by Evans, Katy
The buyers all continue listening intently, sipping on the champagne I ordered for the table before they arrived.
“Which brings me to James.” I turn to him and smile, my heart fluttering.
“From the moment I met him, I knew I had found the face of my line. He embodies all the line represents and strives to be. I thank you all for coming tonight, and I look forward to you all getting to know him, because he truly is the heart and soul of this line—in human form.”
James winks at me and then says, “I would say I’m flattered, but the lady knows her stuff.”
The buyers laugh and raise their glasses. Anthony from Net-a-Porter toasts, “To beautiful men in beautiful suits!”
We all drink, and then the questions start pouring.
First from Anthony. “So, James, what do you think makes the perfect suit? And do these Banks suits fit the bill?”
“Three things come to mind, Anthony,” James begins and raises his hand, counting off with his fingers.
“One, the cut. Two, the fabrics. And three, the fit. All of the suits from this line are different and unique in their styles. One thing they have in common, though, is a flattering masculine cut. Second, they are also made with the finest fabrics; they look mattified but with the perfect amount of shine, so when you see a man walk down the street, you will know when he’s wearing a Banks. And, of course, fit: you can have a ten-thousand-dollar suit, but if the pants are too long and the jacket is more like a corset, it will look cheap. Banks suits are made to be fitted perfectly to the body, and alterations are encouraged—customers get free fittings whenever they decide to buy one of our suits because we understand how important it is to have a perfectly tailored suit: the goal is to make it look like you were practically BORN wearing a Banks suit.”
Anthony raises his brow and turns to me. “Wherever did you find this man, and where can I get more?!”
I laugh.
Melissa from Bergdorf then asks James, “Tell us three of your favorite cities, and match them to a Banks suit.”
“Oh, that’s a good one . . .” James thinks a moment and then says, “I’ll go for the classics: New York, Los Angeles, and, of course, Atlanta.
“New York is fast paced, cutting edge, and ruthless. I would go with one of Banks’s darker suits, especially the onyx black with satin side stripes. Paired with a patterned gray tie, it’s high end, elegant, lethal, and fierce. Perfect for New York streets.
“On the other hand, Los Angeles is more laid back, beachy, so I would go for one of our white linen suits, with a blue tie. It’s perfect for a business meeting, afternoon walk down Rodeo Drive, and then a walk on the beach.
“And last but not least, Atlanta. I would go for a navy suit, with a cool patterned tie and a pocket square. Straight to the point, classy, and masculine.”
At this point I’m so blown away I am speechless. He’s answering every curveball with a home run.
Melissa is also pleased.
Robert, the buyer for Barneys, who has been rather silent until now, says to me, “My dear, you not only have a face for your line—you got yourself a superstar. I’m in. Send us your catalog.”
The rest of the buyers follow suit, agreeing wholeheartedly that James is more than just a pretty face and that his charisma will make the brand a huge hit.
The dinner continues on with more questions and banter. I couldn’t be prouder. Seeing James so comfortable and witty, laid back, stunningly handsome, and gentlemanly does shit to me.
This man is so much more than I could have ever imagined.
After dinner, I’m so giddy with delight after witnessing how thrilled our buyers are that I don’t want to head to the hotel yet. So we take an Uber to one of the closest LA beaches, and we walk. James with his hands tucked into his slacks pockets. Me with my shoes in my hand and my toes curling into the sand as I take each step.
“Have you ever gone out to a beach without a stunt as a goal? Just for pure . . . I don’t know. Enjoyment?” I ask.
“Never.”
“Me either.” I grin, my stomach fluttering when his white smile flashes out at me in the dark.
There’s a breeze. A beautiful crescent moon.
And James Rowan. His jacket slung behind his shoulder. His pants rolled up to his knees. Shoes in the pockets of his jacket.
“You sold them tonight, James. I can’t even say I’m proud of you . . . because it was your charisma that slayed them. Not only your beauty, which of course is all my doing,” I tease.
“Of course. I’m a bear in my natural form.”
“Ha,” I laugh exaggeratedly, wishing I didn’t have my shoes in my hands so I could have some sort of contact with him. “Maybe now that I’ve bred you for my world, you can breed me for yours.”
James only looks at me, his gaze growing a little more intense.
God. Did I just blurt that out? Did I sound like I longed to be part of it?
I shake my head and laugh at myself, then shoot him a curious glance. “Are you up for a tamer sort of stunt?”
He almost chokes on his saliva. “Say what?”
I stop walking. “You heard me. Are you up for a little game with me?”
He steps closer, his gaze challenging. “I’m game.”
“Whoever builds the biggest sandcastle in the least amount of time gives the other whatever they want.”
James reaches out to take my shoes. He sets them aside and drops his jacket to free his hands and frame my face. His voice is gruff and rough as he inspects me. “You’re on.”
He fishes out his phone, turns on the camera, aims it at us, and motions. “On the count of three. One . . . two . . .”
“Three!” I dive down and start digging a huge pile of sand.
James is down on all fours, carving even faster than I am.
I’m getting dirty and laughing as I scoop up piles and piles of sand, digging myself a cute little moat.
I try not to see what he’s doing.
But it’s hard. I steal a peek, and James already has a huge-ass peak of sand on his side.
“What?”
“Done.” He leaps to his feet and dusts off his hands.
“No fair. Yours isn’t even a castle. It’s like a . . . it’s ugly, James Rowan!”
“We said who built the biggest castle. NOT the finest.”
He laughs as he settles down next to me, legs stretched out, one of his arms behind me.
“Fine.” I glance at the camera. It’s still filming. I almost dread asking now. “You get one desire granted.”
“Just one?” His brows fly upward.
I nod cheekily.
Wondering what hell or weird dare he’ll ask me to do. Go skinny-dipping. Embarrass myself in front of his viewers.
I get nervous as I wait but persist. “Name it. I’ll ace it.”
He chuckles. While I lift my gaze to his, I realize he’s looking down at me intently.
His hand comes up to cup one of my cheeks. Warm. So big half of my face feels engulfed.
“Lizzy Banks . . .” He leans closer to whisper in my ear. “Always craving perfection. You can’t help it, can you? You think once you achieve it, you will be loved by one and all, even your father. And it makes you frustrated, shocks you to the core, because you also can’t help . . . wanting me . . . even when you know I’m far, far from perfect . . . still. Not quite perfect enough for the likes of you.”
I start to shake my head. Because that is not true. That is totally not true. True, I have high standards for myself, and for this project. But I’ve never really wanted to touch or change any part of him that makes him him because he’s totally irresistible and . . .
God.
Oh god ohgod ohgod. I’m falling. I can’t even fight it. I don’t even know if I want to fight it. All I know is that I keep wondering about him, this, us. I keep watching him work. Keep discovering more treasures about him to love, admire, respect, want. Tonight he amazed me, excited me. Before I can speak and
tell him so, he’s easing back to look at me again. “You do things to me.”
My heart is pounding. “You do more things to me,” I breathe. The beach, usually superpopulated by day, feels desolate. It’s like the night is ours. Like the world is ours. Like we’re a team, unstoppable. Meant to be.
It’s perfect. Tonight. HIM.
“So . . . what is it that you’ll . . . want me to do?” I hesitantly ask.
“Nothing. Just be here. Right here. And do this.” He leans down, and I tilt my head a little upward. He teases my lips apart with his own.
Then we’re kissing.
We’re feverish as we taste each other, savor one another.
I have to peel away with effort, panting out as I tug on his shirt, “You. In me. Hotel.”
He doesn’t immediately strip, merely studies my lips with hooded eyes, his eyelids heavy, his pupils so blown up his eyes are nearly black.
My throat feels swollen and thick.
What was I thinking? That I could create a human being, as if it were art . . . and I could remain unmoved, unaffected by it. Unchanged by it.
I thought I wouldn’t become affected by it, touched by it, changed by it. By him.
How wrong I was.
Every part of this man has touched my life. Every part of him that I’ve touched has touched me back, and the parts that I had nothing to do with have outright shone on their own. Near blinded me. There is so much to him to admire.
I see him now and can’t hide my admiration. I don’t know if I’d have been able to stand three months of feeling imperfect—perfection has been ingrained in me. As if anything less is bad. But when I’m with him I want to shed that skin and just be me, the girl who tries to be perfect but never really buys into being all that. The girl who just wants to be happy, succeed in life, have her father’s love, joke around, and yes, even fall deeply and madly in love with the guy who will make her feel happy. Complement her perfectly.
My eyes water as I stare at the face of that guy—the one that has awakened all those feelings in me. The one I’ve been falling for since he was dirty, crass, bearded bar brawler Jimmy. Only to get rid of the static and outward differences to meet the man within—and to be swept off my feet and stumped by what I’ve found.
I’ve never met a human being that made me feel as alive—as perfect, even with my flaws . . . as seen . . . as happy . . . as free—as him.
We go back to the hotel. I shakily pull out my key card and hand it over, and he swipes it in the elevator and pushes the button to our floor.
The doors seal shut. And James looks at me again. His lips a bit shiny around his mouth—from my kisses.
His eyes heavy lidded as he runs them up and down my body.
Anticipation bubbles in my veins as he takes my fingers in his when the doors ping and leads me out.
He uses my key to let us into my room. As soon as the door shuts, he leans me back against it and growls as he sweeps down to push my lips apart again. I part my mouth, groaning when he gives me a toe-curling, soul-crushing kiss that has me liquid against him.
His tongue is hot and wet on mine, and when he groans, the sound pulses through me. Causing another wave of desire to ricochet through my body. He’s so sexy I can barely stand it.
My legs feel gooey as I grab his hand and lead him to the bedroom and pause as soon as we’re inside; I’m starting to undress him when he stops me.
“Elizabeth.” He shakes his finger at the window. “Out there, you’re the boss. In here, I make the rules.”
My heart skips a lustful little kick, but I protest out of conviction. “That’s not fair.”
He slowly lowers the zipper and lets my dress puddle on the floor.
“I’m not playing fair with you.” His eyes darken, those blue devil’s eyes drinking me in, in my naked state, darkening by the second. Darkening as his voice drops lower and lower, gruffer and gruffer. “Not now. Not a month from now.”
A month . . .
I can’t help but wonder if the timeline is deliberate. He said a month. As if he means to keep me bound to him until we aren’t working together anymore.
I refuse to think about letting go when I haven’t really had him in the first place.
“I feel you shutting down on me, and that can’t happen. Not with us.”
His fingers weave through my hair. I hold my breath as he ducks to my neck, and his lips channel more magic than a wizard’s spell. There’s probably nothing I wouldn’t do to finish out the night with James Rowan fucking me, taking me to new places, as he gives me the ride of my life.
He holds me by the back of my head, pinning me in place as he drags his lips up my chin and toward . . . god, yes.
Another burning kiss turns my knees to mush. I want him inside me, so desperately I might ask him to skip this whole thing. But I’m having too much fun for that—not that sex isn’t fun, but this body-to-body grind?
THIS is foreplay, and by god, I want to enjoy it.
His hands fall to my hips, and he looks down at his stretching cock, blatantly visible through the open zipper, teasing me with the heat of his arousal, teasing himself with the heat of mine.
“I’m on the pill,” I blurt, perhaps ruining the moment.
“No worries. I’m not going to need to run out for a condom tonight.” He pulls a strand from his slacks pocket.
I whistle. Impressed. “Somebody was confident.”
“Hopeful.” He drops them to the ground and grabs me closer, then lowers his head and kisses me until I see stars, his mouth working me over like the only thing that matters is showering me with complete adoration, and if this is adoration? I can’t wait to see him when he’s full-on committed to the cause.
God, just the thought makes me clutch all over.
I can practically feel my freedom slipping away. In some ways, we’ve been dancing long before this night. Dancing around the issue of him and me. Our differences . . . and our insane pull toward each other.
If we sleep together . . . when we sleep together . . . everything will change. I should be running scared.
As much as I’d like to take a few minutes to figure out how I feel about that, I can’t.
His attention to detail as he kisses and laps at me is like a sexual awakening, a movement that’s all about the experience, hunger, need.
I want him.
I can’t resist him. I won’t.
I want everything that I see in his eyes.
James
I kiss her, devour her mouth like it’s my last taste.
I’m in too deep, but there’s no turning back now.
Her body against mine is ruining me for all other women. The way she moves against me, the way her kiss melts my heart.
I can’t help myself.
There’s no help for a man like me with a woman like this.
There’s just Lizzy and me. Us.
And that’s scary as fuck.
“Are you sure?” I ask as she leads me to the bedroom.
Since when have I asked a woman if she’s sure, and when have I ever cared? I always felt like if things were moving along at a good pace, then a woman would stop me if she changed her mind.
And I sure don’t want THIS woman to change her mind, and yet I ask?
“I want you to be sure.”
And ask again?
What the fuck, fucker!
She nods, and I won’t say another word. I want to enjoy this moment, this sweet and fucking hot-as-hell moment.
The moonlight peeking through the sheer curtains provides a perfect view of her. I drag her closer. Watching her chest move quickly up and down as she throws herself at me and I catch her in the air, boost her by the ass to my mouth. Her lips meet mine, and she guides the kiss, her mouth parting for my tongue as her sexy little body rocks against mine.
“Promise me you won’t treat me like I’m fragile,” she begs me.
Fuck me, my brain is spinning a thousand miles an hour. I want to make love to
her and fuck her at the same time. I want her to scream so loud everyone in this building knows she’s mine.
I scoop her up closer and carry her to her bed. “You’re not fragile, sweetheart. You’re rare, and that makes you pure gold.”
I lay her down and then straighten back and strip, aware of her greedy little eyes taking me in.
Caressing every single one of my muscles. I smirk down at her, feeling fucking high as I lean over her, not getting enough of her mouth.
I run my hands up her abdomen, cupping her breasts.
Her hands cup my face, and I have no words. I’m dying here, dying to taste her, dying to feel her trembling beneath me.
Lizzy shivers more when I pull off her top and drag the tip of my tongue across her nipple. Slow, licking in circles. I love how she arches, how she’s ready for me, wanting me, waiting for me to thrust inside her, take her. Ravage her.
Savagely fuck her.
I suck her nipple, rolling my tongue against her soft flesh as I roll her thong down to her ankles. Flinging it away, I move between her legs and ease a finger inside her, loving the way her quivering walls close around my finger as she lets me take her a little bit at a time.
I’m dying here, dying because I’ve never moved at such a slow and easy pace but also dying because if I rush this now, I’ll fucking lose it.
And I can’t. Lose it.
Not yet. Not now.
Not when I’m right where I’ve wanted to be since the first day we met.
One of my hands pulls up one of hers, keeping her partly thrashing as I finger her again, finger her and lap at her lovely tits.
I ease back to jerk off my undershirt, then my slacks and boxers; then I crawl back over her, wanting her hands on me.
“James.” She blinks up at me as if she’s seeing all of me for the first time. And I’m so fucking sunk. I admire the pure look of flushed satisfaction, that marked look of insatiable pleasure washing across her flawless face.
By this time, I’d already be fucking for the finish, getting in, fucking long and hard, and getting out. Going home.
Except now I want it slow.