Duke of Manhattan

by Louise Bay

  Where the fuck was she? I wouldn’t be half as tense as I was if she was here. I wouldn’t be worrying if something had happened to her but also because when she was close, she always gave me something to smile about, whether it was her perspective on a problem at work or the slide of her hand over my chest.

  When had I become that guy?

  I ran my free hand through my hair as Frederick reappeared.

  “You okay, old chap? You look a little on edge.”

  I shook my head. “I’m fine.” But I wasn’t fine at all. I wanted to be discussing my day with Scarlett, not Frederick.

  A bang on the door interrupted my list of catastrophic things that could have happened to Scarlett. Was that her?

  I sprinted to the front door and she almost fell inside as she struggled with the key in the lock. “Goddamn key,” she said, muttering into my chest.

  I was so stunned and happy to see her, I didn’t notice that her hands were full as I pulled her against me.

  “Hey,” I said, squeezing her tight.

  “Errr, hi. Can I just …” She wiggled free of my arms and I saw the bags she was carrying.

  “Sorry, let me help you with that.” I was so relieved at being able to touch her again I nearly forgot Frederick was sitting on my sofa.

  She didn’t meet my eyes as she handed me a bag that had a bunch of tulips poking out of the top. She’d had time to go shopping, but not call me back?

  I wanted us to have a few moments together, maybe share a kiss hello, but she swept past me and into the living room. Frederick had turned to face us and Scarlett beamed when she saw him. “Frederick! How lovely to see you. Welcome to New York.” She pulled him in for a hug. “What are you doing here? You should have said you were coming, and I could have rearranged my work schedule.”

  Frederick smiled, probably relieved Scarlett had released him from her hug. British aristocracy didn’t indulge in such things. “Last minute plan. I thought I’d surprise you.”

  Scarlett turned to me, still not looking me in the eye and pointed at the bags I was carrying for her. “Can you put those on the counter? I’ve got tarragon chicken if that works for you?” she asked, looking at Frederick.

  “Sounds great,” Frederick replied. “Can I do anything to help?”

  “No, tell us about your trip. I’ll put Ryder to work as my assistant.” She grinned and turned to look at me for the first time since she arrived. Even though I could tell it wasn’t as natural as usual, her gaze was like the sun, warming my body, relaxing and unknotting each tense muscle.

  “Can I get a glass of wine please?” she asked as she began to unload the bags she’d brought onto the counter.

  I wanted to drag her into the bedroom and have a private conversation. Ask her where the hell she’d been and why she hadn’t been answering my calls. Thank her for changing her plans, tell her I missed her.

  Instead I opened the wine fridge and took out a bottle of Pouilly-Fume I knew she’d love.

  I poured the wine, tuning out of the chat she was having with Frederick.

  “Thanks,” she said, not looking at me as she arranged what she’d bought in front of her. But I didn’t set the drink down. I stepped so close that I could smell that now-familiar scent of warm tangerine. It wasn’t perfume. It was just her.

  She looked up at me, her eyes slightly narrowed. She was pissed. Perhaps because Frederick’s arrival had interrupted her plans, but it felt like more than that. I set the glass down on the marble, the satisfying scrape of two hard surfaces sliding together making me realize I’d not been focused on Frederick since Scarlett had walked in the door.

  I circled my arms around her waist and pulled her toward me. She curled around my biceps and dug into my muscles, as she resisted my embrace. I bent my head to her neck, not wanting her to reject my kiss. “I missed you,” I whispered against her skin.

  She yielded a little, her thighs scraping against mine. “I’ve been busy—”

  I didn’t want to hear her excuses. I was just pleased she was back. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “I’m hungry. Can you let go of your wife for just a few minutes so she can prepare the chicken?” Frederick called from the sitting area.

  “Honestly, I’m not sure I can,” I replied, lifting my head but not taking my eyes from Scarlett.

  She tried to twist away but I held her tight. I didn’t know where she’d go if I released her. I bent my head again to her ear. “Whatever I did, I’m sorry.”

  She nodded against my cheek. “Let’s cook dinner.”

  I stepped back slightly, but kept my hand on her lower back. “What can I do?”

  “Get me an ovenproof dish for the chicken and a salad bowl?”

  Christ, she was amazing. She didn’t know this kitchen well, yet she was doing a great job covering that up by getting me to assist. “And the colander. You can wash the salad.”

  I grinned. I didn’t think there was a person alive other than my sister who would instruct me to wash salad.

  “You don’t mind eating at the breakfast bar do you, Frederick?” Scarlett asked as she prepared the chicken while I placed the things she’d asked for on the counter in front of her.

  Frederick wandered toward us, his drink in his hand. “Of course not. I’m here for the company.”

  Sure he was.

  “I have to say, this place isn’t what I thought. I’d expected it to have more of a woman’s touch,” Frederick said, glancing around.

  Scarlett laughed. “Give me a chance, Frederick. You must know that it was Ryder’s place before we got married,” she said, chopping the tarragon. “But I’ve had a few ideas of what I might like to do with the place.”

  Was she saying that just to placate Frederick, or did she really want to redecorate? Not that I minded.

  I’d let my designer pick almost everything for this apartment. If Scarlett wanted to make changes, I’d be happy with that. “What kind of ideas?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “Oh, just some things in the bedrooms,” she said, sliding the onion from her chopping board into the frying pan. “I was thinking of switching things up a little.”

  Fuck, I hoped that included her sleeping in my room. I’d missed her warmth next to me this morning when I woke. It’d felt like a piece of me had been missing all day. As I passed behind her, I placed the pepper mill on the counter and took the opportunity to press my body against her and kiss her shoulder.

  “You really can’t keep your hands off her, can you? I get that you’re newlyweds, you know. You don’t have anything to prove to me,” Frederick said, grinning.

  I flexed my hands and resisted the urge to punch him. “I can’t help myself.” I wrapped my arms around Scarlett’s waist as she continued to chop. Not because Frederick was here, but because I wanted to.

  Because I could.

  Because I’d missed her.

  I couldn’t remember the last time I’d ever missed anyone. Maybe my sister while I was away at school. But no one as an adult. What was my wife doing to me?

  Twenty-Three

  Scarlett

  “Give us a call if you decide to extend your trip,” I called out to Frederick behind the elevator doors as they glided shut. I hadn’t missed an opportunity to top up Frederick’s wine all night. He left fed, a little drunk and hopefully convinced that Ryder and I were the real deal.

  “I really hope he doesn’t,” Ryder mumbled as the elevator began to whir and I turned to go back into the living area.

  “You think that was a test?” I asked.

  “Of course it was a test. The man’s been to New York once in his life and he’s suddenly here on business.” He emphasized the word like it was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. But it didn’t seem so impossible. Surely, Frederick could have just hired a private investigator.

  The door clunked behind us. As soon as I walked into the living room and felt Ryder’s eyes on me, all my resolve to keep my emotions detached from him began to wob
ble. Being alone together, it was so easy to slip into married life or into that pretend world where I wasn’t pretending.

  How had I let things get this far? Why had I allowed myself to want something more from this man? I knew better. I’d missed him last night and I had no right to. And that was the reason I needed to leave.

  “I should go,” I said, heading toward my bedroom.

  “Go?” he asked, his voice following me down the hallway. “Where?”

  “I told you I was going to stay at my apartment tonight.”

  He took hold of my wrist and pulled me back from the entrance to the bedroom. “Scarlett,” he said, his brow furrowed.

  I glanced down at my feet. The way he looked at me was as if he really wanted me to stay—not because of our arrangement or because Frederick had just left. It was so easy to think that this was real.

  “I feel like I’ve done something wrong, but I don’t know what. Please tell me. Let me make it better.”

  I took a deep breath. It wasn’t anything he’d done. Ryder had been nothing but nice to me. Too nice. “No. It’s not that.”

  I tried to free my wrist but he tightened his grip. “Then what?” he asked. “I missed you.”

  I shook my head. It was him saying things like that which made it so easy for me to trick myself into thinking this was something that it wasn’t.

  “Scarlett? Did something happen at work? Or with your ex?”

  I glanced up to find Ryder scanning my face as if he was looking for clues. “No, it’s nothing like that,” I replied. “I’m just tired.”

  “Too tired to talk?”

  “Talk?” Presumably it was a euphemism for sex. “Yeah, I’ve had such a busy day.”

  “So don’t go to your apartment,” he said. “I don’t want to spend two nights without you in my bed.” And there it was again, that pulse in my stomach at his words, dissolving the walls around my heart. Exactly the sensation I shouldn’t be feeling. Because I shouldn’t be feeling anything. But his closeness chased away the fight in me, and Ryder must have sensed it. He released my wrist only to pull me into his arms. “Don’t leave me tonight,” he whispered.

  “But I have to,” I said. I needed to rebuild my walls and I couldn’t do that pressed against Ryder’s body.

  “Don’t. Sleeping on your own isn’t allowed. The guest room is not for you to sleep in. And neither is your apartment. You belong in my room. Our room.”

  Was he just telling me what I wanted to hear? His expression was concerned and genuine. The problem was that I wanted to believe him so badly.

  “Scarlett,” he whispered for no reason in particular.

  I reached up and trailed my finger along his jaw. He felt like mine, but I knew he wasn’t. It was just so easy to pretend.

  He pressed his lips to the corner of my mouth. “Where have you been all day?”

  I was sinking deeper and deeper into him, into a life with him. And as much as I knew it was the last thing I should be doing, I couldn’t stop.

  I turned my head in answer so my lips aligned with his. I glanced up from under my eyelashes.

  “I want to make this right,” he said in a half whisper before kissing me properly, prying my mouth open and sliding his tongue against mine. He stepped forward, pressing me against the wall. He ground his hips against me, his erection thrusting against my stomach. Perhaps I’d be better able to resist him if he couldn’t do the things he did to my body.

  I threaded my hand through his hair as he reached beneath my skirt and yanked my panties down. The lace brushing the back of my thighs was like a match against a striker, everywhere he touched me burned.

  If only he’d stop touching me.

  “This pussy,” he said, casually rubbing his fingers along my folds. “I’ve missed it. You can’t torture me by denying me.”

  As if I had an arsenal able to torture him. As if he didn’t have all the power here.

  “I’ve not had you in thirty-nine hours.” He ran his teeth along my neck and my hips bucked off the wall. “It’s far too long.” He pushed two long fingers inside me and I sucked in a breath, my knees buckling. I needed this. His fingers. His cock. His mouth. I wanted everything from him.

  Which is why I should resist him.

  He slowly started to circle his thumb around my clit, his free hand on the back of my ass, pulling me into his touch. Between dirty words he plundered my mouth.

  I sagged, but he held me in place, his fingers circling and pushing, pressing and pulling. My orgasm whispered from a distance.

  Just a few hours ago, I’d needed space. Just a few minutes ago, I’d wanted to go home. But I had no control around him. During my first marriage, I’d always known what was coming—what lay around the bend in the road. But with Ryder, I was in new territory.

  “Ryder,” I managed to say. “We shouldn’t.” But I knew it was futile to fight my attraction to him. I wasn’t sure it was possible to be in a room with him for more than a few seconds without wanting him.

  “You want me to stop?” he asked. He released my ass and for a moment I thought he would let go of me entirely and the thought was horrifying.

  I shook my head and his fingers delved deeper inside me while he tried to undo his fly with his other hand.

  He let out a gasp as his dick sprang out of his pants and he rounded the crown with his hand. “You’re so tight. I want inside you.”

  I was seconds away from coming on his hand; I wanted to be able to milk his cock. I wanted him to feel what he did to me. “Yes, deep inside.”

  He dropped his lips onto mine, the heat of his tongue pushing deeper. I missed kissing him. As much as I might know it wasn’t what I should be doing, everything was okay when I was kissing Ryder, when we were close like this.

  I whimpered at the loss of his fingers. He grabbed my ass and lifted me up and against the wall. I squeezed my legs around his waist, desperately wanting him inside me but knowing it would almost hurt until I was used to him again.

  His tip brushed my entrance.

  “I’ll go slow,” he whispered. He must have known what I was thinking.

  I nodded, gasping as he filled me.

  “Fuck,” he said, stilling. I pressed my hips down anyway, wanting him too much to wait. “No,” he said, sharply. “I’m not wearing a condom.”

  I wanted to get fucked. Needed him to fuck me.

  I didn’t care about a condom. I didn’t care about getting in too deep. I didn’t want anything but the feel of his cock against my walls, driving hard flesh inside me chasing away my doubts. I’d do anything to get it. “Leave the condom,” I said.

  I wanted him close.

  “I’m clean. I got the results just before the wedding.” His words were breathless, his pupils dilated, his normally sleek hair a little mussy.

  I nodded. “Good, me too,” I said, trying to sway my hips to get him deeper.

  “Are you on the pill?” he asked.

  “Yes.” He slipped in just a little farther. Nothing was clear in my mind other than my desire to come, my need for Ryder.

  Slowly and with such control, he lowered me onto him until I was oh-so-full, so close to him.

  I pressed my palm against his chest, knowing that any movement would set my orgasm off. I wanted to simmer in the just before for a few moments longer.

  I concentrated on the way my skin looked against his, how his fingers felt digging into my ass, how he smelled of home. Despite every uncertainty—how I knew my heart would be safer—being here with him like this just felt right.

  My body dropped in the realization and I clasped him closer, dipping my head to kiss his jaw, his shoulder, his mouth as he pushed into me relentlessly.

  I threw my head back as he drove me harder and harder so close to the edge of my climax.

  “Oh Jesus, I love your expression right before you …” He jabbed his hips up like he couldn’t help himself and it set my orgasm free. It rippled across my body in waves, getting stronger and stron
ger as I dissolved, my heart spinning in my chest.

  The understanding that he was fucking me, unable to do anything else until he’d had his own orgasm, prolonged my climax; his desire for me was the ultimate stimulation.

  Just as the edges of my orgasm ebbed away, he grunted and dug his fingers deeper into my ass cheeks as he poured into me.

  His breaths were hot and fast against my neck, my head lay back against the wall, my legs wrapped around his waist.

  He growled, shifting us so he took more of my weight than the wall. I expected him to set me down, but instead he carried me into his bedroom.

  “I fuck you here. You sleep here. Not in the spare room. Not in your apartment,” he said. “Let me see.” He lifted my skirt as if to admire his work. “My come belongs here. In your pussy, dripping down your legs. You understand?”

  I shivered.

  He raised his eyebrows as if reminding me I hadn’t answered. I nodded. “I understand.”

  “Don’t leave again.” He tugged off my skirt, discarding it behind him, and undressed quickly, standing over me naked.

  I didn’t move. I didn’t dare.

  His eyes darted from my face down my body and back up. “Open your legs, Scarlett.” It was the same request he had of me the first time we slept together, but this time felt different. Before I’d been laid bare in front of someone I never had to see again. But now? I was living with this man. Maybe even sharing my life with him. But seeing the burn in his eyes, the need in the rise of his shoulders, I did what he asked willingly.

  He groaned. “Yes. Like that. Nice and wide.” Gripping his cock in his fist, he took a step closer, standing between my open legs that were dangling off the side of the mattress.

  “I need to fuck you all the time,” he said, using the tip of his cock to circle my clit. “And you need it, too. I know you do.”