His lips and his tongue became my best friends—and my worst enemies. They weren’t just edging me toward climax—they were driving me there with each swirl of his tongue, each kiss of his lips. When the table started to rock beneath us, I reached for his face in an effort to steady it, and met his gaze with my own. Chance needed no coaxing. When he kissed me, it was with abandon.
“You’re close,” he said. “I can feel it.”
His hands were once again on my breasts, which felt heavy and swollen with lust. I was about to tell him that, yes, I was close, when at the end of the hall, the elevator doors slid open—and everything changed.
An older woman in an elegant yellow evening gown stepped out of the elevator—but then stopped when she saw us entangled in each other’s arms. Without missing a beat, Chance swept me off the table and lifted up the front of my dress to cover me, but he was too late—from the cold look on the woman’s face, I could tell that she’d seen my bare breasts, and that what she’d seen and what we’d been doing had repelled her. From this distance, it could have been my mother’s own face gawking at me.
The shame and guilt I felt took me out of the moment.
What am I doing? What have I done?
Adrenaline shot through me. My heart started to quicken. Perhaps because the woman knew that she had the upper hand, she started to walk toward us with purpose, her head lifted just slightly too high.
Old money, I thought. No question.
But Chance was unfazed by her presence. He put his arm around my waist and turned me so that we faced her as she came toward us at a firm clip. I sensed that he did so because he didn’t feel the humiliation I felt. But how could he? He didn’t know me or how I’d been raised. I knew that he was trying to be supportive, and that neither of us should feel any shame for what she saw—but I did. I was riddled with it. In that moment, I felt like a slut, the tart my mother had always warned me against becoming, if only because of how her own sister had lived her life.
“And here I thought I was at The Plaza,” the woman said as she brushed past us. “Not Times Square.”
“Sorry to inconvenience you,” Chance said.
She gave us a withering look, moved to one of the doors to our right, slipped her keycard through the slot, and opened the door to her suite. Before stepping inside, she ran her fingers through her stylish, steel-gray bob, and then, keeping her features perfectly neutral, said, “I’m calling security. So it’s my suggestion that you either get off this floor, get out of this hotel, or get into your own room. I won’t tolerate your behavior. Neither will the hotel.”
Her gaze hardened when she focused it on me. “What a proud woman your mother must be,” she said. “How delighted she must be with how you turned out. If you were my daughter, I’d disown you. But maybe your mother already has.”
And with that, she was gone.
* * *
“I should leave,” I said to Chance when the door clicked shut behind her. “I can’t afford to lose my job.”
“Nothing’s going to happen to your job—I promise you that. My room is just a few more doors down. Let’s go to it.”
“No,” I said. “You don’t understand.”
“It’s just down here, Abby. Come with me. Don’t let her get to you.”
If she wins, then my mother wins.
I followed him.
When we arrived at his suite, he unlocked the door and opened it for me, the motion causing the lights within to light on their own. When I passed him and entered the suite, I felt his hand run down the curve of my back, which was enough to cause me to shiver because I’d just made a decision that could change the course of whether we went forward with any of this.
“I think I will have that drink,” I said. “Something strong. A vodka martini would be nice—if you have it.”
He closed the door behind us, and I could sense him standing behind me, wondering how this was going to play out.
“I think we should slow down a bit,” I said. “Neither of us is thinking straight right now. Before I sleep with you, I want to know who I’m sleeping with.”
When I turned to look at him, I expected to see disappointment on his face. But I didn’t.
Instead, I saw intrigue.
CHAPTER SIX
“All right,” he said. “A vodka martini. Olives?”
In the faint recesses of my mind, I could hear my mother’s voice scolding me, preaching scripture at me, telling me how disappointed she was with me—only this time I shoved her aside in ways that I hadn’t before.
I’m not going to let you in, Mom. Not this time. You’re not going to ruin this for me. I’m an adult. I make my own decisions now. You don’t have the right to judge me for them, and you sure as hell aren’t going to steal this moment away from me. Because guess what? I want this to happen. I want to have sex with this man. And I’m beyond tired of being who you want me to be.
“Three,” I said with resolve. “And make it dirty.”
He grinned at that, and then led me into the enormous living space, which had a Steinway grand in the corner of the room and windows that overlooked Fifth Avenue.
I focused on the views, and in the process, left my mother behind.
As he’d promised, the views were indeed spectacular, especially because so much of New York appeared to be twinkling with life right now. When I’d arrived for work earlier that afternoon, the sun had still been out. But now that it was dark, the city had become a dizzying, lovely display of lights. We were too far up to hear the hum of traffic coming from below, so what I saw was almost like a photograph—one I’d likely never see again.
Not unlike him.
“Have a seat,” he said. “Choose your chair or sofa. I’ll be back in a moment with our drinks.” He started to move away from me, but then stopped. “By the way, how dirty is dirty?”
“Filthy,” I said.
With a deep, disarming laugh that made me smile, he turned away and disappeared into another part of the suite. I went to one of the white sofas and sat down on it. A glass-covered coffee table separated me from the identical sofa across from me. To my right was the wall of windows and the magnificent slice of the city they offered. In another room, I heard liquid and ice being shaken.
I was shaking as well, but for other reasons.
While I sat there, I looked around for telltale signs of who this man was, but as decked out and as comfortable as this suite was, another hand—a corporate hand—had designed it. In fact, all around me was a slick sleight of hand that had succeeded in making this feel like a lived-in apartment, but it wasn’t. It was bizarre. While there appeared to be personal touches, there was nothing personal at all about them. Not one thing in this space offered me a glimpse into who this man was, other than the fact that he was wealthy enough to keep this suite as his own.
But then I already knew that.
When he returned with our drinks, I noticed that he’d removed his jacket and his tie, and that his shirt was unbuttoned at the throat. As he came toward me, I could see a hint of the smooth, tanned chest that lay beneath, and I’d be lying if I said that the sight didn’t arouse me.
He handed me my martini and said, “Should I sit next to you or opposite you?”
I was still unnerved by what that woman had said to me earlier. I needed a moment to relax and talk before we proceeded. “How about if you sit across from me for now? So we can face each other while we talk.”
“All right,” he said in a good-humored voice while he took the sofa across from me. “Let’s talk. I’d actually like to know more about you, Abby.”
My first instinct was to tell him to run. My life wasn’t that interesting. In fact, if anything, it was a boring grind. “Unfortunately, there isn’t much to know,” I said.
“Why do I doubt that?”
I waved my hand in the air. “Probably for the same reason that I sense a whiff of disappointment coming off the horizon.”
He cocked his head at that.
“So let me get this straight. You’re telling me that there’s nothing interesting about you?”
“What I’m saying is that when compared to your life, it’s only going to send you into a coma—and I don’t want to do that for a number of reasons.”
“I wonder what you know about my life…”
“Nothing really.”
“OK. So, I hope that you haven’t already labeled me, because I haven’t labeled you. Maybe you’ve had adventures that I haven’t had. Maybe you’ve had all sorts of interesting things happen to you that have changed your life, or your perspective on life. Have you?”
“Not yet, but I hope to. It’s one of the reasons I moved to Manhattan.”
He leaned back against the sofa and lifted his glass of Scotch to his lips. “You’re pretty hard on yourself,” he said. “Why is that?”
I shrugged. “There are a few reasons. First, I come from a small town and was born to deeply religious, working-class parents who still struggle to get by. Trust me—there isn’t anything of interest there. Second, I’m working hard to get through grad school, which takes up most of my time when school is in session. Third, I’m trying to make it in this city, which means working a lot, so I don’t have much of a social life.” I motioned around me. “And fourth, it’s unlikely that—after tonight—I’ll ever see anything like this or you again. Like I said—dull.”
“How do you know you won’t see me again?”
“I think we both know what the rest of the night holds for us, Chance. And how we’ll go on with our lives when it’s over.”
“I guess I didn’t get that memo. If you know how we’ll go on with our lives when tonight is over, I’d like to know.”
“I don’t know. Not exactly, anyway. But I have an idea of how it will go, and it’s fine. I accept it. It’s just that I’ve never done anything like this before.”
“You mean sharing a drink with a stranger?”
“Not in his hotel room. And certainly not after making out with him in an elevator that had a camera trained on us.”
“Oh, that,” he said. “That was pretty intense, wasn’t it? Same goes for how I took you on that table. Do you regret any of it?”
“No.”
“So, I have to ask—how do you know how tonight will end?”
“I just assume that we’ll go our own separate ways as if nothing happened.”
“Really?” he asked.
“How else could it go?”
“Who knows? I guess I’m not so cynical to think that tonight hasn’t meant something to me, because it has. Tonight, I met a fascinating, beautiful woman who caught my eye the moment I saw her, and that rarely happens because I’m usually too involved with my work. So, as far as I’m concerned, there’s something about you that I shouldn’t ignore, because I don’t do this often. I don’t know what will happen between us when morning comes. Maybe we’ll go our own separate ways. Maybe we won’t. I live my life open to possibilities, not closed to them.”
“It’s not as if I’m obverse to them.”
“Then what is it?”
“I’m just a realist.”
When I said that, he took a big swig off his Scotch and looked up at the ceiling. “Sorry to hear that,” he said.
“I’ve kind of had to be.”
“What does that have to do with this situation?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“I guess it isn’t. Enlighten me.”
“We’re from two different worlds.”
“And yet here we are in the same room talking with each other. Isn’t that weird? Those two worlds are unusually close right now. I wonder how that happened? Gravity? Is that it?”
“You know what I mean.”
“Actually, I don’t.”
“You’re rich. I’m poor.”
“Who’s to say that you won’t be rich one day, and that I won’t be poor again?”
“Again?”
“Yes, again. Maybe we’re just two people who happened to meet for a specific reason neither of us know about yet.”
“Now you sound like a hippie.”
“Probably because my parents were hippies. As for money? Money is just money, Abby. It’s a thing, not a person. It’s not important. It has no depth. In fact, it often just fucks everything up. Maybe we’re here tonight because this was meant to be. Maybe it’s as simple as that. Why complicate things? Why can’t we just be two people who have come together for reasons neither of us will ever know?”
“I didn’t mean to complicate anything. It’s just that you intimidate me.”
“Because of your perception of what I’m worth?”
“Yes—and because I’m attracted to you.”
His voice was gentle when he spoke. “Do you think that you’re the only one who’s intimidated right now?”
“Why would I intimidate you?”
“Because I can’t take my eyes off you. Because you’re one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever met. You’re bright. You’re unaffected. And yet somehow, you’ve also remained innocent. I can’t believe that you’re here with me right now.”
That caught me off guard. Looking the way he did, I naturally assumed that he could have whomever he wanted. But what did I know? It occurred to me that I was casting my own poor self-esteem and insecurities onto him, which wasn’t fair. He deserved better than that. He didn’t deserve to be caught up in my own baggage, so why was I subjecting him to it?
“Where did you grow up?” he asked.
“There’s a change in subject.”
“I think we need one.”
I lifted my drink to him in agreement and took a sip. “I grew up in Vermont. On a farm just outside of Burlington. You?”
“Idaho,” he said. “Not far from Boise, but in a town no one has ever heard of—that’s how small it is. Postage Stamp City. Something like that.”
“Former farm boy?”
“Guilty as charged.”
“At least we have that in common.”
“That we do. Do you miss it?”
“The farm? Parts of it. Especially my cat, Blanche. I miss her a lot. You?”
“Depends. When I’m away from it for a while, there are plenty of things I miss about it—the clean air, the open spaces, watching the livestock graze. That sort of thing. And yet, when I’m there, there are plenty of things I can’t wait to get away from. You know—like grabbing a pitchfork and slinging shit, for instance. Nobody misses that.”
I laughed at that. “They certainly don’t.”
“Which school are you attending?”
“Columbia. I’m going for my MA.”
“You didn’t get into that school without being smart, which begs the question—why do you keep putting yourself down?”
I didn’t answer because the question was too personal. There were plenty of reasons why I didn’t have the world’s greatest self-esteem, but that didn’t mean that we needed to discuss those reasons tonight. Or ever, for that matter. “Let’s just say that I was lucky to get into Columbia.”
“Let’s just say that you’re being modest. And don’t worry—I won’t press you on the question I really asked.”
“I appreciate that.”
“How are you spending your summer?”
“Working my ass off. With school out, I’m trying to make as much money as I can and sock it away so that the fall, winter, and spring will be easier than they were last year, which was hell.”
“How many jobs are you working?”
“Two.”
“That’s a lot of work.”
“It’s OK. I’m not afraid of work. I want a better life.”
“Most do.”
“What do you do, Chance?”
He sipped his drink.
“It’s not as if I can’t Google it.”
“Touché. I own businesses. Corporations. Patents. That sort of thing.”
“But you’re so young.”
“How young do you think I am?”<
br />
“That’s a loaded question.”
“I can take it.”
“Early thirties?”
“Good guess. I’m thirty-one.”
“My God—how have you accomplished everything you’ve accomplished so far?”
“Hard work—and a lot of luck. It’s a long story. A boring story.”
“Otherwise known as none of my business?”
“Otherwise known as things that aren’t important to me and hopefully aren’t important to you.”
“I was just curious,” I said. “And for a good reason—I came to this city to prove my parents wrong. Especially my mother, who feels that the city will corrupt me somehow. They’ve only ever seen me as this ‘simple girl from the country,’ and not someone who could possibly make it ‘in the big city’. They thought I’d fail and come running back to Vermont. But I haven’t yet, have I? I only asked because I’m trying to make it myself. There was no other motive.”
His face softened. “I’m sorry,” he said. “That was pretty knee-jerk of me. I have no reason to lump you in with the rest of them.”
“The rest of whom?”
“Let’s just say that they don’t matter. Honestly. And I’m not putting you off right now—they really don’t matter.”
Who doesn’t matter?
“All right. I get that.”
Otherwise known as ‘I don’t get that at all.’
“You know, I remember that feeling of wanting to make it. There are even times when I wish that I were just starting out again. It was fun when I was on the cusp of breaking through to the other side because I was creating things. Useful things. Things that would make people’s lives better and easier. But when I achieved that, life took a different turn. I don’t create things anymore—I just sustain things. Buy things. Keep the ship afloat.”
He paused, and then he seemed to reconsider what he was saying. “I don’t mean to complain because I have no right to complain. I’m very fortunate. Just be careful when you do make it, Abby. Everyone is going to want a piece of you, but not for the right reasons. It’s tough to find people whom you can trust. I mean really trust. I think that’s the worst part. And the loneliest. Disappointments that come from family and friends are the toughest to face, and to swallow. But you move on from them. You have to.” He stopped short of going any further and then held out his free hand to me. “And there you have it—my sorry story of woe. As if I have any reason to have one.”
Chance (The One More Night Series) Page 4