An Affair Across Times Square

by Rachell Nicole

  That notion left a sour taste in his mouth. How was he going to help this man stay out of prison? The DA had a real hard-on for this case. The media had been circling the waters for weeks: HOMELESS MAN KILLS MAYOR’S DAUGHTER. It was a topic rife with conflict, juicy headlines, and just enough public indignation to make it sell better than a presidential scandal. He ran a hand over the short stubble on the top of his head.

  He moved the papers around again, looking through the evidence for the dozenth time. No murder weapon, no blood inside the tent, positive ID of victim’s blood on his client, client’s fingerprints on the body. The crime scene photos made him ill. He pushed them aside, back into an envelope where he couldn’t be tortured by them any longer. He didn’t know how the crime scene techs and the cops did it. Seeing the pictures was bad enough; he couldn’t imagine being at a crime scene. The thought made him shudder.

  He closed the folders and put them in his briefcase. Surely he’d be back in the office over the weekend, writing up opening statements for the trial scheduled to start in just three weeks. He had another interview set up with Paulson next week, more notes to take, more research to go through. The team had been making a lot of headway, and he’d need to read all of it in the next few days.

  Just as he readied to leave, he stole one more peek across the street, into Ms. Marietta’s room. She stared back at him. He looked at the clock on his desk. Seven p.m. He’d been in the office fourteen freaking hours. This late on a Friday night, even with a big case impending, the office must be mostly empty. She just stood there, one hand on the curtains, looking at him. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say her body language looked uncertain.

  Maybe he should wave at her and walk away. Give her a taste of her own medicine. She smiled, though it looked tentative. Who was this insane creature? He knew he should go, should just ignore her. But the need to know more about her, to figure out what had made her open that damned curtain in the first place quickly killed that idea. She lifted a piece of paper against the glass. Sorry was written across the paper in big black letters, and he couldn’t stop himself from smiling.

  He watched as she kicked high-heeled sandals off her tiny feet. He may have preferred she stay in them, but as she moved the sign from in front of her and stepped back into the dimly lit room, he didn’t much notice the lack of heels. She seemed inclined to offer up an olive branch in the way of nudity as she began stripping. She pulled off a navy blazer, revealing the bright red of a button-down shirt. The color looked gorgeous against her dark skin. She unbuttoned the shirt with quick, deft fingers.

  The contrast of her black bra beneath the bright red was beautiful. She left the shirt hanging open, unbuttoned. She undid navy Capri pants and slid them down her thick, well-toned legs and kicked them aside. She rolled down her knee-high stockings but left the bright red shirt in place. Red was most definitely her color. And it matched the heat coursing through his body. No one had ever affected him so thoroughly or so quickly before. Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun.

  His heart slammed in his chest as he watched her. She seemed to be waiting for something. Maybe she expected him to strip again, but he wasn’t ready for that yet. He had no way of knowing whether she’d run off again. He would not be getting naked for her anytime soon. He licked his lips, enjoying the view. Then she held up another piece of paper.

  Do you want to watch?

  The question should have given him pause, should have brought reality crashing down on his head, but instead, he just nodded in response, picking up his own piece of paper. He jotted a short note in big black letters on the yellow legal pad. The woman had the most amazing underwear. Simple red lace panties and a black lacy bra. But God, she made them sexy. On anyone else they would have looked ordinary, but Ms. Marietta couldn’t look ordinary if she tried.

  She put up her index finger and disappeared from view. He held his breath, waiting to see if she’d gone for good this time. But she came back a moment later, a pair of rectangle glasses perched on her nose. He shivered. Every sexy-librarian and teacher’s-pet fantasy he’d ever had sprang to life in his head. She bit her bottom lip, and he wheeled his desk chair closer to the window, locking his office door along the way. He didn’t think he could stand and watch her. His knees might do something embarrassing like give out on him.

  He smiled at her. Her answering grin was evil. It made his stomach muscles bunch. She licked her top lip and then turned away, giving him a beautiful shot of her rear end as she leaned down. Her fingers pulled her high-heeled sandals back onto her slender feet, and she fiddled with them, tying them up her delicate ankles and swinging her posterior in the air before him. She took another minute, moving her head to the side as she stood completely bent over. She caught his eye and winked. Then she stood up in the most exquisite slow motion he’d ever witnessed.

  She turned back to face him, sliding her hands up the insides of the dress shirt and filling her palms with her lace-covered breasts. Her head dipped back, and her lips parted on a sigh, but she still looked right through him.

  LAYLA FELT THE answering rush between her thighs as she massaged her breasts. As she watched Mr. TS watching her. She dipped one finger into the edge of her lace bra and found her nipple. She used her thumb and finger to pull it into a hard peak as wet heat bathed her panties.

  She looked up to see a command in his dark hands.

  Take off the bra.

  She could let him dole out orders without losing the upper hand. She could close the curtain at any time. And the intensity with which he watched her drove her wild. He could order her about as much as he wanted—just so long as he kept looking at her with such desperate longing.

  She moved her hands from her breasts, reaching behind her to unclasp the bra. It was still held in place by her breasts and the button-down shirt she had yet to remove. She slid the strap of the bra down her right arm, bending her elbow to pull it free of the shirt, then sliding the sleeve back into place. She did the same with the other strap. He’d said to remove the bra, not the shirt. So she kept the cool silk fabric against her boiling skin.

  She turned to stand before him, wearing her heeled sandals, red panties, and matching silk shirt framing her torso. He seemed to clench the arms of his desk chair. She stole a furtive glance at the other windows, breaking eye contact with him for a moment. It was just enough to let the doubts in. Her fingers itched to close the curtain, but she’d promised herself she’d let this play out—that she wouldn’t run screaming in the opposite direction if things got too wild, too fast. She could act like an adult.

  She wanted things wild. She wanted him wild. To fill him with the same reckless edge she felt, bringing him to the point of desperation. She dipped a finger into her hot mouth and trailed a wet line down her chest, circling her nipple. She could practically hear his groan. She covered her other nipple with her saliva, her sheath clenching with need as she pulled and twisted her nipples into ripe nubs. He opened his suit jacket and tie, unbuttoning his shirt all the way but leaving it on. Just as she had.

  She remained standing on shaky legs as she played with her nipples, sending shock waves through her body. She watched in delight as Mr. TS began unbuttoning his pants. As he slipped his hands inside and let his cock spring free. She licked her top lip, wondering if he was imagining her tongue against his salty flesh. She couldn’t stare into his eyes as he stroked himself. She had to look down, to watch his every movement as he massaged his hand up and down and up again. She pulled harder on her nipples, moaning in the empty hotel room.

  She moved closer to the window, resting her forehead against the cool glass. She needed another hand, one to slide against her clit and push fingers deep inside her sheath while she tugged on her too-sensitive nipples. He jerked harder on his cock, and she looked up to the ecstasy on his face. He was close to coming. And she wanted to join him. She gave up her left nipple in favor of sending her hand in search of more sensitive nerve endings.

  Her gaze
dipped back down to his cock as she found her clit with her thumb and index finger. She followed the rhythm of his hand with her own, still twisting her right nipple. She moved again and again, harder, faster, against her clit until she watched hot jets of cum soak into his hands and stomach. She pinched her clit between her fingers and screamed, convulsing until she could barely stand.

  Layla dropped her shaking hands to her sides, opening her eyes to look over into his. A small smile lightened his chiseled face. His cheekbones were high, his chin square. He looked more like a model than a businessman. Someone who belonged on underwear billboards, not stuck behind a desk in some office for thirteen hours a day. She wondered what he did that made him work so much. Workaholics had never been her type, but Mr. Times Square didn’t appear to be an “all work and no play” kind of guy.

  He reached behind him and grabbed a box of tissues off his desk. He pulled some free of the box, wiping himself clean. It took more effort than she thought possible to stand upright. Layla placed a hand against the window to keep from falling. She needed to clean herself up too. She wanted a shower, but she didn’t want to just retreat into the confines of her cold hotel room. Again. She didn’t know what the hell they were doing, but she wouldn’t dismiss the way his look made her feel. No matter how unconventional things got, this was the closest she’d had to a real connection with a man since Jason, the married jackass.

  So she pulled a chair closer and sat, moving the edges of her shirt closed just a bit, barely covering her still-sensitive nipples. The brush of the fabric against her skin sent a little aftershock through her body. Mr. TS closed his pants and stared at her, a mix of wonder and satisfaction on his face. She couldn’t believe how well she could see his facial features when he sat just on the other side of his window. This part of Times Square was narrower, only the expanse of a few car lanes and a small triangle apex of pavement in the middle. At ground level, the distance seemed more. But up here, it looked and felt almost as if he were just a few feet away instead of forty or fifty.

  A cool blast of AC tickled the back of her neck, bringing goose bumps dancing along her skin. She smiled at him, wondering what thoughts ran through his head. Could he be as crazy as her? He held up a sign, and she froze.

  What’s your name?

  She couldn’t answer that. She wouldn’t. If he knew who she was, she wouldn’t be able to hide behind her perfect persona. She shook her head. No way.

  He set the paper on his lap, a small frown pulling down the corners of his thick mouth. She couldn’t let him think they were going to get involved for anything more than this crazy voyeuristic fling. She refused to let it be any more than that. If he wanted more, he’d have to go somewhere else to find it.

  He flipped the page and wrote something else.

  Hi.

  She found an answering smile on her face before she could stop it. She picked up her own notepad.

  Hi, she wrote back. A lame-ass response. She held it up and watched a smirk curve his mouth. He was beautiful when he smiled. Not handsome, not fine as hell—which he was all the time—but beautiful. She wondered if he would think of that assessment kindly or find it insulting. Most men didn’t like being identified as beautiful.

  She fought the urge to cross her arms over her chest. She felt more exposed now than she had moments before. What a strange pseudoconversation they were having. She didn’t hate it.

  Who R U?

  She wasn’t sure how to respond to that question. She thought for a few moments while he watched her. What could she say to that? She wrote out an answer and held it up.

  A woman.

  He shook his head at her response. She lowered the pad of paper. He bent his head over his notebook and scrawled something else. She had thought at first he had a shaved head, but now she could see just a touch of stubble covered his scalp. He paused as he wrote. It looked like he was thinking much too hard about something. He crumpled up the paper and threw it on the floor and started again, his movements hesitant. Things were beginning to border on awkward. How could she get them back on track? Taking her clothes off again seemed like a mighty good idea until she saw his next sign.

  U married?

  Oh, she felt ill. He wasn’t even sure she was single. What a scumbag. But then she had an even worse thought. She’d been much too distracted to check his left hand. What if he was married? Could she have been so stupid as to inadvertently run over her moral compass again?

  She shook her head and pointed back at him. When he shook his head in response, she felt a rush of relief. Thank God. At least she’d avoided being that idiotic. He smiled at her as he wrote another note. He held it up.

  I feel like

  He felt like what? Oh, that could be the opening for so many things. She waited for him to continue on a second sheet.

  I should take

  She clutched the edges of her pad of paper.

  you to dinner.

  She held up a finger and waggled it at him. No, that wouldn’t do at all. This had to be a no-contact kind of deal. She watched as he leaned back and laughed. She would bet money that his laugh was deep, rich. Something wonderful to hear and pretty magnificent to watch. He laughed with his whole body, his shoulders shaking, his mouth open wide.

  She scribbled another note. It’s kind of late. Don’t you need to go home? She had to put it on four pieces to make sure the words were big enough to be seen. This was ridiculous. How could she be having a conversation like this?

  He shrugged one big shoulder. His eyes still twinkled with the vestiges of his laugh. He shook his head and then stood. Apparently he’d decided he should go home. Maybe he had a hot date waiting for him at a fancy restaurant. She looked at the clock. Eight p.m. on Friday—definitely date night. The idea of him on a date with someone blonde and modelesque made her slightly nauseated. She ignored it.

  Mr. Times Square moved closer to the glass and kissed the fingertips of his right hand, then spread them out wide and blew on them, sending the kiss over the heads of hundreds of people below and straight into her heart.

  Chapter Eight

  Layla smiled, but then she turned her head to the side, in essence refusing his kiss. He grabbed the pad of paper.

  What, is kissing on the lips too personal for you? he wrote in big block letters over four sheets of paper. Then he watched as the movie reference registered and her big brown eyes widened even more. That’s right, I’ve seen a “girlie movie.” He’d actually seen Pretty Woman about a zillion times because Mandy had a Julia Roberts obsession.

  She gave him a quizzical look, then put up her hand and waved him off. He wanted to taunt her with the knowledge, since she seemed so keen to keep him at a distance. But he refrained.

  Go home. She mouthed the words to him. He needed to go home, especially since he would have to come in tomorrow, but he didn’t want to leave. He wondered if she would still be there when he got back. He had to ask. Had to know if he would see her again tomorrow.

  She froze as she read his question through those adorable little glasses. He watched her body still, could almost hear her intake of breath. She must feel the need to keep him at arm’s length. Well, he’d just have to see what he could do about that. He couldn’t tell if she wanted to play coy or mind games. Maybe she felt as conflicted about this entire situation as he was becoming. He still couldn’t believe he’d actually undone his pants and relieved the pounding ache in his cock that had been there from the moment she’d stepped into his life.

  How could he be so wrapped up in her already? Watching her there in such abandon, with incredible pleasure on her face, he hadn’t been able to stop from joining her, from letting her know just how amazing she was.

  After a full minute, she nodded.

  I have to work tomorrow, he wrote.

  Then I’ll keep the curtain closed.

  He couldn’t stop the disappointment that bloomed in his chest. Coy could quickly border on frigid bitch. He couldn’t be sure where she landed
on that scale. But she continued writing, holding up pages one at a time. At this rate, they’d both go through an entire pad.

  Wouldn’t want to distract you from your work, now would I? She smiled at him. Coy, apparently.

  Sometimes distractions are good, he replied.

  She made another shooing motion with her hand, and he figured she was right—time to call it a night. For now. If she continued as a guest at the Marietta, he could take the time to get to know her a bit. To get her to trust him enough to maybe take her out to dinner. They were doing everything completely backward, but that didn’t bother him much. He had to know more about the woman who had seduced him so thoroughly. Had to be closer to her. She was too amazing to let slip through his fingers.

  He buttoned his shirt and picked up his tie and coat from the floor. He stuffed the tie in his briefcase along with a few notes on the case he wanted to review tonight. The whole time she watched him like a cat stalking a butterfly. The feline image strengthened when she stretched languorously. The movement pushed her breasts against the thin fabric of the shirt, and he stared at them, his mouth ready for a taste.

  She stuck out her tongue, and he turned off his office light with a little wave. He waited in the dark, knowing she could still see him in the lights from Times Square, until she waved back. Then he turned and unlocked the door. With another longing glance across the street, he left.

  When Tyler got down to street level, he yearned to run across the square and find her. He could approximate her room from the position of the window outside. But he’d scared her off by being naked earlier, then almost scared her off again when he’d asked her name and if she would be there tomorrow. Going after her like some sex-crazed stalker would not endear him to her.