An Affair Across Times Square

by Rachell Nicole

  He lifted a hand in the air, making a twirling motion with his finger. She obliged, turning in a slow circle, arms held away from her body. He nodded once. Her hand went up to her throat, and she made a motion with it he didn’t understand. She pulled her hand down from her neck twice more, and he finally got it. She wanted him to loosen his tie. He wanted to do anything she told him to. He’d never been so infatuated.

  He moved his fingers to his neck, pulling the tie loose but not undoing it entirely. The silk felt slippery in his sweaty hands. He licked dry lips, wondering why it was suddenly 95 degrees in his office. She smiled at him, then made a “continue” motion with her hand. The woman must be crazy to think he was going to strip in his office. And he must be even crazier, because at that moment he wanted to do nothing but. He pulled his tie the rest of the way loose, yanked it from the slip of his collar, and tossed it onto the floor.

  She unbuttoned her jacket, and he wished her fingers were his. She slid the gray fabric off one delicate shoulder, showing just a hint of bare skin beneath the thin strap of her top. She held the jacket there, staring straight through him. Daring him to do the same. She lifted her still-covered arm, pointing a finger at him, then crooking it. She wanted him to stand up. To come closer. He glanced again at the other windows—still deserted. He stood from behind his desk, walked around, and sat on the edge of the dark cherrywood.

  She tilted her head to the side, presumably admiring the view. She pulled the other side of her jacket halfway down her right arm, and her breasts filled out her thin shirt perfectly. He swore he could see the dark tint of her nipples through the shirt, even from this distance. She raised her chin at him.

  My turn. He took a deep breath. Then he pulled the two buttons of his suit loose, letting the coat slide down his arms. He swung it to the side and then turned his challenging gaze back to her. Her answering smile tightened his stomach…and his balls.

  God, he wanted to be in that room with her. To touch her, help her out of her jacket. Run his hands all over every inch of dark skin she revealed. But he couldn’t. Not because he thought she might have a husband. Not because he wasn’t sure how he would find her once he got into the hotel across the street. But because he was glued to his desk. Held in place by a giant magnet. He watched as she lowered the fabric inch by inch from her body in the most sensuous slide he’d ever beheld. She was much better at the whole striptease thing than him. He’d discarded his jacket in one slick motion. She took her time, wriggling free from it. He made the same “keep going” motion that she had, but she shook her head and pointed at him.

  His turn.

  He forced himself to slow down. He’d never tried to seduce someone by taking off his shirt before. He tried now. Gazing over at her and hoping she could feel the heat in his eyes, he slid his fingers up the front of his shirt, over his pecs to the collar. He slipped one button free, then another, pausing, still looking straight at her. He wished he could see desire cloud her gaze as she watched him, but he could feel the intensity just the same.

  He opened the top of the shirt bit by bit, creeping down to the next button, then the next. When the opening was wide enough, he pulled the fabric to the side, revealing his chest. He slid free a few more buttons, watching as she followed the movement of his hands with her eyes. She’d gotten closer to the window, almost pressed up against it. In anticipation? He could only guess.

  He pulled his shirt free of his pants and undid the last of the buttons. He slid the shirt down one arm, counting to five in his head. Then he slipped the fabric down the other arm. He couldn’t believe how erotic this dance was. How incredible he felt with her watching him. He tossed the shirt toward the window, the way a stripper might toss his outfit to the crowd. She threw her head back and laughed. Her breasts jutted forward, and he ached to touch her. He had to touch her.

  LAYLA’S LAUGH STOPPED when Mr. Times Square stood. His shoulders were broad—much too large to have fit into that dark purple shirt. He looked impossibly wide with nothing covering his ebony skin. Well-toned biceps, pecs, and abs shortened her breath. She bit her bottom lip at the sight of him. He’d moved closer to her. Or as close as he could from fifty feet away. He looked at her. Just looked, with his hands down by his sides and a barely-there smile on his face, and she felt trapped.

  The power she’d had in this relationship had shifted somehow, and she didn’t like it. She still felt sexy, in charge, wanton. But now she also felt on edge. He didn’t move, and she knew what he wanted—he’d shown her his; now it was her turn. Determined to regain control, she forced herself to break eye contact, turning her back on him. She walked away from the window a few feet, swaying her hips, knowing he sat behind her, watching her, stalking her. She could feel him. She looked at him over her shoulder as she began lifting the edges of her shirt.

  She knew his hot gaze never left her as she pulled up the fabric inch by slow inch, showing him her hips, the small of her back, until she had to turn her head to pull the soft cotton all the way off. Still with her back to him, she let the shirt slip to the floor. She smiled, wondering what he would do next. How far would he take this with her? Because as long as he kept going, so would she. She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth as his hands glided down to his belt. He yanked it free in one fast jerk, and she bit down on her lip. She didn’t think she’d ever seen anything quite so delicious.

  Damn, that man was fine, with a capital F. She feared if she turned around, she wouldn’t be able to wait for him to strip all the way. She might just lunge at him, only to be stopped by the double-paned window. She glanced for the zillionth time at the rest of the windows on his side of the street. They were dark. All except his. She wondered if he cared that someone besides her might spot him from another hotel window. If he did, he didn’t let it show.

  He unbuttoned his black slacks and stared at her, one hand holding the waist of the pants, the other twirling in the air, urging her to face him fully. She wasn’t sure she could. If she didn’t, would he stop? She couldn’t let that happen. It was too soon. Too early. She still felt too needy, but only for him. So she obediently spun toward him. Goose bumps pebbled on her skin. He smiled, a flash of bright white teeth against his dark mouth, and pushed the pants to the floor. She felt heat stain her cheeks.

  He stood there buck naked.

  Mr. TS was neither a boxers nor a briefs man. The thick length of his cock was as obvious from across the street as it would’ve been if he were standing beside her. And she found she was very glad they weren’t in the same room, because she’d never be able to stop herself from having her way with him. He kicked off his shoes, sliding his pants along the carpet and off to the side. She still held her lip between her teeth. He gazed at her, unabashedly naked and waiting for her to join him.

  But she couldn’t. Her stomach knotted. She wanted him too much. That wasn’t how this was supposed to go. He was supposed to be the safe option. Not the scary one. Letting herself get involved with him was a bad idea.

  So she closed the curtain in his face.

  Chapter Six

  Tyler stood shell-shocked for a whole thirty seconds. He knew because he counted them. He couldn’t believe she had just shut him down like that. Like he meant nothing. Like she hadn’t been the one to come on to him yesterday, and again today. He yanked up his pants. Indignation and something deeper burned in his gut. He stuffed his semiaroused self into the top of his slacks and buttoned them. That was it. He was going across the street to give her a piece of his mind.

  What kind of person did that to someone? He was so stupid. But the connection he’d felt with her in their brief encounters tugged strongly at him. He pulled his dark purple shirt up off the floor, disgusted with himself for having dressed an hour before with such care, choosing clothes he thought would make him look charming. Clearly she found him anything but. Could he have taken things too far? He buttoned up his shirt. She’d seemed so eager to egg him on, to coax him into stripping naked. And then she ran awa
y from him.

  She’d done almost the same thing yesterday, while he’d still been in shock from seeing her. Was she that much of a cock-tease, or was there something else at play? He didn’t know, and the unanswered questions bothered him. He slipped his arms back into his suit jacket and sat at his desk, trying to make sure his clothes didn’t look rumpled.

  He moved his laptop to block as much of her window as he could manage and got to work. He would worry about her later, when he took a break from this case. Right now he had to figure out how they were going to prove that Guy Paulson hadn’t killed Jeannie Rose. And hope it would keep him distracted enough that he could ignore the burning in his abdomen at her rejection.

  The DA was bringing this case hard. Anyone else defending Paulson wouldn’t have stood a chance. But Tyler knew more about criminal law than most of the associates and partners in the firm who had been practicing civil cases for too long. Paulson was lucky that Malcolm, Johnson, and Klein had decided to take on an “easy” homeless-person case. Lucky, too, that Tyler had volunteered for the pro bono team.

  Now there was so much interest in the case, and Johnson loved it. Anything high profile that would get their name in the paper, get them some good press. They didn’t come much higher profile than the mayor’s daughter. If New York still had the death penalty on the books, that was what DA Connely would be asking for. He shook his head.

  He had to find a way to help Guy. To prove his innocence to everyone else. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if the man got convicted. Seeing another innocent man go to prison would tear him up inside. The city was already being worked up into a lynch mob by the DA, mayor, and the press. Everyone had loved Jeannie Rose, and they were ready to blame anyone for her death. Especially a homeless man with savant syndrome, a disease most people didn’t bother trying to understand.

  He spent the next few hours stewing over facts in a case that just didn’t add up. He could only stop every other glance at Ms. Marietta’s window. The curtains remained closed. By eleven, he felt exhausted and ready to go home, but that wasn’t in the cards.

  He was ready to close up shop, at least for a little while, when he caught the barest hint of mocha skin peeking out between the stark white window fabric. The idea of strolling out of the room and leaving her to wonder what was going on for a change tempted him, but he quickly squashed that impulse. Instead, he sat immobile, his heart in his throat as he waited to see what she would do next.

  LAYLA DROPPED THE curtain back to its rightful place. She had no business opening it again. He was probably as exasperated with her as she was with herself. But she’d been too close to the edge, too close to doing something stupid and getting herself in trouble. She was tired of acting first and not worrying about consequences until they came up out of the shadows and devoured her whole. It was a character flaw she was dealing with, and he wasn’t helping.

  She had wanted a light distraction from Brian. Someone to help her let off some steam without being stupid, not someone built like a dark fabled god who seemed willing and able to play in her arena. When lowly humans played with the gods, they often found themselves strung up by their toenails. She had to keep the upper hand. Not let herself get duped or sucked in too deep and then thrown back out. Because she wasn’t sure she could survive that again. Jason had damned near destroyed her with his betrayal.

  She’d caught Mr. TS’s glance as he looked over at her, though. He was still watching her. Still as intrigued by her as she by him. She looked down at the big T-shirt that covered her to midthigh, though it slipped off her left shoulder enticingly enough. Not exactly a full seduction outfit, to say the least, but she could make it work. She looked at the clock. Eleven o’clock. No doubt many others would be in their offices at this time. Much too risky for her to open the curtains now. So she quickly showered and then put on a navy pantsuit with the pop of her favorite red shirt beneath it. She pulled her hair back into its demure bun and put on her thick-rimmed glasses.

  She looked in the mirror—the perfect image of a businesswoman greeted her in the glass. She stuck out her tongue at this sweet, innocent woman who was nothing like her, then closed the bathroom door, hiding both versions of herself from her gaze. She glanced back one last time at the window, deciding to leave the curtains partially open, even if she wasn’t going to be there. It would at least let Mr. TS know she wasn’t the cold fish she’d projected earlier.

  She didn’t know which persona was real anymore, but she walked over to the other side of the suite anyway and pulled the curtain open a few inches. Then she turned on her heel and waltzed from the room, refusing to see if he still wanted her from the other side of the street.

  She went to work, wondering the whole time if he would be waiting for her when she got home. The hours at the office dragged by as she made endless phone calls and looked through the case file. She had to call the defense attorney’s office, though she didn’t relish the idea. Layla always thought they somehow could see through her business guise and know how unfit she was to work in the real world, how unbusinesslike. Oh, how she dreaded speaking to stuffed-shirt, upper-crust, stick-up-the-butt, judgmental types.

  She waited on hold for almost thirty minutes until someone came on the line. How rude. If she’d been the DA himself, they’d have taken her call instantly. They didn’t think to take her seriously. Well, she’d show them.

  “Lachlan. How may I help you?”

  She bit her tongue to stop from shouting the first thing that sprang to mind. It involved several colorful words and sexual positions, and she didn’t figure that would win her any brownie points.

  “This is Attorney Morgan, with DA Connely’s office. I was calling to talk to someone working on the Paulson case. I have some questions.”

  “Okay, Ms. Morgan, what can I do for you?”

  He sounded distracted, but man, was his voice deep. A rich baritone with width and depth. It wound its way around her already taut nerves and tightened her stomach. She bit her tongue a second time, once again controlling her first impulse.

  “I need a list of your as-so-far compiled witnesses. I can stop by on my way home in about an hour to get it.”

  “That won’t be necessary, Ms. Morgan. I’ll have it faxed over in the morning. We’re still working on it. Just a few more calls to make between now and then. There’s no reason to put you out.” He was trying to dismiss her. Ugh. As if she’d let that happen. He thought she was some secretary he could just brush aside. Well, Mr. Lachlan was in for a nasty surprise.

  “Look, I was called in especially for this case, and I’ve been given the authority to speak on behalf of the DA’s office. I need that list. Tonight. Besides, tomorrow is Saturday.” She didn’t need the list before Monday. It could have waited. But now he’d pissed her off, making her wait on hold for a half hour like some insignificant peon. Not happening.

  “I understand that, and I apologize on behalf of this office for any delay in the process we are causing. But DA Connely has pressed for our expediency already, and I am not going to allow that sense of urgency to disrupt my client’s right to due process and to a proper defense. We simply are not ready to share this information. You do, however, have my assurance that it will be sitting on your desk come Monday morning. If you would kindly give me the fax number again, as I seem to have misplaced it, I’ll be sure to send it directly to your attention myself.”

  She fought the urge to grumble as she sat down, deflated, in her chair. It puffed with air as she flounced onto the cushion. He hadn’t said anything out of line, exactly. Nothing she could claim to be slighted by, but something about him irked her. She did not like this man, despite his deep voice. But, she supposed, working at a law office like his in NYC, scumbags extraordinaire tended to rub off on you, even if you’d started out with a soul. No doubt he had been saddled with the case before they realized it was a murder trial, and he was in way over his head.

  Invoking his client’s right to due process would ge
t the DA’s office to back down, at least momentarily. Because she knew they’d been pushing the case too fast. It was probably the biggest reason she’d been called in to help—they needed the extra eyes and hands, as well as her expertise to get inside the defense’s head. An ability she would put to good use now, dismissing this Lachlan character as easily as he had her.

  “Monday it is, I suppose. Thank you.” She passed along the fax number and couldn’t get off the phone quick enough. He seemed just as inclined to skip the small talk, so she hung up a moment later, her thoughts turning back to Mr. Times Square. What was he doing in his office right now? Would he be there when she got home? She looked down at the clock. Only one way to find out. She packed up her stuff and headed home, the large case file in tow. A long weekend awaited her. Chinese takeout and a little fling with Mr. TS might do her some good.

  Chapter Seven

  Tyler wanted to kick himself for his stupidity. He shuffled papers around on his desk, unable to focus on anything. That “special” woman on the phone had ruffled his feathers. Who was this Morgan character, and why had she felt the need to tell him she had been called out especially to work on this case? He didn’t care. And she’d probably been full of bull, anyway.

  He’d have to ask Williams about her, figure out what her deal was. But in the meantime, he’d just sit here like a loser, watching for a light to come on across the street. The curtains had been pulled open a couple of inches late that morning, showing him just a glimpse of Ms. Marietta. It had been enough to pique his interest. To have him sitting behind his desk long after he should have gone home for the night, for the weekend. He’d been there thirteen hours already. But there he sat, like some fool. Pretending to work, knowing he should corral his attention and think about the case and what the prosecution would try to use against his client.