshop usually faded away while I was with these women. I was hoping they would work their magic again.

By six o’clock I was back in the East Village. Leila was gone, but she had left me a note. The Bergdorf Goodman buyer wanted to see some bags next week. Did I want her to bring them over to Bergdorf’s or did I want to do it?

Having Bergdorf’s willing to take a look was great. The news should have nudged me out of my bad mood, but didn’t. I was tired and still upset with myself. The last thing I wanted to do was to traipse uptown to a seven-million-dollar apartment and gawk at Geoffrey and Giles’s million-dollar interior design. They weren’t going to have any time for me, and I would end up making inane chitchat with people I wasn’t interested in.

Get over it, I told myself. That decorating job had just propelled Geoffrey and Giles into the big time. I couldn’t let them down.

The place was packed by the time I got there. In the foyer I swept a glass of wine off a tray and tried to make inroads into what I assumed was the living room. The crowd made it hard to tell which room was what or how Geoffrey and Giles had decorated the place. As I elbowed my way in search of my friends I spotted a suede banana-yellow sofa corner, under my feet a shiny strip of a deep-blue rug that looked Chinese. In the opening between two grey heads Andy Warhol’s Liz stared back at me. That same opening allowed me to spot Geoffrey’s ponytail. I was so happy to see him I waved at his back.

As soon as I reached him, he hugged me. ‘You look stunning, baby.’

‘Thanks.’ I’d dressed to get attention. Tight black satin pants tucked into stiletto-heeled suede boots and topped with a loose silk jersey top that draped in just the right places. In my hand I held a Desire velvet clutch with eye-catching green, purple and fuchsia stripes. Before walking in I had hopes of flashing the clutch and chatting up Desire, Inc. And maybe getting lucky. I was down on myself. I was horny. I needed a plaything. Anyone but Thorne.

‘Anyone interesting here?’ I asked after congratulating him.

He shrugged, blew a kiss at someone behind me. ‘I don’t know half these people. Sorry. Mrs Hendricks is waving at me. Have to talk to her. She just bought a duplex at 740 Park. I’ll call you tomorrow.’ He aimed a kiss somewhere near my ear and pushed off.

I picked up a baked prune wrapped in bacon and weaved in and out of rooms. I noticed more decorating details, but still didn’t get a sense of the whole. Also noticed that gay men outnumbered heteros two to one. I kept looking for Giles, at the same time checking for prospects. During lulls in the rumble of conversations, I could hear snippets of classical guitar music. Soulful. Romantic. Given my low mood, I would have preferred Tina Turner belting ‘What’s Love Got to Do With It’.

Giles was nowhere to be seen. I made my way to a vast floor-to-ceiling window and stared at Central Park spread out below me. It was now too dark to see its autumn colours. I sipped my drink. My eyes followed the pattern of the streetlamps weaving through the trees. Across the park a string of lights coming from the Fifth Avenue apartments seemed to be inviting me over. Maybe Thorne lived in one of those apartments. I pressed my breasts against the glass and remembered his chest hard against mine.

‘Nice view,’ a man announced behind me.

Go away. No, don’t. I pushed myself away from the glass. ‘Yes, it is.’

He joined me. ‘Hi, I’m Eric.’

I did a half turn his way. ‘Nicole.’ He was a couple of inches taller than me in my stilettos. Good-looking in a shy, bookish way with a slack sexiness to him. He wore khaki pants, a blue and green plaid shirt with sleeves rolled up and a blue sweater draped over his shoulders. Wide blue eyes and blond-going-to-grey hair clipped short. Forty maybe. I looked down at his shoes. No tassles. Tassled shoes are a deal-breaker for me.

I smiled at him.

Eric clinked his glass on my now empty one. ‘I wasn’t talking about the view outside. You’re luscious.’

He wasn’t in the least bit shy. That was good. ‘Am I supposed to thank you?’

‘Don’t leave, that’s all. Or even better, come home with me.’

There it was, the hook-up. What I’d been hoping for. An easy lay to calm me down, get the horniness Thorne had ignited out of my system. Why wasn’t I jumping at the chance?

I twirled non-existent wine in my glass, trying to picture me and this man naked, eating each other. What came up was Thorne, fully clothed in his blue suit and yellow tie, his voice in my ear asking, ‘Are we playing games?’

I looked up. Eric was eating me with his eyes. I felt nothing. ‘I’m sorry. I’m meeting someone.’

He leaned over, kissed my cheek and said, ‘Lucky man.’

I watched his retreating back with regret. Archer Thorne. I was stuck on him. Up to my neck stuck. I was helpless with desire. For him. No one else. There was only one way to put a stop to that.

The minute I hit the street I took out my cell.

‘Why didn’t you say anything when I answered the phone?’ Thorne asked. We were sitting at a cosy corner table at the Church Bar of the Tribeca Grand. He lived a few blocks away. I liked the idea that his bed was so close, also liked not being in it just yet. Having to wait jacked up the excitement. In the cab coming down to meet him, I convinced myself I was in total control. We were going to have crazy hot sex. I was going to say no to staying the night. I’d shower, get dressed, blow him a kiss at the door and walk away, forever free of him.

‘How did you know it was me on the phone?’ I leaned in closer. He was wearing a gold-coloured V-necked sweater, no shirt. A few dark chest hairs peeked from the bottom of the V, making me want to slip my hand inside to feel his skin.

‘I recognised the sound of your breath.’

‘Sure you did. I was panting for you.’

‘OK, I didn’t. I had a hunch. I was thinking of you when the phone rang.’

‘And you expect me to believe that?’

‘How about caller ID? Plausible enough for you?’

‘Hmhm.’ The candle on the table lit up the lower part of his face. He hadn’t shaved for me. That roughness on my breasts, my stomach, between my legs was going to make me wild.

‘I had my secretary look up the number.’

‘You didn’t call back.’

‘I thought you were playing cat and mouse. I’m no mouse.’

‘You’re the big bad tiger, aren’t you?’

‘Not bad.’ He leaned close. Candlelight and the colour of his sweater made his eyes golden. Feral. ‘Cuddly and playful.’

A shiver ran between my thighs. ‘Archer Thorne a sweet stuffed toy?’

Thorne grinned. His lips were wet from his drink. I wanted to lick that whisky wetness right off, wet him with my lips.

Get a grip, Nicole. I finished my Cosmo and gestured to the waiter to bring me another one. I’d already slipped the bartender my credit card. Something I was sure Thorne wasn’t going to like one bit. ‘I don’t play games, Thorne. Olivia said you are some big muckity-muck and big muckity-mucks don’t answer their own office phones. I expected to get your receptionist. Hearing your voice right away threw me, that’s all.’

‘Why the office number? You had my cell number.’

I hunched my shoulders. ‘I threw your note away.’ My jersey fell off one shoulder, which only got me a passing glance. I wondered what look I’d get if I shimmied out of my top right there. I’d taken my bra off in the cab.

‘I always answer the phone when I can. I got to where I am now by always being available and never thinking I was better than anyone else.’

‘Always available? Your women friends must like that.’

He lifted a long curl off my face, and ran his hand down my hair. ‘You are truly lovely, Nicole Wenders.’

My nipples stiffened against my jersey. ‘You’re not bad yourself.’ Everything inside me trembled. I looked for the waiter. My Cosmo hadn’t arrived. ‘Oh, thanks for last night’s champagne. I should have said something this morning.’

‘If you’re waiting for your second drink, it’s not coming.’

‘Oh? Why is that?’

‘I can make you a Cosmopolitan at my place.’

‘And the waiter knew that?’

‘Walter? He did.’

Walter? So the Tribeca Grand was a hangout of his. One drink and off to his place. Why did that annoy me? How many of Thorne’s women had Walter waited on?

Cool it, Nicole. This is just a one-nighter.

‘Here he is with your credit card and the bill.’ To my immense surprise Thorne wasn’t annoyed. And here I thought I had figured this man out. If a warning bell went off I didn’t hear it.

I overtipped Walter to show off and signed the slip. Thorne got on his feet, slipped on his leather vest and held out his hand for me. As I stood up he brushed his lips against my cheek. ‘Thanks for the drink,’ he murmured in that soft smoky voice that gave me the shivers. ‘I guess now I have to deliver.’

I looked at him, my eyes sucking him in. Yes, you do, Archer Thorne. You’re going to deliver me to the stars and I’ll do the same to you.

The elevator door started to close and Thorne’s hand slid up my jersey, cupped one breast. I gasped, instantly wanting more. Jumped away when the door started to open again and a cute labradoodle wiggled in followed by a perky size-2 Barbie-doll type in running shoes, black tights and one of those Eileen Fisher cover-all-sins tops, although I suspected she didn’t have any sins to cover up. She gave me a quick dismissive look and turned her attention to Thorne. ‘Why, Archer, I didn’t expect to see you!’

‘Why not? We live in the same building.’ I was pleased to see he was scowling at her. He didn’t like her. On second thought, maybe he just didn’t like her timing. OK. No reason to get jealous.

‘Oh, but it’s been ages. How’ve you been? Look, Dolly’s missed you.’ The dog was sitting on its hind legs, looking up at someone he obviously knew well.

Thorne patted his pockets. ‘Empty. Sorry, Dolly.’

I decided it was time to assert myself. I wrapped my arm around Thorne’s waist, leaned against him and smiled at her. ‘You forgot to push your floor.’

She tugged at her dog, turned her back to us and pushed eight. Thorne lived in the penthouse. She and Dolly walked out without saying goodbye.

‘It’s not what you think,’ Thorne said the minute the door closed.

‘I don’t care.’ I took his hand and placed it back on my breast. ‘I’m not here to think.’

‘Good.’ He took his hand back. He stared at the elevator panel, at the lights jumping from floor to floor. I’d seen kids do that, counting out loud. At least he kept silent.

I stepped away, readjusted my jersey. OK, Mr Thorne. It’s the waiting game now. Two can play at that.

‘What’s your pleasure?’ Thorne asked as he ushered me into his home. ‘Cosmo or champagne?’

‘Whatever’s faster.’ The size and looks of the place took my answering ‘Sex’ right out of my mouth.

He walked to the bar and I stared. Thorne’s loft covered the entire floor. The room I was in had to be four times the size of my place. Very modern. Lots of glass and steel, oversized tobacco-brown leather sofas and armchairs, ash-grey wood floors. No rugs or pillows. Not a flower, plant or any other soft touch in sight. It should have been a cold room but wasn’t. The low orange lighting gave it warmth. Or maybe the heat was coming from me, thinking of what was waiting for me. Whatever it was, the place was stunning. Geoffrey and Giles would have swooned.

‘Go out on the terrace. The view’s nice.’ As I passed he threw me his vest. Halfway to the terrace he grabbed me with both arms. I tried to turn around to kiss him. He tightened his hold.

‘Don’t move. I like the feel of your ass against me. Your round, tight, gorgeous ass.’

I arched against him. I was wet. My nipples hurt from wanting his fingers, his tongue, his teeth. I took his hand, pushed it under my jersey, pressed it against one breast. ‘Do you like that too?’ I wanted him so badly I was ready to beg. Throw me down on the floor and take me, bite me, eat me. Stuff me up to my throat with you.

Except I don’t beg. Ever.

Thorne turned me around, peered at me with those beautiful golden eyes now filled with lust. ‘I like the whole package, every inch of Miss Desire, Inc.’

Thorne wanting me made me even wetter. I took his head in my hands, pulled his face to meet mine. I ran my tongue over his lips. I bit them gently. I clasped my mouth over both of them and sucked hard. I pressed my hips against his and felt his rock-hard penis. He made a mewling sound.

Oh yes, big man, you like this. So do I. Do I ever.

I kept sucking, giving him a taste of what his penis had in store. A taste of what I wanted him to do between my legs. I kissed him, my tongue dancing with his.

‘My turn,’ he mumbled in the kiss and tugged at my pants.

I stepped back. He’d made me wait this long. Now he was going to be the one to beg. ‘I’ll take that drink you promised out on the terrace. I love looking at nice views.’ Off I went towards the terrace. I expected him to follow, grab me again, push me down on the nearest sofa.

He didn’t. I guess Masters of the Universe know when to hold off.

I stepped out onto a long, wide terrace. It faced south and the view was indeed nice. I could see the One World Trade Centre covered in lights and looking like it was going to shoot for the moon, a bright bloated moon just shy of full. I wasn’t after the moon, just Thorne. For tonight. All night. Fuck him out of my system.

I looked around, saw two leather chaise-longues, big fluffy pillows, a large area sisal rug. A tall hedge of different plants cut off the view of the surrounding buildings. It was a very private terrace. Nice.

I kicked off my shoes, threw off my jersey top. Had to work a little harder to get my skin-tight pants off. Kept my lace thong. I spread my arms wide. The cool air felt great on my overheated body, but I slipped his leather vest on anyway. The vest held his wonderful musky scent, a heady mixture of aftershave and sweat that sent shivers down my spine.

Soft jazzy music wafted onto the terrace. Thorne was taking for ever with that drink. Maybe he was changing. Or punishing me for walking away. I arranged a few pillows on the rug, lay down on them, and waited for my drink.

‘La maja almost desnuda.’ Thorne stood over me, holding two flutes filled with champagne.

‘That sounds dirty.’

‘It’s a famous painting of a nude that caused quite a bit of scandal back in the eighteenth century.’ He handed me the drink. ‘She was almost as beautiful as you.’ He kept standing over me, sipping his drink, gulping me down with his eyes. He had changed into a blue silk bathrobe that did nothing to hide his swollen penis. His feet were bare. I was sure the rest of him was too.

I shifted my weight, letting his vest fall open. I ran my hands over my breasts, pushing them up, offering him my nipples. I patted the pillow next to me. He didn’t budge.

I reached up and pulled at the bathrobe’s belt, yanked the robe open. He threw it off and stood above me in all his glory. My breath caught. He was gorgeous, his skin tanned all over. I knelt up and ran my hands over his chest, nipples, his ribs, his flat stomach. Smooth, smooth skin I was going to lick like candy. While I explored, Thorne ran his fingers through my hair and sipped his drink. He was used to being admired, wanted. That should have been a turnoff, but I didn’t give a damn. I wanted to devour him.

I stopped at his dense black bush and let my fingers play with his curls, but my eyes stayed riveted on his penis aimed straight at my mouth. Thick, long. Enormous. He was going to tear me apart. The thought electrified me.

I ran my tongue over the tiny slit, planted a wet kiss on its silky cap. Big as he was I was going to take him in my mouth and suck him. I wanted to hear Thorne’s cry, taste his come pouring into my mouth. Turning him or any man into putty always made me wild with desire.

I lifted my head to see his face. He returned my look with glazed eyes, his mouth wet and open. He wanted me as much as I wanted him. I took his penis in my hand, squeezed. Thorne let out a small cry and arched his back.

‘This is mine,’ I said and stretched my lips open.

Thorne pulled me back by my hair. ‘No, you don’t. My house, my champagne, my way.’ He pushed me down on the pillows and pulled his vest off me. I was naked except for the thong which was now drenched with want. He kneeled down, his legs inside mine. I wanted him so badly I didn’t care whose way it was.

I threw my arms over my head, spread my legs wide. ‘Split me open, Thorne.’ It was an order, not a plea.

‘With time.’ He tucked his fingers inside my thong. I fought back a moan as his fingers skimmed down to my lips, my clitoris. He pinched softly, then pushed two fingers deep inside me. I cried out as though I’d been stabbed. ‘More,’ I whispered, wanting that delicious feeling to keep coming.

‘No.’ His fingers, wet with me, rolled my thong down to my thighs. ‘You’re not wet enough.’

‘I’m drenched. What more do you want?’

‘This.’ Thorne lifted my untouched glass and carefully poured champagne over my bush, my stomach, navel, all the way up to my breasts.

Thorne bent over me and started licking the champagne off my skin. He sucked my nipples and when I cried out for more he moved down, his mouth descending so slowly I was ready to scream. ‘Please, Thorne, I’m wet. I’m wet. Please do me.’ Yes, I was pleading, but I didn’t care. I had become a churning volcano ready to explode. ‘Eat me, Thorne. Suck me. Fuck me.’ Shuddering with desire, I grabbed his head, pushed it down between my legs.

He pulled my hands away, straightened up. ‘You’re cold.’

So cold I would have melted glaciers. ‘Cover me then,’ I said.

Thorne rolled my thong back on my hips and lifted me up.

What next? Bed? Sofa? That plush carpet my heels sank into before?

He wrapped me in his bathrobe and kissed me lightly. ‘Get dressed. I’ll drive you home.’

‘What the hell, Thorne?’ I slammed my fists against his chest. I felt insulted, humiliated. No man had ever rejected me. I always slipped away before they ever got a chance. Now rage was hitting me like thunder. ‘I’m not good enough for you? Is that it?’ I wanted to kick his naked balls to a pulp. I don’t know why I didn’t.

Thorne took hold of my wrists, pressed them tight against his chest. ‘You’re too good, Nicole.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean? Too good to fuck? Is the big important man afraid of losing control?’

‘No, you are.’

I laughed. ‘You’re full of it.’

‘I read people, Nicole. I buy and sell companies for a living and I’m good at spotting strengths and weakness. You’re a one-fuck-and-run woman. I want us to last.’

I pushed at his chest again. ‘I’m not some company and I’m not for sale.’

Thorne let go of my wrists and wrapped his arms around me. My furious heart pounded against his ribs. I hated him for rejecting me, even more for reading me so easily. I could have pushed him away. The grip of his arms was gentle.

I didn’t move. I wanted to hear him out.

‘I’m not letting go of you even if it’ll take the longest foreplay in history to wear you down and stop you running.’

I looked up at him. The lighting was dim and I couldn’t read his expression. Was he smirking? ‘Mr Thorne, your arrogance is mind-boggling. Tonight’s great performance is it. You’re never going to see me again.’

‘You’re right, I am arrogant. It saves me from feeling too much. And that is something I’ve never said to another woman. Maybe I’m the one who should stay away from you.’ His finger pushed a stray strand of hair from my face. ‘Look, I’m not offering love or marriage. I’ve got my reasons for that which have nothing to do with you. I think you have your own reasons not to let a man get a hold of you romantically. What I’m offering is good sex and good times. No strings attached.’

That’s what Close Encounters offered.

‘There are always strings. Expectations.’

‘I just need you to stick around for a while.’

‘Sure.’ I grabbed my clothes from the chair where he’d dropped them. ‘I should stick around until you get bored.’ I dressed quickly. ‘You know what I say to that?’

‘No need to spell it out.’ His beautiful face and body seemed to go limp. Something tugged at my heart. Whatever it was I fought it off.

‘I’ll get dressed and drive you home.’

When he disappeared into his bedroom I let myself out.