Jack had them stop just in front of the large stone steps leading up to the New York Public Library, a majestic building guarded by two massive stone lion statues, the tops of their stone heads now decorated with a two-inch layer of snow.
“What are we doing here, Jack?” she asked.
“Just trust me,” he said, giving her a small smile that made her knees weak. Out here, his face illuminated by the street lamps, she could more clearly see his penetrating eyes, his strong jaw, the dusting of a dark five o’clock shadow along his cheeks. He was undeniably sexy. And now he was taking her on an adventure, which made her want him even more. The danger, the unpredictability of the situation, was such a turn-on. Was going into the library at this time of night illegal? Most likely. But being here with Jack made her not care. A dull throb pulsed below her belly as she remembered the feel of his cold, calloused fingers exploring her. Right now she just wanted a place safe from the outside world where she could feel his skin on hers.
She paused and turned her head left, then right, wondering if anyone on the street would see them get into the building, however Jack was planning to. Luckily, the streets were clear.
When she turned back to look at Jack, the place he was standing on the sidewalk beside her was empty. Instead, she found him at the top of the steps, the door of the library wide open behind him. How did he...? she began to ask herself. But with Jack’s reputation, she knew it was better not to ask. Plus, it wasn’t like sneaking into the library was harming anybody.
“Come on in,” Jack called down to her, smiling.
Charlotte smiled back and climbed up to meet him. She still wasn’t sure how he got into the building. It was as if he’d merely walked through the wall. She would bet anything that Cal Johnson had taught him how to pick any lock in existence. It would’ve bothered her to know that, but tonight he was using his talents for a good cause. He was doing something just for her, something that would keep her from sleeping on the cold streets tonight, and she was grateful for it.
“You never cease to surprise me, Jackson Holloway,” she admitted when she met him at the door. Jack laughed lightly in response.
“You’re going to love this,” he said lowly.
The two crossed the massive foyer and zigzagged through the stacks of books. It seemed like miles. Jack led her up a few flights of stairs, her shoes clicking on the marble as she followed behind him. The sound seemed to echo throughout the entire space. Then they reached a small corner hidden in the back of the third floor. A section was roped off, the plaster of the walls crumbled and exposed. It looked like it was under renovation.
Jack stopped and stood in front of her, kissing her as he pulled her knit hat over her eyes.
“I want it to be a surprise,” he whispered against her lips. “Wait here for just a second.”
She stood in the spot and realized how eerily quiet the library was. She’d been here a few times as a kid and it was always buzzing with energy—tourists oohing and ahhing at the beautiful architecture, plenty of students at desks with their heads bowed in concentration, children tugging books off the shelves. It seemed like the least private place in the world. And now here she was, just her and Jack. The whole place to themselves.
She heard a door creak open and Jack’s voice telling her it was okay to pull her hat up. In front of her, amongst all the construction, was some kind of secret door. He was standing in the doorframe, a room dimly lit behind him.
“Come on in,” he said.
She walked over slowly and when the room came fully into view, she was dumbstruck. It was the most incredible thing she’d ever seen. The secret room was furnished with plush, deep red carpet and beautifully gilded lampshades that cast an almost ethereal glow. Scattered throughout the space were pieces of ornate mahogany furniture, including a lavish canopy bed dressed in silk sheets.
“What is this place?” she asked breathily.
“I found it while wandering around one day. Then I looked it up in a book and it says it was built in the late 1800s by one of the New York City elite. Rockefellers, Astors—I can’t remember which. But whoever he was, he used to take his mistresses here. Tell his wife he was ‘just going to the library’ and technically he wasn’t lying,” Jack chuckled.
“It’s absolutely breathtaking,” Charlotte admitted. “How often do you come here?”
Jack shrugged his shoulders. “Almost every night. The quiet helps me think.”
Charlotte knit her brow. “But you don’t live here, do you?”
Jack licked his lip. “Oh no, I don’t...but I’m just, uh, between two places at the moment,” he said uneasily.
She was perplexed, but didn’t want to press the subject. All that mattered was that she had him right where she wanted him. She crossed the room, closing the gap between them. She ran her hand through his hair. “So do I get to be the mistress?” she asked. The bold act was not like Charlotte, but her teenage self was screaming inside her, pleading with her to fulfill all those teenage fantasies of her and Jack. And the glint in his eye made it seem like he wanted exactly what she did, the pull between them so surprisingly strong, so electric. It was as if she’d been on his mind just as much as he’d been on hers.
Jack bent down a little and suddenly his arms were around her, picking her up off the floor and sweeping her into his arms. She let out a startled laugh.
“As long as you want to be,” he said as he carried her over to the bed.
He laid her down gently and Charlotte answered the question by silently pulling him on top of her. She reached down and fumbled with his belt as he tossed his jacket, shirt and gloves to the floor.
He bent down over her, pressing his body weight into her as he kissed her. He certainly wasn’t the skinny teenager she’d seen running down the streets of her neighborhood, police lights spinning behind him, anymore. She wriggled underneath him to lift her shirt over her head and his hands moved down the length of her body to remove her skirt. She kicked her boots off underneath him and heard them fall to the floor with a thump.
He kissed her down her body, his hands massaging her breasts, teasing her nipples into hardened peaks. Her breath grew shallow when she felt his tongue lightly flick one of them. When he continued to kiss down her belly, she sat up, pulling him back on top of her and urging him underneath her, her legs straddling him. She’d thought about this moment for so long, about what she would do to him if she ever had the chance to be with him. And for now, she wanted everything on her terms.
“You’re so beautiful, Charlotte,” Jack murmured against her mouth as she kissed him. She melted a little upon hearing the words tumble from his lips.
She pulled back, giving him a full view of herself before she kissed down his chest, down his rippling abs, and along the band of his boxers. She pulled them down slowly, revealing his massive length. He’d certainly grown in many ways, she thought to herself.
She stroked him a few times, feeling the smoothness and hardness of him. She heard Jack take a sharp intake of breath when she placed just the tip of him into her mouth, licking it, sucking it lightly with her lips. Then she sucked up and down the length of him a few times at an excruciatingly slow pace and Jack groaned. She wouldn’t tease him any longer; she could barely wait to feel him inside her.
She eased her soaking wet panties off and positioned herself on top of Jack. Straddling him, she hovered over him for just a moment, feeling the heat of him underneath her pussy. She rocked her hips, letting herself slide up and down the underside of his length a few times before she gripped his shaft and lowered herself onto it.
She gasped at how he filled her up so completely. He reached down and massaged her clit with a cold finger as she began to pump her hips, drawing him into her again and again.
She slowed down a bit, no doubt torturing him.
“Don’t stop,” Jack breathed as he reached to fondle one of her breasts. “You’re so tight and wet for me.”
Charlotte pumped harder, grind
ing her hips into his. Her stomach muscles tightened with every stroke as she drove his cock deeper into her. She quickened her pace and groaned when Jack moved his fingers in faster circles against her clit. Coupled with the intense friction of his cock pressing against her g-spot, she felt herself scream with an orgasm. She thrust herself harder onto him until she saw Jack’s eyes clench shut and come with a groan.
She crumpled over him, letting her pussy stroke him a few times before she climbed off him and laid her head on his chest.
He kissed her, his hands wrapped around her waist and pulling her close to him. He slipped a hand between her legs to feel her hot sex. Her clit was still pulsing with orgasm as he stroked it, spreading her wetness around her pussy.
“You’re so perfect,” Jack said. “I don’t want this night to end.”
“Me neither,” Charlotte admitted before kissing his cheek and turning herself on her side so that his body was behind hers. Jack shifted to lie on his side and she could feel his thick arousal pressing up against her ass. He draped an arm over her, his hand resting on her belly.
She was exhausted. The combination of seeing him for the first time in so many years and the shock and stress of being evicted—coupled with the physical exertion of the incredible sex—drained her of all her energy. With a soft sigh, she felt herself quickly falling asleep. Maybe tonight, in Jack’s embrace, she wouldn’t have the nightmare.
* * *
Charlotte punched her PIN number in the ATM’s keypad one button at a time before hitting enter. $20.00. The MetroCard machines were broken yet again and only accepted cash. Twenty dollars was all she needed in order to grab her subway card and her change—a fistful of golden dollar coins—from the machine before she could make it home. It was late. She was trying to do the process as quickly as possible, to get out of the small alleyway in the middle of the cold, dark night and return to the subway station.
A figure glowed in the top left corner of the screen. $3,837.68. All her wages from her measly summer waitressing job that had turned into a fall job, and then a winter job. She’d worked so hard to raise the money for her last semester at the local college. The ATM spit out her twenty-dollar bill and a question appeared on the screen in thick, white block letters.
MORE TRANSACTIONS OR RETURN YOUR CARD?
Her finger hovered over the option to return her card to her when she felt it. Despite the heft of her puffy winter jacket, there was something hard jamming into her right between her shoulder blades. She turned her head slightly and it was unmistakable: two men in black ski masks stood behind her.
“Drain your account,” one of the men ordered.
When she hesitated, he pressed the barrel of the gun harder into her back. “Don’t make this difficult,” the same man said again. There was something about his voice that made Charlotte think he was smiling under the fabric covering his face. The other man just stood there and she looked at him helplessly, silently pleading with him, but he continued to not move a muscle.
Paralyzed with fear, her survival instincts took over. She moved her hand mechanically over the buttons until the automatic message stating she had a withdrawal limit popped up on the screen. With a grunt of frustration, the man reached an arm in front of her and typed in some sort of code to disable it. He must’ve done that before because the next thing she knew, all the money in her savings account started to gather at the bottom of the machine, making the same noise as a deck of cards being shuffled.
The man moved the barrel of the gun to her face and she felt the cold metal against her cheek. She shivered as a single tear ran down her face. She was barely breathing. The man nudged her so that she stood away from the ATM.
“Put it in my backpack,” the man with the gun said to his accomplice as he turned his back to him.
The other man took the stack of bills and put it in the bag as he was told. Then, out of nowhere, the sound of sirens filled the night air. She must not have been their first robbery that night and the cops were onto them. The man with the gun muttered a curse and shoved her to the ground so forcefully it knocked the wind out of her. He must’ve wanted to ensure she wasn’t going to book it after them—not that she would have anyway, given the fact that he had a gun—or, what was more likely the case, was just trying to humiliate her further.
The man with the backpack and the gun bolted down the street, but his friend stood for a second and shifted his weight from foot to foot. Obviously shoving her hadn’t been part of the plan, and he felt unsettled. For a split second it looked as if he was going to reach out to her, but instead he turned on his heel.
But before he left and followed the gunman, he turned, giving her one last look.
She could barely make it out, but she swore he’d whispered, “I’m sorry.”
The line echoed in her head as her mind began to slip out of unconsciousness. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. She’d heard that voice before.
* * *
Charlotte woke up suddenly, drenched in sweat. The nightmare that had haunted her every night for the last year had returned once again. But this time, when she awakened, instead of clutching her hands to her chest in terror, her head was spinning. She realized she was clawing the velvet bedspread in front of her, her knuckles turning white. For the first time after experiencing this nightmare, something about the identities of the men who’d robbed her became a little clearer. There was something familiar about one of them now. Was the voice she’d heard Jack’s? Her suspicion that he was involved in her mugging made her so panicked she could hear her heart beating in her ears.
Charlotte slid out of the bed, careful not to shift too much and wake Jack. She looked down at him for a second, watching him sleep peacefully. The man who had just made her feel so wanted and loved—had he been part of the attack on her almost a year ago tonight?
After wrapping a bed sheet around her to cover her nakedness, Charlotte crept out of the secret apartment, her bare feet jolted by the chill of the marble floor. Outside the room, she was on the tall balcony overlooking what seemed like miles of bookcases. And down below, in the middle of the maze of shelves, was a librarian’s station.
Charlotte raced down the spiral staircase, barely able to catch her breath. When she reached the desk, she wiggled the mouse to wake up the computer, but once the screen came to life, Charlotte’s heart sank. It was locked. She dropped her head in frustration, rubbing her temples with the pads of her fingers.
But her head snapped up once she realized that the New York Public Library had archives. Hard copy archives.
At the far end of the main floor, she found an elevator and a map of all the floors. The lowest level held the archives. Bingo.
The elevator was old and antique-looking, with a dull gold gate Charlotte struggled to manually open and close. As the elevator descended, she felt each creak and groan of the ancient contraption. It must have been built around the same time the library was.
When she reached the archives, she wasn’t exactly sure where to start. After rummaging through stacks and stacks of paper, she found a few newspapers dated the day after she was robbed.
A small, local newspaper she’d never seen before had a police blotter. She scanned it until she found what had happened late that night. There didn’t seem to be anything until she reached the very end of the page.
December 31st, 11:16PM: Two men clad in black ski masks were struck by a car at Broadway and Bleecker Street. The pedestrians were both pronounced dead at NYU Medical Center Hospital at 12:00AM, January 1st. The driver, identified as Gregory Lancaster, sustained minor injuries.
That point in time precisely matched with the time of day and area where she was robbed. But the men had been pronounced dead. It seemed too coincidental that a car accident had happened so close in time and location to where she’d been robbed. The men who were killed in the fatal accident had to have been involved in the mugging. Perhaps there was a third man involved in the operation and Jack was the lone survivor.
Had Jack really done that to her? Shock ravaged her body as she broke out in a cold sweat. When she came to her senses, rage filled her. She sprinted through the library and up to the secret room. Jack was still sleeping.
She stood by the side of the bed.
“You lied to me,” she said bluntly. “You didn’t remember me from school, I could feel it. You remembered me from that night, didn’t you? I know you were there.”
Jack opened his eyes and sat up in bed. He swallowed a few times like he was disoriented. “You know I was where?” he asked.
“I remember your gray eyes peering at me from behind that ski mask, your voice before you ran away. Did you rob me?” she demanded, her voice raised.
Jack looked like she’d just punched him with all she had. “What?” he asked, his throat sounding as dry as sandpaper.
“Almost one year ago tonight. Did you rob me?”
He reached out a hand to hers, but she swatted it away. “Answer the question.”
Jack looked around the room like he was trapped. “Charlotte, please—”
Charlotte pinned the newspaper article into his bare chest with her pointer finger. “Can you explain this?” Her hand was shaking. “Please tell me you have an explanation.”
Jackson took the paper from her hands and turned it over. As he scanned it to the bottom of the page, his eyes widened.
“It says two men died just a block away from the ATM I was robbed at on Prince Street and Broadway. But you know who they were, right? It was you and two other guys and you got away. I’d been told by the police that my case was still pending, that they never identified my attackers. Why would they say that?”
“Because they wouldn’t have had any suspects to tell you about. Because the suspects they were chasing after were guys they’d been after for years—guys the police ran into oncoming traffic on purpose and then tried to cover the whole thing up.”
Tempted by His Wicked Kiss Page 4