He pushed the papers back into his slick black briefcase and moved with the subway train as it jerked to a halt. He got off at the square and walked to his office. He couldn’t help a few glances up to her window as he went. He let himself into the locked building and up to the eighteenth floor. What would she be doing so early on a Saturday morning? And why did she come home and undress from work clothes at six or seven a.m.? What kind of job allowed you to do that?
A horrible thought struck him. Maybe she was a high-end call girl, or a stripper or something. He shook his head. Call girls didn’t stay at swanky hotels unless they were with clients. And no one else had been in the room with her, except for the man he’d caught a glimpse of through the window. He wanted to know the answer, wanted to talk to her. To have an actual conversation. Not just write messages back and forth on paper. Maybe he could get her to write down her number. At least then he would be able to hear her voice, and he could ask her what she did for a living.
But she was slippery and contradictory. Would he be able to convince her to talk to him on the phone? Or better yet, meet in person. How much time did they have to build that trust? And why did the answer to that question matter so much? People didn’t stay in hotel rooms forever, so sooner or later they’d be parting ways. For his job and his sanity, he kind of hoped it would be sooner rather than later, but on a personal level, he wouldn’t mind if she stayed for a good, long time. The urge to unravel the mystery surrounding her felt like addiction.
Maybe he should have blinds or curtains installed in his office come Monday morning. It might help him resist her temptations. As he walked into his office and his gaze immediately traveled across the street, he knew that would never work. A movable visual barrier would be useless. Even a permanent one wouldn’t help him focus any more. He’d still look in that direction every five minutes, hoping he could come down with X-ray vision and see straight through to her.
Her curtains were firmly closed, as they should be for any sane tourist at nine a.m. on a Saturday morning. But it somehow felt more personal than that. Like she’d shut him out of her life on purpose. He knew how idiotic that sounded, but he couldn’t bother to care. He turned his back on the windows and surveyed the small office.
Only partners got the big ones. Junior lawyers in big firms got small boxes like this one. Interns, secretaries, and aides got the cubicles in the middle space. He couldn’t believe he’d been given a window, though all the offices were on the outer parts of the building, so they all had windows. His desk could only be moved a couple of feet, but after he heaved the heavy cherrywood sidewise against the wall and pushed his chairs beside it, he had a decent amount of open floor space he could use.
He pulled his briefcase open, setting out each individual paper in its own space. He needed to see the whole picture, to find the missing piece that would help him get Paulson out of jail. He had to prove to the jury and the rest of the city that his client couldn’t have killed Jeannie Rose. As much as or more than he needed Ms. Marietta to open her curtains to him and let him into her life, even for a brief time.
* * * *
Two hours later, he still hadn’t found anything he didn’t already know. Damn it. He wanted to throw all the papers aside in a childish fit. Why couldn’t he find what he needed?
He glanced up from his seated position on the floor, looking at all the piles of paper surrounding him, and sighed. He peeked across the street again, as he’d been doing every ten minutes or so for the past hour. Except this time, the curtains were open. And she stood on the other side of the window in a deep purple robe, staring at him. He wondered how long she’d been there witnessing him scrubbing his head and muttering to himself. He let himself be embarrassed, until he noticed the small smile on her face.
She lifted her hand just above her shoulder and waggled her fingers at him. If she felt any guilt from spying on him, it didn’t show. He supposed she had nothing to feel guilty over. He returned her half wave with one of his own, and a wide smile spread across his face. Files surrounded him, stressing him out, but in a matter of seconds, his shoulders relaxed. His belly tightened in anticipation.
He shuffled the closest piles aside, stretching out his legs in front of him, crossing his bare feet at the ankles. He hadn’t bothered with a suit today, and neither had she. Her silk robe hung open enough for him to see the tops of her breasts. His mouth went dry at the sight. She was there. Just like she said she’d be. He grabbed the yellow legal pad he’d been using and wrote a note on it with a marker.
I’d really like to hear your voice.
Too much. She blinked at him, unmoving. They hadn’t exactly established a relationship based on small talk, but maybe he should have tried to start with that instead. Honestly, though, he didn’t have the patience for bullshit. After spending all his days and half his nights surrounded by bullshit artists, he found he had little tolerance for it in his real life.
She pulled her thick bottom lip between her teeth. The adorable nervous gesture was becoming familiar. She seemed suspended in motion, and he paused with her, holding his breath, awaiting her response. She turned in a flurry of sudden movement. Shit. Would she shut him out again? Maybe he’d pushed it too far, too fast. She turned back after a moment, a corded telephone in her hand. He fought the urge to leap to his feet or slam his fist into the air in triumph.
He forced himself to slow his movements as he raised his arm to grab his phone off his desk. He set it on the floor beside him. Somehow he knew not to ask for her number, so he scribbled down his direct line on the paper and held it up for her to see. She waited a few seconds, looking at it, and he thought she might have changed her mind. But then she picked up the receiver and dialed. His phone rang a second later. He jumped at the trilling noise in his silent office. The first thing he heard when he picked up was the sound of her laugh.
She had a rich laugh, open and deep. Not the thin, fake kind of giggle he often heard in big crowds or in restaurants full of first dates. He listened to her laugh at him for a full thirty seconds, at a complete loss for words. What did you say in a situation like this? He’d never covered this topic in law school or read about it in a book.
“Hi,” she said, a chuckle still in her voice.
He smiled at her across the way. Well, they could start with that.
“Hi, yourself.”
Chapter Eleven
The sound of the deep voice in her ear stroked down Layla’s spine. A frisson of awareness went through her, like he had struck a perfect chord deep inside her. She didn’t know what else to say, so she just held the phone close to her ear and listened to him breathing.
Why did he come into his office this early on a Saturday? Freaking workaholic. Good thing she didn’t plan on trying to have a real relationship with him. She couldn’t deal with a workaholic. They destroyed relationships as quickly as she did. She’d watched it almost happen to her parents. Seen it with countless others too. But she wasn’t looking for a relationship, just a bit of fun with Mr. TS. She couldn’t believe she’d agreed to call him, but it felt good to take that baby step toward building something a bit more personal between them. His mouth moved about a second before she heard his voice.
“What’s your name?” The question sounded gruff, as if he were having trouble speaking. She shook her head.
“No names. That’s part of the deal. If you want this to continue, and you want to talk, there have to be ground rules.”
“Okay,” he said almost before she finished. Good. He’d agreed to play by her rules. She liked that. She sat on the carpet, crossing her legs before her. Knowing she had given him a glimpse of her bright blue underwear and her long legs beneath her robe.
“You already know rule number one. No names. Rule two—no personal information. I don’t want to know what you do for a living or where you grew up. I don’t want to know where you live.” It had taken her hours to come up with these rules. To force herself to make them so that she couldn’t take
things too far. Couldn’t get either one of them burned. They were more to keep herself in line than him, but he didn’t need to know that. “Three—don’t ask me to meet you in person. This is all we get. Any questions?”
The look on his face as he processed her rules melted her heart a little. It almost made her want to take them back. Almost. But they were in place for his own good, whether he liked it or not.
“Would it freak you out if I told you I’ve already given you a name in my head?” His brown eyes were serious, not teasing. She was tempted to tell him yes, to hang up the phone and pretend the stalker-like tendency freaked her out. But she needed to try to let go a bit at a time. Not crazy wild like usual, and not the reserved solitude she’d self-imposed over the past two years.
So instead she smiled at him. “Not at all, Mr. Times Square. Not at all.”
“Well, then, Ms. Marietta, I do believe it’s time for you to tell me what I am allowed to do.”
A slight challenge colored his voice, and she knew the answer. She wanted to watch as he undressed himself. She wanted to listen to his voice as he told her all the naughty things he wanted to do to her. She wanted to sit back and enjoy the show as he pleasured himself with the sound of her moans in his ear.
“I see we’re not wearing work attire today,” she said. She appreciated his tight, dark jeans and gray sweater. It looked soft. Made her want to run her hands over it. Though how he could wear a sweater in the middle of a New York summer baffled her. She’d been watching him, sure that if he’d had enough hair on the top of his head, he would have been pulling it out strand by strand. He looked stressed. Something deep inside her made her want to wrap her arms around him and help smooth the worry lines from his face.
He chuckled in her ear. It sounded like he was standing behind her. She had a flash of them pressed up against the glass as he pushed into her from behind, one hand curled in her hand, the other snaked around her middle. The heat of his breath tickling her ear as he laughed. Her breath hitched, her womb clenching. He must have heard the change in her breathing, for she could see him freeze. And all laughter disappeared from his voice when he spoke next.
“Neither are you.”
She could sense his hot gaze rove over her body, making her feel exposed. As if she wore nothing at all. What an enticing thought. But she wanted him naked and moaning first.
“Take off your sweater,” she commanded. Maybe she could ask him later why he wore it, but not now. Now she wanted to pretend to be unaffected by him. To be in control. But her voice came out a soft whisper, edged with just a touch of desperation. She knew he could hear it.
He fiddled with the phone and set the receiver down. She heard the slide of fabric against skin as he pulled the gray sweater over his head in one fluid motion. He must have put her on speakerphone. He wore a blue T-shirt underneath. So it must be cold in his office.
“Mmm, very nice,” she purred. Her voice wouldn’t be as close, as intimate on speakerphone, but she wanted his hands free. The thrill as he obeyed her coursed through her arteries, bringing waves of heat to her core. He turned his head to the side, waiting for her next instruction.
“Flex for me. Show me those beautiful muscles.”
He moved his arms, flexing well-toned biceps. She could see the muscles beneath the thin cotton shirt. “Take that T-shirt off.” He stood, lifting the edges of the shirt up and over his head. She admired the view of his chest, his abs. Then he started posing for her, and she couldn’t help a giggle. He looked equal parts ridiculous and sexy as hell. He turned his back on her and flexed again. How did a guy who worked in an office so many hours a day get back muscles like that? She had to remind herself he could hear her, so she clamped her mouth shut before gasping.
“Do you always go without underwear?” she said.
“No.” His voice sounded farther away now, but no less sexy. “That was just for you.” He turned and looked straight into her eyes, and she felt an answering dampness between her legs. He’d dressed with her in mind.
“Are you wearing any today?” She waited, holding her breath.
“No.”
The hot whisper of that one word was like a trail of wet kisses down her spine. She clutched the phone tighter in her hand, holding the cord with the other. She needed something solid to grasp when her world tipped sideways.
“Turn around.” She waited for him to comply. “Now take off your pants, slowly. Very, very slowly.” She wanted to see all those muscles in action. He undid his jeans and slid them down inch by inch over his hips, exposing the hard slope of his ass. He pushed the dark denim past his thighs and bent over to slide the jeans down his calves. As his back and ass muscles clenched, she caught sight of his hard, heavy length between his legs. She fought the urge to bite her knuckle at the sight.
He stayed in a bent stretch, touching his palms to the floor. Fine as hell, muscular, and flexible. What more could a woman want?
“Stand.” Her order came out a whisper of need, but he followed her command. He stood, still with his back to her. She admired the view for a few moments, and then she could wait no longer. “Turn around for me.”
He turned, and she couldn’t help the way her tongue darted out to wet her dry lips. She needed to see him in motion. To just watch. She didn’t think she’d ever been so hot in her life.
“Clean up that mess.”
“Yes, mistress.”
He pressed his lips into a straight line, as if he hadn’t meant to say that aloud. The thrill that danced through her at his reply surprised her. She’d never thought herself one for power games, but that was all they’d been playing.
“Well, get to it,” she snapped.
He bowed his head to her and bent to pick up the papers. He arranged them piece by piece into folders, then slipped each one into his briefcase. The process lasted so long she wanted to yell at him to hurry up. But the show was just too amazing. He was so comfortable in his nudity, moving with confidence and the surety that came with being at ease in his own skin. He didn’t try to fill the silence with nervous chatter, and through it all, he stayed hard. His thick cock bobbed with his every movement. She saw him from every angle. Back, front, side. Everything. He pulled a small towel out from his briefcase. After what seemed like an hour, he stood in his cleared office and stared at her, the blue cloth dangling from his fingers.
“Come closer, Mr. Times Square.”
“Of course, Ms. Marietta.” He moved closer to the window, almost touching it but not quite, and laid the towel on the floor before him.
“Show me how you like to be touched. Tell me what you’d like me to do to you.”
He slammed his left palm into the glass, and the noise made her jump. An ineloquent squeak escaped before she could stop it. He stared into her eyes as he used his right hand to grab his cock.
“I want you here. Right here.” He thrust forward into his hand. “Between me and the glass.”
She shivered, unable to move. Unable to look away. She watched, transfixed, as he thrust into his hand again.
“I want your legs wrapped so tight around me it hurts. I want your nails digging into my back. I want to have to hold on to the window, right here”—he tapped the glass, still working himself up and down with the other hand—“just to keep from falling over because it’s so hot I can’t stand without the help. I want you pleading in my ear to stop, to never stop. I want your lips on my neck, biting my collarbone because you can’t help yourself.”
God, she might come just from his words. He pulled gently on the head of his cock, groaning. The sound made her desperate for more. She watched as he stroked himself over and over again. His thighs clenched.
“I want your wet heat gripping me,” he moaned. “Just like this.” He gripped harder, increasing the friction, moving faster.
“Oh, yes. Come for me,” she ordered. “Come hard.”
Her breath came in short gasps as she heard him cry out and saw him spurt hot jets over his hand, on th
e window, and the towel beneath him. His unedited sounds of pleasure delighted her, almost as much as the glorious sight of him. After a few moments of standing there, staring at her and panting, he smiled. Then he licked his lips and bent to pick up the towel. He poured some bottled water on the cloth and used it to clean himself and the window. Still, she heard nothing but his gasps as his breathing returned to normal.
He placed one gentle kiss on the window, gazing at her, his face relaxed. No stress there anymore. He bent to put on his pants, and a sound of protest escaped her. He waggled his finger at her.
“Uh-uh. Your turn now.”
She shivered at the hint of menace in his voice. He finished getting dressed, then pulled his desk back to the middle of the room and put the chairs back where they’d been the day before. He sat behind his desk and picked up the phone, taking her off the speaker.
As he smiled at her, Layla found herself glad she sat on the carpet, because her legs were weak with desire. She was so keyed up she could barely stand it, and she knew she wouldn’t last very long. She wanted to keep his voice hot against her ear, but she also wanted both hands free, to give him even half the show she’d received.
“What are you wearing under that robe?”
“Bright blue lace panties and a matching bra.” Her voice sounded husky. She clutched the phone to her ear, not willing to give it up yet. “What do you want me to do?” Her words shook as she spoke. She surfed so close to the edge. So close to coming apart that just a few strokes of a hand would send her spiraling out of control. God, how she wanted to be out of control.
“Slip your panties off.”
She moved up onto her knees, sliding the lace down her ass and over her thighs. Then she sat back on the silk fabric of the robe and shimmied them down her bare legs. She tossed them aside.
An Affair Across Times Square Page 7