Heels of Steel

by Barbara Kavovit

  She looked away, upset. “No,” she admitted grudgingly. “I completely blew it in our meeting.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I basically told him that I thought the design was a common, hard-edged, boring corporate tower. He didn’t appreciate the input.”

  He laughed in disbelief. “Oh, Jesus. Why would you say that? That would have pushed every button Mark has. He’s such a snob about architecture. He thinks any design he likes is top-grade shit.”

  “You could have told me that last night!” she wailed, covering her face with her hands.

  His voice changed from amusement to concern. “Hey, so you lost your chance. Another one will come along.”

  She could feel her face go hot. “You really don’t get it, do you?” She laughed. “I mean, of course you don’t. You inherited your business from your daddy, who inherited from his daddy and on and on!”

  “Just three generations back,” Jason put in mildly.

  She ignored him. “Do you know how hard it was to build what I built? Do you have any idea?”

  He shook his head. “I’m sure it was hard to lose your business. I can’t imagine. But I’m also sure you can build it back up somehow. Learn from your mistakes. Make it bigger and stronger this time. Maybe not with this project—but something else. Something much smaller that doesn’t have as much risk and that won’t take as much capital to get started.”

  She laughed bitterly and then took a deep, ragged breath. He had no idea. She had been so close. She could feel the tears swelling in her throat. She didn’t want to cry in front of this guy.

  He opened his mouth to say something more and suddenly it was like slow motion. She saw his full lips, the five o’clock shadow around them, the way his green eyes met hers filled with pity and concern. And she couldn’t take it anymore. She didn’t want to hear anything more from him. She didn’t want him to look at her that way. So before he could make her feel even worse, she thought, the hell with it, snatched off her hard hat, tilted her face up and covered his mouth with hers.

  He didn’t even take a second before he was kissing her back. It was as if he’d been expecting it. He grabbed her by the shoulders and crushed her to his chest and she could feel that he was already iron-hard. She dropped her hard hat on the ground with a loud thunk.

  This is a mistake. This is a mistake. This is a mistake.

  She didn’t need this right now. She didn’t need the complications. She didn’t need to get involved with the competition. She hardly knew this guy...

  He moved his mouth over hers, teasing her lips apart with an insistent tongue. He slid his leg between her knees and urged her thighs open. She could feel herself melt.

  God, he feels so good.

  He swept his tongue into her mouth, bit down lightly on her lower lip. She heard herself groan.

  He’s the competition.

  His hands moved up from her shoulders and settled in her hair. He gripped her head and positioned her face under his, tilting up her chin so he could get deeper access to her mouth.

  But you didn’t get the job. There’s no conflict. He’s not the competition anymore.

  He left one hand in her hair and moved the other over her cheek, trailing down her neck, slowly heading for her cleavage. Her breath caught and her chest swelled, urging him on, offering herself.

  This could be trouble. But I don’t care. I want it.

  She pulled back with a gasp, looked up into his eyes, which had gone almost black with desire, kept her hands gripped on his shoulders. “My place is closer than yours.”

  Chapter 24

  Bridget’s place was like her—small, but beautiful, sexy, earthy, generous. Seeing it, finding all the cozy little pockets of comfort, the layers of color and texture, made Jason realize just how much his own home was lacking these things. His place felt piecemeal and thoughtless compared to hers. A perch, not a nest.

  Her apartment felt lived-in in the best kind of way. Worn braided rugs scattered over pine floors, a deep, comfortable couch covered with brightly colored pillows and throws, a few toys thrown around here and there. No view to speak of—just the street down below, framed by pretty, bright green curtains. Only her tiny kitchen felt less than loved. He raised his eyebrows when he saw how empty it was.

  “I don’t cook,” she said defensively.

  “I do,” he answered, sweeping his hand over the single butcher-block counter and wondering how she lived with only one cabinet.

  She showed him Dylan’s room. His window looked out onto a brick storefront, but the walls and ceiling were painted sky blue with white fluffy clouds floating through; his toys were cunningly arranged, and when Jason looked at the tiny bed he felt a pang. It didn’t seem that long ago that Alli would have fit into something that small.

  “He’s with his dad tonight,” she said, and he nodded, knowing that she never would have brought him here otherwise.

  He’d peeked into her bathroom on the way into her bedroom and seen the claw-foot tub, the original subway tile. It all looked newly refurbished.

  “Did it look like this when you moved in?” he asked.

  She laughed. “The last time it had been updated was probably 1987. Think popcorn glitter ceilings, entire walls of mirrors and every room painted either fuchsia or aqua. I cut a deal with my landlord to trade work for rent.”

  Her bed was small by today’s standards, only a full-size, stacked with purple pillows and made up with a lofty, shimmery down comforter hidden under an apple-green cotton quilt. Once he was in it, he was surprised to realize that he actually liked the lack of space. There was a way you could lose each other in a California king. He and Hana used to make love and then roll over to sleep on opposite sides of the mattress, sprawled out but never touching. In this bed, all flesh pressed to flesh and if one person moved, the other always felt it. It was erotic and satisfying, creating an instant intimacy. Her small body curled into him, her smooth, supple limbs tangled with his, her sweet breath warm on his cheek, her long, dark hair tossed over his chest and shoulders like a silky mantle of cloth.

  Jason had slept with his share of women and he’d had some good and even great times. He thought he had understood everything sex could be, but there was something different in making love to a woman as powerful and strong-willed as Bridget. Not only because she didn’t hesitate to take control when she felt like it—there was an incredible pleasure in being led down her particular roads and paths—but because when he flipped the script and she surrendered, he felt like he had won some hard-fought battle, and that it was absolutely necessary that he be the most gracious kind of champion.

  She was beautiful, of course. Her body was as breathtaking as he had guessed it would be, all firm curves and silky skin. When she bared her breasts, he had stopped in his tracks and just stared, feeling like a giddy adolescent boy drunk on wonder and excitement. And she was generous. Generous with her body, generous with her touch and his pleasure. And she was surprising; after he had kissed off her lipstick like he had been waiting to do all day, her face was revealed to be young and sweet, but that feeling of innocence was contradicted by the darkly intense look in her eyes. He wasn’t sure what to believe.

  It all felt...new, which Jason had never guessed this particular thing would feel again. And after she shuddered underneath him, soft and delicious and wildly exciting, and then he followed with an almost violently pleasurable ending of his own, he lay there with her, full of wonder, chuckling softly to himself that, at forty-two, he had somehow started all over again.

  Chapter 25

  Bridget felt like she was made of butter. No, not butter; there was nothing greasy or oozy about what she was feeling. Maybe whipped cream—soft, formless, but airy and light.

  “Or maybe I’m just hungry,” she said out loud.

  Jason turned toward her, stroking the length of her neck. She s
hivered in pleasure. He had hard, rough hands—a builder’s hands—but he had shown her he could use them in surprisingly gentle ways. “I’m starving,” he announced. “Let me cook for you.”

  Bridget looked at him out of the corner of her eye, still not quite able to comprehend what had just happened between them. There was no doubt in her mind—this had been the best sex of her life so far. Maybe the best she would ever have. She couldn’t explain it, but they had come together in a whirl of chemistry and passion and unslakable need so complicated and shocking that she felt like her brain had simply shut down from the pleasure. She had been out of her head with lust, completely immersed in his body, in the way her body responded to his body, in the weird and wonderful feeling that they somehow already just seemed to know each other. There had been no self-consciousness, no awkward bumps or mismatched moments, just fluid grace and uncontainable excitement.

  He peeled back the lilac-colored sheet she had pulled up over her chest, baring her breasts and making her nipples pucker in the cool evening air.

  “God, you’re gorgeous,” he said.

  She smiled and sat up, pulling the sheets back up over her. “So you never told me. How did it go for you and Harrington today?”

  He groaned. “Do we really want to talk about that?”

  She nodded. “Just tell me. It’s going to bother me all night if you don’t.”

  He rolled toward her. “I’m going to be here all night?”

  She scooted away from him. “That’s not what I said.”

  He sighed. “It was fine. The usual. He asked me to submit a budget. The end.”

  Her mouth turned down. “The usual for you, maybe.”

  “Bridget,” he said. “Is this really how you want to spend our time? Didn’t you say you were hungry?”

  She thought about it for a moment. He was right. “Didn’t you say you were going to cook for me?” she said in return.

  Chapter 26

  Jason was looking at the fish counter in Whole Foods. He wanted to make something special for Bridget, something delicious and comforting, but he knew that he couldn’t do anything too fancy or she’d spook. In fact, he was probably taking a risk by even going out to shop. He was pretty sure that there was a fifty-fifty chance she would bolt the door and refuse to let him in when he returned, but there had only been some withered lemons, a bottle of wine and something green and unidentifiable in a take-out container in her refrigerator. Even he couldn’t do anything with that list of ingredients.

  He looked at the careful piles and neat stacks of fish and crustaceans all spread out in front of him, glistening on the ice. Salmon? Sure. That was safe. Everyone liked salmon, right? He’d get some of the sockeye and slow-cook it in that way that left it juicy and tender. It wouldn’t take long, even slow cooked; salmon was a quick dish.

  He ordered a pound and a half—the woman needed some leftovers to fill that sad refrigerator, for God’s sake—picked up a loaf of sourdough bread, a wedge of triple crème cheese, a container of arugula, a bulb of garlic, some butter, olive oil, a small bottle of good balsamic vinegar and then, making a wild guess, two chocolate-covered Rice Krispies treats from the bakery.

  He carried his bag of groceries out of the store and walked down Greenwich. It was pleasantly warm tonight. Spring was ending and summer was really starting to kick in. The streets were full of couples—women in bright little dresses and miniskirts and sandals, men at their sides in lightweight suits, their jackets tossed over their shoulders and shirts open at the collar, women with women, men with men, too. Everyone seemed to have big grins on their faces, and Jay found himself grinning right back. Was there a better city on earth? He freaking loved Manhattan.

  Jesus, he couldn’t remember the last time he felt this good. His body ached in that satisfying, tired way that only happened after great sex. He could still smell Bridget on his skin—sweet and musky like sandalwood or lilacs, but also something more primal and earthy—her deeper, sexy, natural scent underneath the perfume, like salt and sugar. Just smelling it turned him on all over again.

  What a day! He had dealt with his ex-wife in a way that didn’t make him cringe in regret or want to punch a hole in the wall afterward; Alli had given him a kiss and thanked him for taking care of her while she was sick before she had gone back to her mom’s place; and then, to top it all off, he’d just had the kind of sex that he was certain he was going to remember for the rest of his life.

  Also, he heard a voice in his head that sounded like his father, you pinned down a pretty big job opportunity for the business. Don’t forget that.

  He shifted the bag of groceries to his other arm and steered around an elderly couple shuffling down Broadway together, hand in hand.

  He wished Bridget had come out with him, but she had shooed him off, saying something about taking a hot bath while he was gone. He imagined her walking with him through the summer streets of Tribeca, her arm looped in his, him slowing down to make up for those crazy heels she seemed to like. He imagined them arguing good-naturedly about where they’d go for dinner. He knew that if he was with Bridget, there would be a lot of discussion. She was a woman who wanted her way. But he didn’t think he’d mind so much.

  Hell, just thinking about it made him grin like a fool.

  Chapter 27

  Bridget stepped out of the bath and wrapped herself in a big, thirsty towel. She checked herself in the mirror; not too bad. Her hair had gone to curls—it was a humid day and the bath hadn’t helped, but she’d pinned it up and off her face, and she figured it looked good enough. She reached for some lip gloss but stopped. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes were bright—she had that natural flush that couldn’t be replicated with anything but hot sex. Why mess with it?

  She wandered back into her bedroom, dreamily searching through her closet for something to wear. Something comfortable but not too sloppy. Something sexy, but not over-the-top... Finally, she settled on a short, Marc Jacobs tunic dress made of pine-green jersey that would leave her legs bare and show just a little bit of cleavage.

  A pretty navy-and-net La Perla bra underneath, a matching pair of boy shorts, a spritz of Escentric Molecule 01 perfume in all the obvious places and a few more subtle ones. She slid on the green dress and looked at herself in the mirror one more time. Okay, maybe just a touch of lip gloss and a little mascara. Sex flush or not, it never hurt to improve from good to sexy best.

  She sighed happily as she went to the kitchen for some wine. She couldn’t believe she was in a good mood. Six hours before, she’d basically had her dreams shattered, lost the chance to compete for the biggest job of her life, and here she was humming in the kitchen while she poured the rosé.

  Maybe it wasn’t the worst thing ever that the job fell through.

  After all, she wouldn’t have let things go any further with Jay if they had truly been in competition. And maybe he and Ava were right. Maybe she should start small. Maybe the whole thing was crazy. An image of him holding himself up over her, his biceps bulging, his eyes shut in pleasure... She felt a bolt of heat dash through her.

  Maybe there really could be some winning in losing, she thought.

  She tried to remember the last time she’d had sex before tonight. It had been a while. Months, actually—a brief fling with a landscape architect in the Hamptons. He’d had great abs, a nice smile and was boring as shit. It had taken her a couple of months before she realized his conversational skills weren’t getting any better and the sex probably wasn’t, either.

  She was starving. She wondered what Jay was going to cook for her. Then she rolled her eyes, thinking how she best not get her hopes up. Knowing her history with men, chances were he’d probably show up with some frozen pizzas and call it nouvelle cuisine.

  Her phone chimed from inside her purse where she’d thrown it when she and Jay had first come into the apartment. Probably Ethan again, but what if it wa
s Jay with a question about dinner?

  She sipped her wine as she dug through her purse and unearthed her cell. Squinting at the screen, she saw that she had missed a call from—her heart sped up—Harrington & Kim.

  She held her breath as she hit Play on the voice mail and lifted the phone to her ear.

  “Hi, Ms. Steele!” the voice of Mark Harrington’s assistant chirped over the line. “It’s Liza from Harrington & Kim. Mr. Harrington asked me to call and invite you to submit a preliminary budget for the HealthTec project. He said to tell you, and I quote, ‘I thought about it, and you just might be right about the design.’ End quote. Anyway, please call back if you’re interested so we can make sure you have all the information you need. I hope to hear back from you soon, and have a great afternoon!”

  Bridget’s hand trembled as she slowly lowered the phone to the counter. Everything had changed all over again. She wasn’t out, after all. They wanted a budget. She was still up for the biggest job of her life. A skyscraper. Half a billion frigging dollars. Her eyes darted wildly around the room. Who should she call first? Ethan? Ava? Her mother?

  Jay.

  Damn. Jay. Jay, who had also been asked to submit a budget. Jay, who was now her direct competition.

  Her doorbell chimed.

  Jay, who was freaking standing outside her building waiting to be buzzed in.

  For a moment she hesitated, then she hit the button. “Jay?”

  His voice crackled over the speaker. “Hey. Yeah, it’s me. Do you like salmon? What am I saying, everyone likes salmon, right?”

  “Hang on.” She hit the button again, letting him in.

  What should she do? Should she even tell him?

  A rap on her door. She slowly walked out of the kitchen to answer. There he was. Tall. Gorgeous. Smiling at her. A heavy bag of groceries on one arm. He leaned forward to kiss her as he came in, but she stepped out of reach.