Susan had. He wondered how she’d known. That’s what he asked her as they entered his apartment later that night.
“It was obvious. The model showed the huge ruffles time and again by twisting them in huge flowing circles. The walls had the flowers all over them, but they turned to blue roses when she stepped onto the runway. And when the two other models appeared, I knew they had to do something together. Otherwise they’d have been in different colors. I could see the dresses becoming rose petals.”
André pulled a bottle of wine from the refrigerator and started to open it while she walked around his apartment.
“I love how you can see things that no one else can,” he said, handing her a glass.
“I’m sure other people can see the same things.”
“Not like you.”
No one he’d encountered was like Susan. It was like finding a new world around every corner when he was with her. He’d had a plan for the night, but any thought of it had left his mind when she’d opened her door earlier tonight.
His brothers had approved, and by the long conversation she’d had with Rose, the two of them seemed to act more like sisters than people who had just met.
They sat on a large sofa that faced a modern glass fireplace that burned propane fuel. He knew lighting it would make the room more romantic, but since it was July, that wasn’t an option.
Susan placed her wineglass on the coffee table and turned to him. “So,” she said. “What did you think of our fourth date?”
André placed his glass next to hers. He sat back, ran his hand along the back of the sofa and caressed her neck. Pulling her close enough to kiss, he whispered, “I think we should go on a fifth one.”
Chapter 8
Susan leaned back from the short, but mind-blowing kiss. “How long have you lived here?” she asked.
“About five years. Why? Does the place look like I’ve just moved in?”
He looked around the apartment, probably seeing it as a stranger would.
“It’s a beautiful place and I like the way you’ve decorated it.”
“I can’t take credit for that. Someone from the store did the designing.”
She looked at him in surprise.
“But I picked out all the furnishings.” He raised his hands in defense. “It doesn’t have all the windows yours has, but I call it home.”
Susan laughed. He reached for her and pulled her next to him. She rested her cheek on his shoulder as his arm held her close. They sat like that for a while, with neither speaking.
“André, I had a very good time tonight,” she said. “I enjoyed meeting Rose and your brothers.”
“They had good things to say about you too,” he replied.
Susan turned her head to face him. He smiled at her and kissed the top of her head. His fingers threaded through her hair, undoing the expensive salon style she’d had done especially for tonight. She didn’t stop him. Susan liked the way his hands felt. He looked at her hair as he undid it, following the long strands all the way to the end. He laid them along her back and then repeated the procedure.
“You know, I sat for an hour while the beautician crafted my hair in just that style?”
“She did a wonderful job,” he said, as he continued to undo her work.
“So, you’re the take-the-toy-apart-to-see-how-it-works type of guy?”
His hand stilled. “I would never take you apart or think of you as a toy.”
The air was suddenly charged. She could almost hear the question in his mind asking if anyone had ever treated her that way before. She answered his question.
“No one has.”
“Has what?”
“Ever treated me that way.”
Susan felt tension leave his body, and his hands resumed their work. When her hair was totally undone, he looked into her face, but continued to finger through the strands. She saw the desire there. For a long moment, they stared into each other’s eyes. She knew hers reflected the same thing.
Susan wanted to look at the floor, but her gaze was held by an invisible force to the brown pools of deepening desire in André’s face. The feeling of timelessness and heat beat its message into her until her body clamored to close the short distance between his mouth and hers. She didn’t know who had moved first. Suddenly they were both on the floor.
She was in his arms and he was kissing her. The heat around them intensified. She could feel the flames and almost see tongues of fire licking around them. If it was possible, the fire consuming her was even hotter. She pressed closer to him, running her fingers over his head and down his hair, to his neck. Stroking her back, he kissed her eyes, her cheeks and her chin before returning to devour the sweetness of her demanding mouth.
His hands traveled exploringly down her arms, to her breasts, which responded immediately under his expert touch. Her hands loosened the buttons on his shirt, beginning their own exploration of his chest and back. Sanity and reason were somewhere in the farthest recesses of her mind. Here there was no thought, only the mindless possession of her senses of touch, feel and taste—his touch, his feel and his taste. Her body cried out for fulfillment. She wanted him, wanted him more than she’d ever thought possible. She wanted to be his completely and fully.
A low moan escaped her as he slipped the dress from her shoulders and burned her skin with his mouth, first trailing kisses across her shoulders, to the valley between her breasts, and then upwards to her throat and ears before returning to her mouth. Without warning he wrenched away from her. After getting to his feet, he dragged her up with him. Confusion gripped her for a split second before he lifted her in his arms and headed for his bedroom.
No words were spoken—none were needed. She rested her head on his shoulder and hugged him as she floated through the dark hall. He lowered her until her feet touched the floor. Warm hands cupped her face, and his mouth covered hers. The kiss was slow, sensual and penetrating. André held her loosely, but the connection between them was as strong as steel. Susan let her thoughts drift away. Her hands circled André’s waist, slipping inside his open shirt and feeling the smoothness of his skin. It was hot. He was hot.
She looked up as waves of something indescribable went through her. She wanted André now. She pulled him to her, clamped a hand around his neck and pulled his mouth to hers. He stretched out on the bed, aligning their bodies. Susan felt the impression of him. His hardness against her softness.
They fit together like pieces of the same puzzle. André moved from her mouth to shower her face with teasing kisses that developed into a desperate need for each other. Their tongues tangled and heads bobbed as they moved together, each taking and giving pleasure to the other. She pulled at his shirt and pants, while he unzipped her gown. And though it didn’t fall into a rose on the floor, her body felt like a petal opening for him.
“André,” she whispered. Her voice sounded low to her ears.
“Don’t talk,” he said, stopping her, with his voice sounding husky. His soft voice was her undoing. She reached up to pull his mouth back to hers, hearing a low moan in his throat before restraint snapped in him. His hands explored her, pulling her into him and taking her mouth while he felt the softness of her body contrasting with the solidness of his. She in turn unashamedly memorized every inch of his taut body, pressing her lips to his shoulder. She trembled as his body moved over hers. She knew this was dangerous, but she pushed the thought away.
She was afraid of her feelings. She wanted to push him away, but the sensations his hands were causing as they trailed fire along her arms, her throat and her breasts quickly left her a mindless mass of emotion. Slowly he raised her desire levels higher and higher, finding every erotic area, with his tongue and hands exploiting them to the point of an exquisite physical pain, a pain so sweet that she shuddered, arching closer to him.
The sound from Susan�
��s throat pushed him forward as they joined in the most intimate way. It could be her first time. She murmured his name over and over, almost moved to tears by the care he took with her. It was a memory. They were making a memory. When he was gone, when André realized she was getting too close, when their fourth date was over, she would have this night.
Change came at that moment. The tenderness in André’s movements intensified. Susan rushed to go with him. Her body was so hot, so ready for him to take everything she offered that she could hardly contain herself. The rapid movements of their bodies brought pleasure to her with each stroke. Yet André wasn’t ready to take her over the edge. His hands slipped under her, raising her legs, and then he entered her to the hilt. He didn’t seem able to control himself. Neither did Susan. She matched André one rhythmic stroke for another. Together they should be creating fire.
She had no idea why they didn’t burst into flames. She wanted to touch André all over. She wanted him to touch her. Not only her body, but she wanted their minds to meld. She wanted to know him, know everything about him. She wanted to wake with him and find their nights not separated by streets and avenues. She wanted André to keep giving her pleasure, and she wanted to make sure that all of the pleasure she had to give went to him. The two merged, with their legs and arms moving faster and faster, and they dug deeper into the primeval dance.
Suddenly the world around them disappeared. Nothing existed except the two of them and the fire they created. She could see the flames, feel their burning, yet she wanted more of them. She wanted André to continue the exquisite pleasure he was giving her. And she wanted to return it. She wanted to make sure that he felt as she did, that her gift to him was special and as consuming as an explosion.
Their bodies seemed to know each other. They were in tune and each stroke brought them higher and higher toward a new universe, Susan moved faster and faster, matching André’s thrusts with her own.
When she was sure she could take no more of the passion that had been unleased inside her, André took her a step higher, increasing her need for him and forcing her to shout his name to release the force inside her. Emotions vied for dominance as they thrashed about the sheets. Inside her the surge began, a swell of carnality so great and so strong that she felt it might push her over the edge. Then it did. She heard her own voice, shouting as the two of them performed the oldest dance.
The sensation of floating somewhere on an astral plane carried her high above the rumpled sheets. She took André with her. The two of them, alone in the world, their world, their place. This was theirs, never to be shared by anyone else.
André was kissing her again. Without words, he seemed to understand her feelings as she understood his. Until now Susan had never known how powerful love could be for a man and a woman.
Finally they both lay exhausted in each other’s arms. He looked at her. Susan didn’t try to cover herself. She wanted him to look at her. She wanted him to see all of her. She was his.
Did he love her? Was that what she saw in his eyes? Her heart pounded harder than it ever had. Did she want that? She did. But it wasn’t possible. There was too much unknown between them. He didn’t know who she really was, although most of what she had told him was the truth.
And how could any relationship survive when it was based on lies and deception?
* * *
Susan’s eyes were shiny and drowsy. André gathered her to him and studied her flushed face, her body slightly moist with perspiration, her beautiful hair almost obscuring the pillow she rested on. She didn’t know how gorgeous she looked. Would she always look like this after lovemaking? He knew he wanted to see that look again and again. He wanted to be the only one ever to see it.
He wanted her; he wanted to see her smile, make her laugh, feel himself moving inside her and be rewarded by this look after making love, to see it shining in her eyes. Reverently, he kissed her forehead and then contentedly fell asleep.
When he woke, she was still lying next to him. Just as before, when they had made love at her apartment, he watched her for a long while. He counted the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. Moonlight spilled through the windows and over part of her face. Her eyelashes were resting on her cheeks. A slight smile curved her lips, and he hoped she was dreaming of him. He dreamed of her even when he was awake. The entire picture aroused him. He didn’t try to tamp it down, and his body grew hard with wanting.
He played with the idea of waking her. Morning sex was a perfect way to begin the day, even if the sun was only tingeing the eastern horizon. He was still holding her, listening to her breathing, smelling the lilac scent of her shampoo and taking in the electric aroma of sex in the air. It was a signature scent, unavailable for sale and only purchasable by two unique people.
André waited, watching, but he knew as long as his body was in contact with hers, his arousal would remain engorged and ready.
* * *
A low growl in André’s stomach signaled to him. Had he ever been this hungry? He couldn’t remember if he had. Smiling, he attributed it to the night before—his night with Susan. He was hungry for her and for food. Their lovemaking had pushed him well past the stamina he’d thought was his maximum, but she’d proven he was stronger than he had even known.
Slipping out of bed, he left Susan sleeping. He’d wake her with breakfast, and then more lovemaking. André planned to spend the day in bed with her. Nothing else mattered. The store could take second place today. Barefoot, he padded to the living room, after closing the bedroom door so he wouldn’t wake her. The sun was rising, but the room was still too dark to see details clearly. Susan’s rose gown lay on the floor. It wasn’t a rose, but that was how he thought of it. Picking it up, he remembered how good she had felt in it. Running his hands over the silken fabric was like caressing her. His stomach growled again.
André threw the gown over the sofa. It landed with a flap, down where the zipper was, and the designer label caught his attention. He knew labels. It was part of his occupation to know them. Rose had called it. Valentino. But there was another label.
He carried the dress to the kitchen and turned on a light. The dress had been rented. Susan didn’t own this gown. Of course, he thought. How could she afford it? Memory took him back to their first meeting. She was wearing a Christian Siriano gown. That’s what she was hiding. She wasn’t who she pretended to be. The apartment, the camera and rented clothes. Who was bankrolling her?
Was she looking at him as a replacement?
André collected her clothes and folded them neatly. Forgetting breakfast, as he was no longer hungry, he returned to the bedroom, placed the clothes on the bottom of the bed and went into the bathroom to take a shower. He didn’t try to be quiet. He wanted her awake and gone.
Susan sat up. “Good morning,” she said, but he was already closing the bathroom door. After locking it, he turned on the water so he couldn’t hear her.
And she couldn’t hear him.
His stomach was tied in knots, and he felt like kicking himself. Why had he let her in? Why had he deviated from his normal fourth-date plan? He’d told her he had never thought of the fourth date as being when things turned, but that was exactly where it did. He could certainly tell that by the way he felt about Susan.
He’d get over her. He had gotten over women in the past. He could do it again.
Stepping under the needlelike spray of the shower, he let the water sting his skin. He took longer than usual. Normally he got in, washed, rinsed and got out. He was always on his way to the store or to some social event that was directly or tangentially connected with the store—like the one he’d attended with Susan last night. It felt like a lifetime ago now.
André reached out and turned the shower off. He couldn’t stay in it for the rest of the day. His dressing room was across from the shower and he dressed quickly. Susan was no longer in the bed when he stepped into
the bedroom. Her clothes were gone, but he knew she was still in the apartment. He heard her happily humming from the kitchen. And he could smell coffee brewing and bacon cooking. His hunger returned—both forms of it.
* * *
Something was wrong. Susan could tell it the moment André appeared in the kitchen. She was wearing the gown she’d had on for the fashion show and ball. André was dressed in a suit and tie. She could feel the tension. The two of them were night and day, however.
“What’s wrong?” she asked. “Shouldn’t I have made coffee and breakfast?”
He shook his head. She noticed he did not speak. What had happened between last night and this morning? What had she done? Or not done?
“I have to go to the office,” he said.
“I see,” she responded, but both of them knew she didn’t. “Did something happen at the store?”
He shook his head again. “Everything there is fine.”
“Then what happened here?”
It was hard to look at her in that dress. He wanted to cross the room and pull her into his arms. “The fourth date,” he finally said.
Susan felt as if he’d hit her. Her entire body seemed to turn to stone. She couldn’t move. A flash of heat burned her face. She knew her normal light brown color was either as pale as snow or as red as fire. She stared at him for a long moment. When she recovered, she turned the flame off under the frying pan.
“Not a problem,” she said.
Susan walked past him. After picking up her shoes and purse, she left the apartment barefoot. She felt numb. By the time she got to the elevator, her numbness had changed to anger. Outside the building, she got into a taxi. The driver didn’t give her a second look. In Mountainview, eyebrows would’ve been raised, and before she would have gotten through her front door, the entire town would have known she’d spent the night with a man.
But this was New York. And nobody cared.
Love in New York ; Cherish My Heart Page 11