Manhattan Sugar (From Manhattan Book 1)

by V. Theia

  “God, no. I couldn’t. That’s not me, Gray. I’m fine, really.”

  I really should have been an actress.

  Something ticked in his jaw, and I had a feeling he was holding his words.

  Memories of sobbing in his arms chose that exact moment to crash land in my memory bank and my face fused. Crap.

  Chewing the inside of my lip, meeting his gaze, it was as though he was giving me the space to weigh him up, content to let me go on figuring him out. Eyes so sharp I wanted to do silly things like smile and maybe giggle and flirt and reach out and touch my fingers to that slight smirk of his and see if it tasted as good as my memory told me it did.

  While I had most of my memories of last night; good and bad, and Gray was absolutely in the good side of that list, I couldn’t quite figure out what happened between the hours of leaving the bar and now. That was irritating. I never drank so much I did the walk of shame clueless.

  I’d awoken in my underwear, so either I stripped, or he stripped me. I wasn’t so bothered by it and why wasn’t I bothered by it?

  I’d heard of stranger danger before.

  You humped him crazy last night, my helpful brain chimed in. Not so much a stranger…

  The most disturbing part about this whole thing? I wasn’t fazed at all I was in Gray’s apartment. Nor waking in his bed or walking through his hallways to find him. When my eyes opened I’d known immediately I was with him and therefore I was safe.

  I’d just known it.

  That just wouldn’t do. I steeled my chin and iced over my eyes, because he was too damn smiley. “You have my thanks anyway. I don’t like being indebted to anyone.”

  “Yeah, got that loud and clear at the pub. Are you gonna answer or should I fix some breakfast first?” Did I really think he was a sweet man last night? Or was that my muddled brain adding in details? He appeared damn cunning as he turned to pull open a double steel fridge door, poking his head in, giving me a perfect view of that tight, hard ass again.

  Dear god.

  Illegal ass alert, ladies.

  Sena, the geek best friend and champion of my love life, was gonna get such a scream out of this when I told her. She was married, on her second baby and wanted everyone in the known universe to have the same love she had. Impossible, but she’d prodded more than once about Gray and how he’d be perfect for me.

  A perfect man?

  That was right up there with Michael Jackson not really being dead and the unicorn.

  Cynical stool for one. Sure, but the facts were facts and if you showed me a unicorn I was woman enough to admit I was wrong. Until that elusive day I’d keep my opinions firmly in place in front of my eyes or a glorious fucking ass would sway me to the dark side.

  I cleared my throat and forced my eyes to turn and look out of the double story windows banked across one huge wall. Realizing we were somewhere downtown because I recognized the building across from Gray’s. My building. Or the one I used to work in.

  Damn. He’d been that close all along.

  Slipping off the stool, I padded over and counted the windows opposite from the ground up until I reached ten.

  Marina Finch advertising agency had that whole floor.

  And it could clearly be viewed from Gray’s apartment.

  Had he seen me over there? It was far enough to afford him privacy. The thought persisted and then it caught fire because I wasn’t weirded out by it at all. In fact, I probably would have gotten a sick twisted kick out of Gray watching me working at my desk.

  He lived in a fucking tower as all rich people did looking out over the rest of us peasants. Beautifully painted white walls, chandeliers, coffered ceilings. It sang luxury.

  “What do you fancy? We have eggs, bacon, there’s some cheese, but it looks questionable.” When I turned around he was sniffing the offered cheese up to his nose and why did I think that was adorable?

  “None for me. Did you know that was where I worked over there?”

  No recognition on his face. “You did? Fuck. You were close this whole time? I would have definitely come over had I known.” And then he smiled, and my belly bottomed again. “So, breakfast?”

  “Do you have cereal?” If he had Count Chocula I might consider his offer. Kidding. Maybe. I took my cereal serious.

  “Cereal? You mean like oatmeal?”

  I gasped. “Bite your tongue. Oatmeal is not cereal. And I thought you were a sweet man.”

  A wicked smile raced over his face, it was felt in my nerve endings.

  Not only because it softened his features, but then his eyes did that smoky thing and he became a thousand times hotter.

  The eyes held all the magic.

  For all this man’s obvious powerful aura, his eyes were heartbreakingly kind and something in me wanted to ask for things that lurked in the back of my mind forever.

  For help, for a hug and for someone to be there.

  I needed to find my shoes and get out of here before I signed my life away to a handsome man cult.

  “I can be as sweet as you want.” He stated walking over to a large pantry disguised as a wall, it slid open with a whoosh to reveal a mecca of organized cans, packets and storage jars full of stuff. So neat it put my small kitchenette to shame with my half pint of opened mayo and box crackers.

  “Let’s see if we have cereal in here.” He kept saying we. Did he mean he and I? Or someone else lived here?

  “Who else lives here?” I asked casually, though I probably blurted it out on a rush because he looked over his shoulder at me again and grinned. “Just us, baby-girl.” And went back to moving things out of the way.

  Oh, my god.

  “I do not live here, Gray. You don’t even know me!”

  “I like what I know, the rest you can fill me in, and you need a place to stay in less than a month you said so.”

  Me and my big, fat drunk mouth. I was never drinking again.

  “You can’t just offer to be my roommate. Who does that?”

  He snorted holding a can of peaches in each hand. His solid, wide back presented like it was taunting me about how appealing it was and come and touch it. I licked my lips. Suddenly starved.

  “About a million people on Craigslist every day. Look at this.” Watching him walk toward me was an experience. Rolling hips with every masculine step and when he came around the island I noticed bare feet.

  Beautiful bare feet.

  Another of my kryptonite buttons along with tight, firm asses that needed squeezing.

  Jesus, what did that orgasm do to me last night, unlock some secret level to my libido? I was suddenly as rampant as my rabbit. Chill, pervert.

  I refocused.

  “I think my housekeeper has lost her mind, there’s about fifty cans of stewed peaches in the pantry.” He presented me two of them like I’d won last prize at a carnival. His brows pinched in the middle, hair falling over his eyes, he looked delectably confused. “No single man needs that amount of canned peaches.” My mouth twitched, and he went on. “I don’t need any cans of peaches.”

  “Maybe she knows something you don’t know and is preparing for the next zombie attack. You can never be too ready.”

  His eyes rose. “The next?”

  “Yeah. Haven’t you ever seen The Walking Dead? Hunger will get you long before a brain sucking zombie does. When you think about it,” I took both cans out of his hands and hissed a breath when my fingers scraped along his palms. My heart tried to beat sluggishly, slow and full of honey. It’s his nearness, that’s all it is, just put distance between us. Skirting around his body I placed them back in the pantry and began my own search for cereals.

  I had my fingers crossed for Apple Jacks.

  “This housekeeper of yours is forward thinking, she deserves a raise, Gray.”

  “Maybe you can tell her we don’t need peaches when you move in.”

  Okay, let’s all calm the fuck down. And by we, I mean my stuttering lungs and my crazy-beating heart. Both had no
right to act out of accordance to my wishes at his words, making other body parts wet and achy for attention from those callused hands.

  It’s only the good grace my brain functioned sensibly, thank god, or I’d be across the kitchen, sitting on his face while I asked for a door key.

  “I’m not moving in here with you, crazy man. Now where is the damn cereal? You have no cereal in here, Grayson.” The endearment slipped, and I saw how his eyes flashed with heat.

  Dammit.

  “There’s no Cap’n crunch, or Cookie crisp, or Cinnamon toast, Not even a Boo Berry. What kind of apartment are you living in!”

  His smile devastated.

  He approached. This caring man looking more like a prowling hunter eyeing up meat. Head drawn down until his chin rested on his chest, eyes hooded and looking nowhere else but on me. I took him all in with every slow inhale.

  Some women had experienced all that, I thought, and wondered if they were still living because the effect already wanted my ovaries to explode out of my needy-wanting body.

  If I were insane enough to even, consider … living here until I found somewhere permanently—taking one pressure from my shoulders at least for now—the way he kicked up my temperature with a dusky look in his eyes there’s no way that could happen.

  Screwing my landlord? That had bad idea licked all over it.

  And there’s no doubt, dry-humping me aside, we want to have each other.

  It’s in his eyes and the way his tongue flicked his bottom lip.

  But when his head appeared beside me it was only to shuffle me aside and not hoist me up into his arms and do me against the wall.

  Of course, I’m relieved. I am.

  Reaching in to the top shelf of the pantry, the one too tall for me to even touch, he effortlessly lifted down a cereal shape box and for a second the squeal of my hunger almost erupted. Cereal. My bae. My love.

  It’s only when he presented a blue box of Bran Flakes my face fell.

  I looked between him and the offending item.

  “You carry peaches and Bran Flakes…”

  “Cereal. Knew I had some.”

  Oh, the poor deluded man. Maybe he needed me around after all if he thought those cardboard disks were in any way close to the sweet, tempting morsels of my favorite food. Using two fingers I pushed the box back into his chest. “I hate to break it to you, rock star.”

  Oh, my god! I’d forgotten that detail until just then! He was a hot guitar player.

  If you lived here you could watch him practice strumming his long fingers on the thin strings, a devious little shit whispered in my ear.

  That devious little shit sounded an awful lot like me.

  I gulped and pushed away all bad thoughts of him shirtless, sweaty and belting out a guitar solo for my pleasure only. “But that isn’t cereal.” I finished.

  A smile as tempting as the devil himself crossed his stubbled face. “When you move in you can make a grocery list of your childish cereal.”

  Now I was offended.

  Tempted. I mean, he’d offered me breakfast food.

  I sobered and stepped out of his atmosphere, spying my shoes across the room near a large glass coffee table. I slipped into them. “In all seriousness, Gray. It’s a kind, albeit crazy offer, but I can’t accept. We don’t know each other—”

  “Get to know me.”

  “—and taking something that big from someone is not what I do. I’m going to find my own apartment. It’s not the first time I’ve moved. I have friends I can ask for their couch. There’s hotels if it comes to it.”

  I watched a frown pinch his brow and he scrubbed a hand through his already messy hair. Why would he want to help me? A rock star, shoe millionaire with a face like a sex god slapped him, he could have any woman he wanted without the added stress of an anxious-riddled down on her luck commitment-phobe.

  Did I think he resembled a predator a moment ago? Suddenly he morphed into a hungry animal right before my eyes. Sparks of possessiveness plume out of his gaze catching me off guard.

  “Male friends? No. There’s plenty of room here, India. It makes sense. Stay for as long as you’d like. That way it frees you up to find a job.”

  Jesus. I really was Chatty Claire last night.

  New rule; no more tequila.

  What else had I blurted out to him while I was in my woe-is-me cups?

  Maybe when the last time I got laid?

  More than a year, but who’s counting?

  I hoped I didn’t share any of my anxiety of every single time I approached moms house how my heart beat out of my chest.

  “You need an apartment,” he went on. Dreamy, sex filled eyes looked on, holding me without arms. I felt his touch as good as if his hands were roaming all over me, acquainting himself with the places I was most sensitive. “I have an apartment that fits more than two. Besides, you’re tiny,” I took offense and straightened my spine. Five foot three was not tiny. “I’ll hardly notice you around.” When his mouth lifted in that quirky teasing way all my blood began to boil.

  Why did he have to be so damn irresistible when I was going through a midlife crisis in my twenties?

  Job. Apartment. Mother.

  It didn’t seem so difficult of a task when I said it fast like that.

  There were millions of jobs in Manhattan. More apartments.

  I just didn’t have thousands of bucks for the kind of apartment I’d like and living in a rat-infested studio would be too much like my college days. And being a pot washer? Okay, let’s keep that on the options pile. A woman who was about to become homeless couldn’t be too choosy where she earned a dollar.

  Be roomies with the sexiest man on two legs?

  The same man who looked at me like he wanted me for dessert spread out on his glass dining table? Yeah, thanks but no. Even if my body was screaming yes.

  Rooming with Gray, even for a few weeks, was an epic mistake of huge proportions I wasn’t equipped to make.

  We were just too different. In two different places of life.

  Look at him, even in sweatpants and messy hair he had an air of superiority about him. I’d bet all my meagre savings he was born with an Upper East Side of Manhattan silver spoon in his mouth.

  “Where did you grow up?” I asked. Curious.

  If he was surprised by my question Gray didn’t show it. I mean, he’d dumped an unconscious woman in his bed and let her poke around in his pantry for cereal, asking a question after that didn’t seem so out of the ordinary.

  “Here in the city. My folks still live over on Carnegie Hill.”

  Bingo.

  Mom’s poky two-bedroom red brick on Staten Island would probably fit in one of Gray’s walk-in closets and still have room to swing the proverbial cat.

  Grabbing my purse, I got no further when the guy moved like lightening and pinned me with just his presence against the island. Granite biting into my ass and I didn’t feel a thing.

  He really was big. Naughty bitch fingers without permission pressed against his chest. Hard rock. Every breath he took was a slab of beef pushing my hands.

  “I wish you’d change your mind. I want to help you.”

  My eyebrows dropped. “Why would you want to do that? You were going about your life cobbling shoes and wetting girl’s panties with your rock star guitar life yesterday. You didn’t even remember me.”

  “We’re coming back to this wet panty theory another time,” he husked thickly, eyes drawing over my mouth.

  It was bad enough my hands disobeyed me, now my tongue got in on it too by swiping over my lips slowly.

  I loved flirting.

  Flirting and teasing was my hobby and I prided myself on being good at what I enjoyed.

  But something about Gray Ellison made me feel inexperienced and clumsy and tiny. I felt tiny in his muscled shadow. I knew now how he’d gotten me up here. Those magnificent arms with the pronounced muscles though he was relaxed with them hanging at his side and the train track of vei
ns weaving under the fine dark hairs.

  I forced my eyes up. He made my heart jerk and I could only hope it was an arrhythmia and not me catching feelings.

  Incredibly bad timing. Couldn’t be worse if I tried.

  Life crisis first. Maybe ride his face once I was settled into normalcy again.

  “I’ve remembered you and our too-short conversation every single day. I have no ulterior motives, India, other than I want to help someone who needs it. That same someone who was very upset last night, and it killed me to see even one tear on this face of yours.”

  Cold dripped through my veins. Embarrassment like no other stained my cheeks to realize he really had seen all of me last night. The real messy me.

  Gray wasn’t judging my breakdown.

  And my tears killed him?

  How I didn’t sway into his chest right then I had no clue because the urge was strong and so unlike me. It was the only saving grace stopping me to know that wasn’t me, I never acted like that and not with a man.

  “Please let me help you.”

  “No but thank you.” If he’d asked to fuck me I would have said yes.

  What he wanted was more personal than taking off my underwear.

  I slipped around him without touching him and headed for the door. I sensed he was frowning even without looking, I could feel it latched onto my back.

  Hand on the door handle, I turned back.

  “It really was good to see you, despite my tears staining your shirt, Gray. Maybe I’ll come and watch your band sometimes.”

  “I’m calling you,” he practically growled in a low syrupy timber, “you’ll answer.”

  Oh, will I, rock star?

  Eyebrow raised, a smirk on my lips I just smiled, looked him up and down one last time. God, he was spectacular. Bad fucking timing, India.

  And I took my exit choosing the stairs instead of the elevator. I’d have to be comatose again to get me into one of those steel death traps.

  Only breathing again once I was out onto the street under the red awning of his building.

  What a twenty-four hours that had been.

  And surprisingly as I found, not all of it bad.