by S. J. Bishop
Burke went to open the door for me, but I waved him off. “I’m not Yvette,” I said. “I can open my own doors.”
Burke shrugged and hopped into the driver’s seat, turning the key into the ignition and allowing the car to roar to life.
While he maneuvered the car out of the parking garage, I shot off a quick text to Roz, updating her on the latest turn of events. Not that I expected anything to happen between me and Burke Tyler. I took him at his word. He wanted to talk, and it was easier to do so in private. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t going to fantasize about all the things that might happen.
Honestly, was Yvette insane? Who said no to someone like Burke Tyler? He was just so large, so raw, and so masculine. And dressed like he was – God, I wanted to rip his tie off of him, tie him to my headboard and have my way with him. I smiled at that. I didn’t think Burke Tyler was the type to let a woman have her way with him. He was probably all about control…
“What’s got you grinning?” he asked, looking over.
“Nothing,” I lied. “Where do you live?”
I’d be dishonest if I said I calmed down on our ride to his place. In fact, I seemed to soak up every single detail, each one sending me into a continued state of excitement. Burke smelled incredible, and the car smelled like fresh leather, and I kept turning to look at the side of his face, so incredibly chiseled… Maybe I’d rewatched season four of Vikings just to see his cameo. He was like some sort of fantasy made reality: a Viking who’d stepped out of history and put on an expensive shirt and tie… I kept imagining what it might be like to take them off.
Burke lived near Downtown Crossing in one of the gargantuan new high rises. His place was on the very top. “Bought it before they’d even started construction,” he said as we rode the elevator up.
“You like penthouses?”
“I like heights,” he explained. “Boston’s a neat city. There aren’t that many skyscrapers. Here, I’ll show you.” The elevator came to a halt, and Burke had to turn a key for the doors to open. When they did, I saw why. The elevator opened into his living room.
“Wow,” I said. I don’t know what I’d been expecting. Maybe something like Andrew’s apartment, with leather furniture and framed posters of football heroes. But Burke Tyler’s apartment was sumptuous. Where Yvette liked raw-edged modern furniture, Burke’s home was built for comfort. The main room was enormous, an open-floor concept with iron beams and high ceilings. The kitchen sat alongside the right wall, with the room opening up into a grand living room with bookshelves and an entertainment system, and beyond all of it was a huge wall of windows.
Burke didn’t give me much of a chance to look around. He strode toward the windows, and I followed in his wake. “There,” he said, pointing. “See?” There was a lot of light in Boston, but the moon was nearly full that evening and hung fat on the horizon, illuminating the black expanse of sea beneath. The Atlantic. He could see the Atlantic from this height. There were deeper spots of black, indicating the islands. I knew that in the daytime, this view must be spectacular.
“There’s a balcony out of the bedroom, too,” he explained. “So you can catch the sunsets in the west.”
“Amazing,” I said, meaning it.
“I’m going to get dinner started. Feel free to poke around,” he said, leaving me to stroll into the kitchen. The counters were black and white granite, and the appliances were all chrome. Burke loosened his tie and unbuttoned a few buttons on his shirt, revealing his thick, muscular throat and a white undershirt. My mouth went dry.
To distract myself, I turned my back on Burke and did as he’d said, exploring the living room and the formal dining room which sat just behind the wall of bookshelves. There were a ton of books on the shelves, and I investigated them. If you’ve seen Burke’s coffee commercials, or his Under Armour campaign, or any of his talk show appearances, you’d be shocked to discover that he read at all, let alone read books like Le Mort D’Arthur, The Unbearable Lightness of Being, or L’Etranger. He had a few old books of maps, too. In fact, the only book that seemed to have anything to do with football was a coffee table book that sat on a wide, glass table next to a pot of sprawling vanilla orchids. Oh. My. God. Someone had turned his ESPN body issue spread into a coffee table book.
I resisted the urge to sit down on his creamy, white sectional and see which photos hadn’t made it into the magazine. Maybe I’d order myself a copy. It seemed somehow rude to ogle your host’s naked body while he was ten feet away making you dinner.
Burke was using the island to peel and slice potatoes. Behind him, a pot of water had been set to boil. “I feel like Belle when she enters the beast’s library,” I teased, sitting down at one of kitchen island stools. Fuck. Was I flirting again?
“Beast, Savage,” murmured Burke as he peeled. He looked up at me, his blue eyes staring into mine, mildly irritated. “You and yours boss are going to give me a complex.”
“I doubt it,” I said cheerfully. I was feeling incredibly giddy. I’d seen the dining room table and was having trouble not thinking about being bent over it, with Burke behind me.
“There’s a wine rack over in the corner,” he said, nodding toward where at least thirty bottles rested in a large, metal rack against the wall. “Pick one out.”
Bright white to go with lobster. I went to find a Sauvignon Blanc. There were glasses atop the wine rack, as well as a corkscrew, so I uncorked a bottle and poured us each a glass. He had good taste. The wine was crisp and refreshing,
I’d imagined him to be a beer guy, but with Burke Tyler, I was beginning to realize that appearances were incredibly deceiving. So deceiving that I wondered if they were intentional. Was he misleading the world on purpose? And if so, toward what end?
I shook my head.
“What is it?” he asked, raising a thick, blond brow at me with curiosity.
“You think Yvette’s an enigma,” I said. “Jeez. You’re on a commercial in which you yell ‘It’s party time!’ and leap into a pool, holding a cup of Dudley’s iced coffee, and I just found a first edition copy of East of Eden in your bookshelf.”
He grinned at me, shrugging. “Gotta give the people what they want.”
“Do you?” I murmured, taking a long sip of the wine.
“So, tell me about Yvette. What do you know? Tell me about her family. About her upbringing. Anything that might help…”
Right. I was here to talk about Yvette. I took a deep breath and launched into what I knew. I’m loyal to Yvette, so it’s not like I was revealing her deepest, darkest secrets. Besides, telling someone that she preferred white chocolate to dark chocolate wasn’t the same as telling him that she had a heart-shaped mole on the top of her left butt cheek. Yes. I’d seen it. She was a model. She was constantly in and out of clothes in my presence.
I told him about how she’d grown up in Swiss boarding schools and how she was entirely self-made. It seemed that, with each bit of information I gave, he seemed more and more interested.
We talked for about a half hour before the lobster was ready. Burke didn’t bother going to his dining room table. He joined me on the other stool so that we sat shoulder to shoulder. He poured us both another glass of wine.
“Where did you learn to cook like this?” I said, nearly passing out after my first bite of lobster. He’d cooked it perfectly and had splashed some of the wine into the butter sauce so that it was mellow and bright at the same time. The potatoes practically melted in your mouth.
“My dad’s a chef,” said Burke. “He owned a restaurant in Santa Barbara. Hired me throughout high school as a sous chef.”
“And you became a football player…”
“I’m six-foot-seven and run like I’m at least a foot shorter. I’m better at football than I am at anything else. And I’m damn good at other things.” He winked. My heart fluttered.
“Can I ask you a personal question?” I said. He nodded.
“Why do you have a coffee table book that has fo
rty-six nude photos of you?”
Two glasses of wine had made me bolder than I might have otherwise been, and Burke blinked before opening his mouth and roaring with laughter. When he stopped, he looked up, his eyes still sparkling with amusement. “Doesn’t everybody have a coffee table book of nudes?”
“Is it wrong of me to admit that I want to see them?” What was I doing? Oh my God! What was I doing?!
“Please,” said Burke, smiling, and we moved to the living room. I sat on the couch, grabbing up his book and flipping it open to page one. Burke sat closer, and his presence overwhelmed me, making it hard to breathe.
The first few photos in the book were ones that I’d seen before, shots that showed off both Burke’s sheer size and athleticism as well as his “happy idiot” public persona. But as I flipped through, I saw why most of these photos hadn’t made the magazine. In them, Burke was much more serious. His poses more threatening, more masculine, and more raw. Silence descended between us as I flipped through the photos, stopping on one in which Burke was posed like the famous Thinking Man statue. His head was rested in his hands, his muscles were bunched and enormous, and his tattoo was in full view, with its tree and its ravens. Wow.
Beside me, Burke was still, but his presence was a force I couldn’t ignore. I looked up at him to see that he was looking at me curiously. As if seeing me for the first time.
“I like this one,” I said, and I knew I sounded breathless. I watched his eyes track my tongue, and I licked my lips, my mouth suddenly very dry. I wanted to reach out and have another sip of wine, but I didn’t want to break the sudden, electric tension that charged the room.
“That tattoo is one of the most magnificent things I’ve seen,” I said, needing to fill the silence somehow. “Can I see it?”
Burke held my gaze as he nodded and unbuttoned his shirt one small white button at a time. He stripped it off and tossed his shirt on the ground. His white undershirt was sleeveless and stuck to the impressive ridges of his muscle. He turned, presenting his left arm to me so I could see the intricate detail of the tree and see the hunger in the ravens’ eyes as they circled. “What’s that?” I asked, looking at where there seemed to be an outline of a hanged man near the top of the tree.
“That’s Odin,” said Burke. “A Norse god. He sacrificed himself to the Tree of Life in order to be able to see into the future.”
He was so close that I could feel the warmth of his breath. His gaze was devouring me whole. I couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop myself as my hand reached out to trace the edges of his tattoo. He seemed to shudder slightly beneath my touch. Goosebumps rose beneath my fingers. I looked up in time to meet his eyes. Both of us stilled as a jolt of electricity seemed to arc between us.
I don’t know which one of us moved first, but suddenly, we were on each other. I was half in his lap, his arms banded about me, his lips pressing against mine with bruising force. Oh God, the kiss was incredible. I’ve never been so hungry for someone.
He stood, holding me tight to his chest and, free from the couch, my legs wrapped around him, our kiss deepening, our tongues tangling, and our teeth clashing in our frenzy. Oh God, I was burning up, burning from the inside out.
Breath left me in a whoosh as I hit the wall, held there by his chest. One arm caged me in; the other wound into my hair, pulling it from its usual braid. My hips ground into his, and the bulge that met them was almost frightening. Oh God, I wanted him so badly. I whimpered into his mouth, and he seemed to growl somewhere deep in his chest.
I nearly leapt out of my skin when something vibrated against my thigh. I gasped, breaking the kiss. Another vibration. Another. He looked at me, his lips raw. One eyebrow quirked in a question. It was my work phone. It was Yvette. Yvette – the reason why I was here tonight.
I hauled in one more, steadying breath and then pushed away. Burke’s hand encircled my waist. He placed me on the ground and took a step back.
6
Burke
Fuck, this girl knew how to kiss. She wrapped her arms about my head and sucked at my tongue as if to pull it right out of my mouth. I hadn’t been this hard for a chick in months, but there was something about Sarah – about that quick, almost mischievous smile, about those all-seeing eyes. And when she’d stroked my arm like that – fuck.
I ravaged her mouth, reveling in the pure sex she promised as she ground against me in an unmistakable rhythm. This girl was going to be fire in bed. I could just tell.
To be honest, the buzzing startled me as well. It was in her pocket, but it was right up against my junk, and it buzzed three times in quick succession. It was like someone had thrown a bucket of cold water on the girl. She pulled her face away, and I stared down at her, pleased as fuck over her bruised lips and over the wild expression in her eyes. But as her vision cleared, she pushed away, and I set her down, backing up to give her space. Oh. This was so not over.
Sarah smiled apologetically and fished her phone out of her pocket. She stared at it a moment, looked suddenly troubled, and her fingers moved, sending a quick reply to whatever fucker had interrupted us. “Excuse me…” she said, smiling up apologetically, but her eyes didn’t reach mine. She turned and took a step away. Then she stopped and looked back helplessly. I motioned toward a door a few feet down, where the guest bathroom was, and she rushed toward it. She was clearly looking for a moment to compose herself. Hell, I guess we could both use a moment.
I took a deep breath and reached down to adjust myself so that my jeans weren’t quite so painful against an enormous and raging erection. Damn. I had not been expecting that. I’d only meant to pick her brain a bit. I wasn’t one of those guys who took advantage of any woman who entered his apartment. For fuck’s sake, I had four sisters. But damn, Sarah was a neat little package: smart, pretty, and damn fit, with a flirty side and these eyes that promised to blow your mind…
I stopped that train of thought because something was buzzing. My watch. I looked down to where my smartwatch indicated that I had a phone call coming in. Who was calling at this hour on a…Yvette? Yvette was calling. I moved quickly because I’d left my phone on the kitchen counter. Snatching it up, I hit talk.
“Hello?”
“Sauvage?” Yvette’s dark, sultry voice sounded just as sexy on the phone as it had in person. “I got your letter.”
My letter? The letter I’d left. How could I forget leaving the letter? I’d left it all of three hours ago! I smacked myself on the forehead, eyeing the bathroom, but Sarah hadn’t emerged.
“I’m glad,” I said. “I’m glad you called.”
“It was beautiful. So eloquent and open. I’d like to see you again, I think. Maybe I was too quick to judge that first night, yes? When are you free?”
She was asking me out. Yvette Delacroix was asking me out. Sarah picked that moment to walk out of the bathroom. She’d re-braided her hair and reapplied her lip gloss. She looked put-together, like we hadn’t just been this close to fucking.
“Sauvage? Are you free tomorrow night?”
“Tomorrow night?” I said, realizing I sounded like a moron, repeating her. Sarah paused a few feet away and smiled at me, looking completely at ease. She mouthed: Is that Yvette?
Dumbstruck, I nodded. And she flashed me two thumbs up. Was she kidding? Weren’t we just about to…
“Go for it,” she whispered. “She’s interested!”
“Burke,” said Yvette on the phone, sounding a bit impatient. “Tomorrow night? Oui ou non?”
“Yes, okay,” I said, staring at Sarah, looking for any hint of what she was thinking. But Sarah was heading over to where she’d dropped her purse. I had to talk to her. “Listen, I’ve got to run. I’ll pick you up tomorrow. Anywhere you want to go?”
“I’m flexible,” said Yvette. “Call Sarah, and she’ll help you set something up.” She hung up the phone.
I placed my phone back down on the kitchen island.
“Hey, that’s great,” said Sarah. “That must have bee
n some letter.”
“I guess,” I said. Was she kidding? Had she not just felt what I’d just felt? “Hey, listen, we should talk…”
“Oh, don’t worry, I won’t tell her anything,” said Sarah, waving her hand as if the kiss had meant nothing. “It’s not a big deal. Dinner was delicious, thank you! I’ll get you a reservation at one of her favorite places. I’ll send you the info tomorrow morning.”
“Um. Thanks,” I said, starting to walk toward her, but she’d already hit the elevator button. “Hey, listen, wait, you don’t have to leave…”
“No, it’s late anyway, and I have to work early.” Sarah flashed me another smile. “Yvette’s great! You should go for it!”
Go for it? The elevator dinged, and the doors opened.
“See you around,” said Sarah, and the doors closed behind her.
7
Sarah
“I’m a terrible person, Roz.” I was on Roz’s bed this time, watching as she got dressed for dinner. Her boyfriend was a reporter for the Globe, and there was apparently a banquet he’d invited her to. Roz didn’t have the best taste in clothes, but I wasn’t going to tell her that her purple sequined gown made her look like a disco ball.
“Sarah, you’re not terrible. They’re not even dating yet. It’s not like you were having an affair! You just kissed the guy.”
I could still feel his kiss on my lips. Even two days later, it still burned. I could still feel the wall against my back, and whenever I thought about that bulge, pressing right at the very core of me. Fuck!
“Yah. But I knew he was interested in Yvette. One glass of wine, and I’m Jezebel!”
Roz rolled her eyes, sliding in her dangling silver earrings. “You’re hardly Jezebel, and he’s a grown-ass man. He invited you over to his place, he fed you lobster, and he kissed you. Stop feeling guilty. What I can’t believe is that you hooked him up with Yvette. What were you thinking?”