by Imani King
After dinner, we finished our wine as we looked out from the top of the castle’s turret. I felt warm and safe, and when Dylan put his arm around me, I didn’t even flinch. It felt good. Maybe too good.
“So are you ready for dessert?” Dylan’s eyes flashed, and I could tell he had another crazy surprise up his sleeve. He escorted me out of the castle, and waiting out front was a horse-drawn carriage. I’d seen those carriages rambling around Central Park and had always wanted to take one, but it seemed silly to ride around by myself in a horse-drawn carriage. But now I had a hot guy to ride with.
“Good timing, Darren,” Dylan said to the man at the front of the carriage holding the horse’s reins. He helped me into the carriage, then pulled a checkered wool blanket off the seat and put it over my lap. “I don’t want you to get cold,” he said, then slid in next to me.
The carriage took off though the park, and I turned around to see the beautiful facade of Belvedere Castle receding in the distance. When I tuned back around, Dylan was holding a basket.
“Is that dessert?” I asked.
Dylan nodded and pulled out a gold package full of little bite-sized chocolates. Then he began pulling more items out of the basket: a pastry, a donut, two thermoses and a bottle of champagne. “I didn’t know what to get, so I got a bit of everything. I have coffee, hot cocoa, champagne...”
“I’ll take the chocolates and the champagne,” I told him.
“Good choice.”
We at the chocolates, which were just as heavenly as the steak earlier, and sipped champagne as the carriage carried us around Central Park. It felt like a scene out of a movie, and as the cool night breeze blew through my hair I couldn’t help but feel happy. I might have been cynical, but I wasn’t totally immune to romance. And this was some serious romance.
“Tell me a story,” I said to Dylan, leaning back into the crook of his arm. “Tell me about one of your favorite Christmas memories.”
“I’ve definitely got a favorite memory, but it’s a weird one.”
“Good. The weirder the better,” I said.
“Well, my folks are kind-of wacky and fun. You know, growing up, mom was always singing Christmas carols at the top of her lungs even though she can barely carry a tune. And my old man loves egg nog – I mean, he loves it. He’ll get completely sloshed on the stuff if you let him. So one year, he went to a holiday party at a friend’s house and they had eggnog, so he got completely drunk. And he couldn’t drive home. So he borrowed a horse out of the stable and rode that home.”
“He borrowed a horse?” This definitely wasn’t the kind of thing that happened in Atlanta.
“Or he stole it. It’s a fine line. In any case, he returned it the next day and it was no big deal. So anyway, I’m in the kitchen with my brother Nicholas and we’re eating leftover pie, and out of the window I see my dad, drunk as a skunk, riding a horse down the driveway, singing Jingle Bells at the top of his lungs. When my mom asked him about it the next day, he said, ‘Have you ever heard of a man getting a DUI on a horse? It can’t happen. I may have been drunk, but that horse was stone cold sober.’ So now it’s kind of a joke with us, anytime my dad goes to a party someone makes a crack about locking up the horses.”
As I looked at Dylan while he told this story, it was like his whole face changed. His eyes lit up, and his usual panty-dropping smile turned as sweet as sugar. He always looked too sexy for words, but in this moment, he looked just plain adorable. It was a side of him I hadn’t seen before – a soft, sweet, childlike side. Seeing him like this made me feel warm and happy, and I snuggled a little closer to him in the carriage.
“I can tell how much you love your family,” I told him. “I can see it in your eyes.”
“My family’s great. I mean, we’re complicated – no family is without its complications. But I wouldn’t trade them for the world. What about you? Tell me about your family. And your favorite Christmas memory.”
I told him about my parents, both teachers in the Atlanta school system. I was their only child, and Christmas was usually a cozy affair for us. But one year, when I was eight, a tree fell through our roof. We put up plastic over the holes and huddled together under blankets until the repairmen could come fix the roof. And that was my favorite Christmas memory: snuggling under blankets with my parents on Christmas Eve, drinking hot chocolate as cold wind whipped against the flimsy plastic over our heads. It could’ve been miserable, but somehow it felt perfect.
“I like the way you think,” Dylan told me. “You’re not superficial.”
We talked more, about my job as a preschool teacher, about Dylan’s many brothers, about our favorite movies and books and songs, and there was never an awkward silence. The conversation was easy, and before I knew it over an hour had passed.
Eventually Darren, the carriage driver, turned around to Dylan and said it was time to put the horse up for the night. I started to pack away our basket of goodies, but Dylan stopped me.
“We’re not getting out yet,” he said, and I detected a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “Just stay put. This is my last surprise for the night, and I think you’re going to like it.”
“What? But he said it was time—” Before I could finish my sentence, the horse lurched forward and galloped us right out of the exit to Central Park and onto the busy streets of Manhattan. The carriage creaked as we turned onto West End Avenue, and the horse picked up speed, trotting down the street next to speeding taxi cabs and buses.
“At the end of the night, the horses get taken downtown to the stables,” Dylan told me. “Usually passengers aren’t allowed, but Darren’s a friend of mine. I thought you’d like a ride through the city.”
Riding in a carriage through Central Park was nice, but riding a carriage through the city was exhilarating. To my right, I saw the Hudson River and the lights of New Jersey in the distance. And to my left, Manhattan stretched out next to us. The wind whipped my hair as the horse galloped along, past tourists taking photos on the sidewalks, past the spires of the Chrysler Building and the Empire State Building.
“This is amazing,” I shouted to Dylan.
“I’m trying hard to impress you,” he said. Again with that sly, sexy smile.
“Well, it’s working.”
“Here, have the last piece of chocolate.” Dylan brought the piece of chocolate up to my lips, and without thinking, I ate it from his hand. As the chocolate slid into my mouth, his finger slid against my bottom lip, and I took it into my mouth and sucked the last bit of chocolate from his fingertip. As the chocolate melted in my mouth, Dylan kept his hand on my chin, his finger on my lip. His face was so close to mine that I could feel his warm breath on my lips, and if I moved just an inch, I could’ve kissed him.
I’d tried so hard to fight the feelings I had for Dylan. But in that moment, I couldn’t fight it any more. As he looked at me, his face just inches from mine, the energy between us was palpable. It felt like my body was being pulled towards him by an invisible rope, and I was powerless to resist any longer.
“I think you should kiss me now, Dylan.”
He took in a deep breath. “That’s all I’ve wanted to do from the second I first saw you.”
And then, Dylan moved his face forward an inch, and his mouth found mine.
A rush of heat spread through my body as our lips met, and as our tongues found each other, the heat inside me spread like a wildfire. His mouth tasted like champagne and chocolate and I fell deep into him, my arms wrapped tight around his strong back, my body pushed close against his. The sounds of Manhattan drifted away and all that was left was the two of us – our warm bodies, our hungry mouths. We kissed madly, deeply, like it was the first and last time we’d ever have the chance.
I’d never been kissed like that in my life. Yes, I’d kissed other men in my lifetime and those kisses were nice, but this kiss with Dylan was something else entirely. This kiss with Dylan was monumental. I felt it everywhere, from the top of my head to the tips o
f my toes. My entire body buzzed as we moved our mouths together, our tongues desperately hungry for each other. I could feel Dylan’s chest swell against mine with heavy breaths, and his hands gripped me tight. There was a power in his kiss, and it made me feel lightheaded and tingly, and it wasn’t just from the champagne. It was him – his power, his passion. I felt completely lost in him, my body burning with red-hot desire.
We kept kissing as the carriage carried us through the city, and eventually I felt the horse slow and stop. Reluctantly, I slid my lips away from Dylan and opened my eyes. I looked at him, his green eyes shining like emeralds in the moonlight, and I’d never wanted anyone so bad in my entire life.
“Come home with me,” he said, his voice low and deep.
I wanted to. Damn, I wanted to. But I had rules, and I wasn’t ready to break those rules, even for the hottest man I’d ever laid eyes on. My mother always told me that if I went too fast, I’d get in trouble, and she was right. The last time I went too fast, it was a disaster. It pained me to say it, but I had to say no.
“Not tonight,” I said. My voice came out shaky and small.
“Why not? I know you want to, Maya.” He pulled me closer to him and ran his finger over my lips. “I sure as hell want to.”
“I have rules. And a first kiss needs to be a first kiss. Nothing more. I like to take things slow.”
Dylan let out a long, painful sigh. “You’re killing me, Maya. But I respect that. Tonight’s our first kiss. And maybe tomorrow...” He leaned in and kissed my neck, his mouth warm against my skin. I felt goosebumps pop up on my flesh, and I almost gave in to him right there.
“Maybe,” I said.
Chapter Ten
Dylan
That kiss. That kiss destroyed me. I’d kissed plenty of women in my day, but I’d never felt anything like that. It was like I’d been seeing in black and white all my life, and that kiss with Maya turned everything into vivid fucking color.
But she wouldn’t go home with me. And fuck, I wanted her. I went home that night and worked out in my gym for two solid hours, trying to get rid of all my pent-up sexual frustration. I lifted weights until my arms were sore. I ran on the treadmill until I was drenched in sweat. But it didn’t calm the hunger I felt for her. I could still feel her mouth on mine, her body pressed against me. The taste of chocolate and champagne on her tongue. The way she moaned and sighed into my mouth.
Still, I respected her for not going home with me. I was shocked, but I respected it. I’d never been told no before, never had a woman flat-out shut me down. Which was yet another thing that made Maya so different, and so special.
I had to have her. There was no way I was letting her go.
Chapter Eleven
Maya
That kiss. Man, I was in trouble. I thought it was just going to be a fun week hanging out with a guy, nothing serious. But suddenly, especially after that world-shaking kiss, things were feeling pretty damn serious.
I went home that night and couldn’t stop thinking about Dylan – about the way he took me in his arms, made my body burn with desire. His lips, his eyes, his hands. The power in his kiss. I’d been so close to caving in, to going home with him, and I didn’t know how I was going to resist the next time he kissed me.
Later that night, I went to the Society Pages website, and saw that they’d finally put up the pictures from the Metropolitan Museum gala. And there, front and center, was the photo of Dylan and me – or, Dylan and the Baroness Mildred Weatherby, that is.
And I had to say, we looked damn good together. We looked right, somehow. In the photo, Dylan had his arm around my waist, and he was looking at me, not at the camera. And I looked so relaxed, so happy. Usually I felt like I looked tense and nervous in pictures, but in that picture I looked like I was at ease and having fun. I’d barely known him at all when that picture was taken, but it appeared he’d already had a positive effect on me.
I woke the next morning to a missed text from Dylan. Call me when you wake up, it said. I rang him and he answered immediately.
“Maya.” Hearing Dylan say my name sent butterflies flopping around in my stomach. “I have some business to take care of this evening. I’m finishing up some contract work on a new project, and I need to spend a little more time tonight in the office. I thought I could get it done during the day, but...”
“That’s ok,” I told him. “We don’t have to go out tonight.” I was disappointed, but tried not to show it.
“No way. We made a deal, and you’re not getting out of a date tonight. Can we meet later? Sometime after ten.” I realized I had been holding my breath, but once I knew I was going to see Dylan again, I exhaled.
“Ok, but we’re meeting on my turf tonight,” I told him. I was already feeling overly smitten, and another super-romantic Dylan-style date would probably turn me into a gooey mess. Plus, I felt like I needed to get the upper hand. And it would be good to see him in a “normal” setting, besides just galas and castles. “Tracy and I will be at my favorite place, Minnie’s, in Bed-Stuy. You can meet us there.”
“I’ll be there,” he said. I hung up the phone, and a few seconds later I got a text from him: By the way, I can’t stop thinking about that kiss.
Me neither, I texted back. Maybe we can do it again.
His reply came immediately: I hope so.
* * * *
Tracy said she was happy to have a girl’s night out with me, but I knew what she was really happy about was getting the chance to grill me about Dylan. We headed out to Minnie’s, a southern food joint that served the best spicy chicken in town and had a bar with pool tables in the back room. It was my home away from home, partly because the vibe reminded me of Atlanta, and most of the time when we went there the kitchen would send out some cool extra food to me and Tracy. And that night was no exception: after we ordered our spicy chicken, the waitress came out with a plate of fried green tomatoes on the house.
Tracy wasted no time. She slid a tomato onto her plate, and started peppering me with questions before she even took a bite. “So, what in the hell is going on with you and Mister Hunky Billionaire? What did you do last night? Have you kissed him yet?”
I told her all about the dinner at the Belvedere Castle, the delicious steak, the chocolates, the ride through Manhattan in the carriage. “It was a really good time,” I told her.
“I see you avoided my last question,” she said, sharp as always.
“Fine. Yes. I kissed him.” I tried to play it cool, but a wave of excitement washed over me as I thought about that kiss.
“Yes! Thank the Lord in heaven,” Tracy said, being overdramatic as usual. “How long has it been since you’ve kissed someone? Wait, never mind. Don’t answer that. I don’t want to get depressed by the answer. So how was it? Any fireworks?” She leaned forward with her elbows on the table and wiggled her eyebrows at me.
“There were... there were definitely fireworks.” I leaned in and whispered across the table. “It was the best kiss of my life, Tracy. No joke. I think I’m in big trouble.”
“You really like this guy, don’t you, Maya?”
“I do. I don’t know how it happened, but...”
“So what’s going to happen? Are you guys going to—”
I cut her off. I didn’t want to get into what-if’s, to start thinking about what would or could happen. It made me nervous, and made all my doubts and suspicions rear their ugly heads. “I don’t know, Tracy. I mean, he’s a billionaire. And I’m just a little preschool teacher. I think I’m scared that I’m just some novelty to him. You know, he’s having fun slumming it with a regular girl, but eventually he’ll go back to heiresses and models.”
We finished our meal and moved to the bar in the back and kept talking about Dylan. “Maybe he’s not like that,” Tracy said. “I mean, billionaires can be kinda eccentric. Maybe that’s just his thing – maybe he doesn’t like rich girls.” She shrugged.
“I don’t know. I like him, more than I should
. I’m just not sure if I can trust him.”
“That’s because you have trust issues, my friend.” Tracy wagged her finger at me. “You need to get over that. Shawn was an asshole, but you can’t let one shitty ex-boyfriend ruin your entire view of men. I mean, seriously, has Dylan ever done one thing to make you think he’s not trustworthy?”
“No. No, he hasn’t.”
“And he’s sweet, right? And he’s respectful, and he likes you.” Tracy counted Dylan’s attributes out on her fingers, and I knew she had a point.