New York Nights (A Heart of the City romance Book 2)

by C. J. Duggan

  I grabbed my bag and opened the door, dragging my suitcase out behind me. I sat on the steps and waited for Dave. New York always inspired such romantic endings in movies, where the hero would come chasing after his leading lady, kissing her in the rain or meeting her on the rooftop of a skyscraper. Everyone lived happily ever after, but as Dave finally pulled up out front, greeting me with a smile and putting my things in the car, I knew that this wasn’t a movie. Ben wasn’t coming for me, and I would just have to accept it.

  Dreading the long flight home and feeling at my self-pitying best, I lay down in the backseat, no longer able to watch the commotion of New York streets whizz by; it would only make my heart ache for all the things I could not have. I closed my eyes, letting the hum of the car soothe me into calmness.

  ‘How long does it take to get to the airport, Dave?’

  ‘It’s quicker than you think,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, secret shortcut?’ I said. ‘Very good.’ I pulled myself up on one elbow and looked out the window. ‘Dave, we don’t go anywhere near Lafayette Street, do we?’ I asked in a panic.

  He looked at me in the rear-view mirror. ‘No, Miss Williams.’

  I nodded. ‘Good.’ I lowered myself down and closed my eyes.

  The car came to an abrupt halt, shunting me out of my sleep. A horn blasted and my hands clawed at the leather seat to prevent me from rolling off as I tried to get my bearings and wiped the sleep out of my eyes.

  ‘Are we there?’ I asked, hearing the sound of the horn again. ‘What the? Have you stopped in a loading zone or something?’ I croaked, twisting onto my stomach, trying to find my shoe on the floor.

  ‘Yeah, something like that,’ said Dave, getting out and yelling at the driver behind. ‘Ha! You tell ’em, Dave,’ I muttered as I located my shoe. Then I worked to control my bed hair and straighten my clothes. Dave opened the door, causing me to squint against the light that streamed in.

  ‘Hurry, miss, we’re holding up traffic,’ he said, offering me his hand and helping me get out; it was difficult to find my feet with one leg asleep, but I soon forgot the hindrance as I stood beside the car. Dave slammed the door behind me.

  ‘Dave? Where’s the airport?’ I asked, looking around, dumbfounded. ‘This is definitely not the airport.’ I heard another car door slam and Dave was back behind the wheel again, shrugging and yelling, ‘I’m sorry!’ through the open window. The other car blasted its horn again, causing him to put his foot on the accelerator and leave me in the middle of the road.

  ‘Hey, lady, out of the way!’ the cab driver shouted, and I quickstepped onto a familiar red-brick paving. I stood right before a grand stone staircase leading down to the Bethesda Terrace. Was Dave trying to kill me? Rip my heart out, set it on fire before stream rolling it? I was going to miss my flight. Looking up and down the terrace drive I wanted to scream.

  He had my fucking suitcase!

  Why hadn’t I taken my phone? I had left it and the house keys with Dave, feeling the need to cleanse my life, but now I was screwed.

  I walked along the terrace. ‘Excuse me, do you have a phone I could borrow?’ I asked a family. They seemed to flinch at my manic request, the mum and dad ushering their children away and smiling apologetically. Ugh, where was Penny when I needed her? Don’t mind her, she’s Australian.

  I moved onto a man standing on the edge of the terrace balcony overlooking the fountain, lake and woodland, photographing it all in the golden hour.

  ‘Excuse me, sir, sorry to trouble you but do you have a pho—’

  My words fell away when I glanced down to the plaza paved in an intricate circle. Standing in the centre of the circle was the lone figure of Ben.

  As if he knew, he turned from the lake, and our eyes locked.

  I swear my heart stopped.

  ‘Are you all right, miss, do you need some help?’ asked the photo enthusiast.

  I shook my head, unable to tear my eyes from Ben, afraid that if I did, the vision might change.

  ‘No, thank you,’ I said, peeling away, running my hand along the top of the balcony’s balustrade, banging into a couple of tourists before running down the stone staircase that led to the lower level plaza. I moved so fast I thought I might lose my footing and wouldn’t that be a grand entrance. I tried to slow my pace the closer I got. Ben hadn’t moved, had only turned to watch me come down the steps.

  Dodging more tourists, I made my way over to where he stood. Seeing those cold eyes, I had a good mind to keep walking, maybe punch him in the mouth for his silence. I was so tired – of the secrets, the uncertainty from day to day of a man who could be so cold, and then look at me with a fire that burned. How could I be sure of what it would be today?

  I looked into his eyes, so impossible to read, and I when I reached him, I stood in silence.

  ‘Getting dropped off to mix with the undesirables?’ he said.

  ‘It wasn’t by choice,’ I replied, trying my best to keep my emotions in check.

  ‘Was breaking Alistair’s nose your choice?’

  Keeping my poker face was harder than I thought, especially when he was looking at me the way he was.

  I lifted my chin. ‘Yes, it was. But what does it matter? There are far too many secrets in your family, and it may be the way it has always been, but I want no part of it. It’s toxic and ugly, despite the lovely things you surround yourself with as you dig your head in the sand. I am done.’

  I used the thought of the all things that angered me to walk away, but Ben reached out for my arm. My chest tightened at his touch, the feel of his skin on mine like a hot brand. The last thing I could afford to do was turn to him, but he was pulling me around.

  ‘What if I told you there was only one more secret, and that was all? No more, not ever.’

  I shook my head, fighting against the feelings he evoked in me, the way his thumb stroked against my arm as if to quietly comfort me.

  ‘Just one more,’ he whispered, stepping to me.

  My chin trembled. ‘I can’t.’ And just as I was about to pull away, I heard a sound that stood out from all the bustling crowds and street music, a distant cry that I would recognise anywhere. I searched for it, looking past Ben’s shoulder, and saw Ruth pushing a stroller.

  ‘I am sorry, Mr Worthington, but Grace is not going to settle,’ she said, unclipping and handing the baby over to Ben.

  ‘Heeey, what’s the matter?’ he said, lifting Grace up and kissing her before rocking her into instant happiness.

  ‘Have you told her yet?’ Ruth said.

  ‘Ruth,’ he warned.

  I glanced between the two of them. ‘Told me what?’

  Ruth rolled her eyes. ‘What have you been doing all this time?’ she chastised him before turning her deadpan expression to me. ‘The secret is he loves you and he wants you to stay; honestly, you people are just so utterly ridiculous,’ she snapped.

  Ben, Grace and I watched her roll the empty stroller away toward the fountain, mumbling and shaking her head.

  We turned to each other.

  ‘Annnnd that’s how you kill a moment,’ Ben said.

  I stood, stunned, waiting for him to clarify Ruth’s statement, to hear the words from his mouth. Only then would I believe them. Grace began squirming and whinging, leaning out to grab me, and it was a welcome distraction. I took her into my arms, holding her to me, breathing her in and kissing her temple.

  ‘Hey, Gracie girl.’

  ‘No more running away,’ he said. His expression deathly serious. Was he going to say it? Repeat what Ruth had just said, or was she just being cruel? ‘No more nights at Lafayette, no more dinner parties with people we don’t like.’

  ‘No more secrets,’ I added quickly.

  Ben smiled. ‘Not any more.’

  I swallowed. ‘So, when Ruth said that you—’

  ‘From the moment you promised to love and care for my daughter, the same meeting when you stood in my office questioning my parenting skills.’


  I cringed. ‘I did, didn’t I?’

  ‘You most certainly did,’ he said.

  I felt my stomach do a little flip watching the lightness in his eyes. I felt the full weight of that stare. He was telling me that he loved me, even if it had been interrupted by Grace’s cries and Ruth’s deep sighs and eye rolls, but I was used to that. Plans changed, moments got interrupted and I always had to think on my feet, just as I was doing now. How could I possibly put into words how he made me feel, how any time he walked into a room my heart beat faster, or that when he looked me in the eyes the rest of the world fell away? I adjusted Grace’s weight on my hip as I tore my eyes from her beautiful, happy, flushed face to Ben’s. I wanted to look him in the eye so he understood I meant what I was about to say.

  ‘You asked me why I chose to stay. I told you I stayed because I loved Grace. I said I stayed because I loved New York.’

  Ben was silent, watching me intently.

  I shifted, swallowing and trying to keep my thoughts together. ‘But aside from those two very good reasons, I need you to know that, despite everything, I also stayed … because of you.’

  I could see the most delicate shift in him, as if relief was flooding through his squared shoulders, as though he wasn’t able to control his reaction.

  Then, ever so slowly, Ben’s lips turned up. ‘It was the grilled cheese, wasn’t it?’

  I burst out laughing, readjusting Grace in my arms as I stepped forward, looking at the man I had come to love. Through all the days and nights that I had been in this city, I had never known such frustration, such chaos, such tenderness – such love. I knew it in the way he looked at me now, and I felt it in the warmth of my arms holding Grace, who happily chewed on a strand of my hair.

  In the movies, now was the time when the man leant down and kissed the woman, taking her breath away with an embrace and promising her the world. But this wasn’t a movie, this was us, and although I made the first move, he met me halfway, circling his arms around us, kissing me tenderly in the heart of Central Park.

  I pulled away, cocking my brow at him, as he waited for my answer.

  ‘That, Ben Worthington, simply sealed the deal.’

  ‘The grilled cheese or the kiss?’

  I smiled broadly, looking at him in the dying rays of the New York sun and running my hand along his freshly shaven cheek. ‘Both,’ I said, reaching up on my toes and kissing him once again. ‘Ben?’

  ‘Sarah?’

  ‘Let’s go home.’

  Ben laughed, glancing from me to Grace and back, before breaking into that infamous crooked smile of his as he leant in, kissed my forehead and whispered, ‘Right where we belong.’

  IF YOU LIKED NEW YORK NIGHTS YOU WILL LOVE THE OTHER BOOKS IN C.J. DUGGAN’S HEART OF THE CITY SERIES: PARIS LIGHTS AND LONDON BOUND.

  Read on for a preview of Paris Lights.

  Chapter One

  I genuinely believe that aside from your place of birth there is somewhere else you belong: a place you’re guided to by your heart. Some people might spend their entire lives in search of such a place, but all my life, throughout my travels, I knew which place was waiting for me.

  Paris.

  I had fed my love of Paris by having the Eiffel Tower plastered on my bedspreads and cushion covers, by buying kitchen accessories and placemats with Rue Du Temple scrawled across them, and hanging a cute Bon Appetit sign in my kitchen. I’d tried to explain to my boyfriend, Liam, that it wasn’t really an obsession, I had just adopted a French Provincial style of decorating for our home. He seemed unconvinced.

  Everyone wants to go to Paris. To fall in love, eat smelly French cheese and drink good local wine while toasting to the Eiffel Tower. It was more than just our home’s décor and my Chanel lipstick collection that strengthened my bond. Paris is the art capital of the world, with tourists flocking from near and far to catch a quick glimpse of Da Vinci’s Mona Lisa and wander the vast halls of the Louvre. But, while many people believed the Louvre to be the pinnacle of the Parisian art museum scene, there were so many other museums to see. With much excitement, I had rattled off the list of must-see locations to Liam as we’d planned this long-awaited weekend in Paris.

  ‘We could head to the Centre Pompidou, Paris’s bastion of modern art. We’ll need a good couple of hours to wander through all the amazing rooms with world-famous works of – oh my God, we’ll be able to see Picasso, Klimt, Miro and Kandinsky!’

  Liam’s face had twisted in horror, and he’d said, ‘Claire, I would sooner claw my own face off than spend an entire weekend in art museums.’

  I had laughed it off, but my heart sank knowing that he wouldn’t budge on this. I would have to settle for compromising on the art so we could both enjoy the trip.

  Liam had insisted we save the Eiffel Tower until our last day in Paris. He’d said we shouldn’t conform to the typical tourist itinerary, that we should discover other parts of the city first. He was so smart, so romantic.

  We battled the crowds at the Louvre for a date with Mona Lisa, strolled hand-in-hand through the Jardin de Tuileries, dodged pigeons and love-lock sellers near Notre Dame, and, of course, no trip to Paris would be complete without a visit to the famed Moulin Rouge.

  And this morning, stepping from the bus, our heads had craned upwards, my mouth ajar as Liam clicked away on his expensive Canon camera, snapping the iron beast before us. Except it wasn’t a beast. The Eiffel Tower was a lady – strong, imposing, beautiful – but I couldn’t have said so to Liam. He would have just rolled his eyes.

  We’d lingered around the edge of the crowds, taking it all in. It was incredible how something that stood still could evoke as much excitement as a themed rollercoaster at Disneyland. Hordes of tourists surrounded us in a blur of excitement and delight. Despite the wonders around me, though, my attention remained on Liam. I only had eyes for him.

  I tilted my head, admiring my gorgeous boyfriend: his dark, unruly hair, his five o’clock shadow, his charcoal-grey jumper and dark jeans that made him look like he belonged here; a true Parisian. Liam had been acting strange for days. Twitchy, antsy, a bit snappy. As he stood beside me, rubbing his unshaven jaw, I could see the cogs turning in his head, no doubt wondering what to say, how to do it. He is such a stickler for details; it’s one of the things I love about him.

  My chest expanded as I breathed deeply. I tried to hide the knowing smile that twisted the corner of my mouth. This is it; this is really going to happen. It was all clear to me now: the impromptu visit to Paris; saving the tower till last.

  This is my moment.

  Wait until everyone back home finds out about this.

  I stood in the heart of the square and waited for Liam to speak. Waited for him to ask the big question, to go down on one knee in front of all these people, and ask me to be Mrs Liam Jackson.

  My chest tightened as he turned to me. His focus was on me and me alone. In this moment, under the massive iron structure, the world around us didn’t matter. It was as if we were the only ones on the planet and that the tower had been built for us alone. I could feel my skin prickle despite the warm air that swept over us.

  ‘Claire.’ Liam swallowed nervously. I could feel my eyes watering as he reached out and grabbed my hand, a hand that had been nervously tapping my thigh.

  ‘Yes?’ I breathed out, my heart beating a million miles an hour. Yes, yes, yes had been echoing in my mind all morning.

  The dark, hypnotic pools of Liam’s eyes made me breathless as he gazed intently at me.

  This is it! This is what I’ve been waiting for. The perfect end to a perfect weekend.

  He squeezed my hand. ‘I think we should see other people.’

  I didn’t think I’d heard him correctly; the sound of a record scratching in my head might have prevented me from understanding. Or maybe it was the tourists, talking and pointing animatedly as they took selfies with the tower. Even the traffic noise seemed painfully loud right now. I tilted my head as if to listen more in
tently, my eyes blinking in confusion.

  ‘Sorry?’

  Liam’s eyes seemed less romantic now, and his face was twisted in pain. But it wasn’t pain caused by the inner turmoil of working on romantic perfection like I had thought. It was another kind of pain entirely.

  ‘I said, I think we should—’

  ‘No!’ I shut off his words, afraid that he would only repeat himself. ‘No, no, no, no!’ This was not how it was supposed to go.

  I had planned it all in my mind: Liam on one knee, a box appearing from his pocket (preferably from Tiffany), applause ringing out across the square as I cried and said, Yes, yes, YES! I had envisioned how to pose with my ring for Instagram, adding the witty caption: ‘I said oui oui.’ I had even picked out the appropriate filter for our selfie. It was all so perfect – in my head.

  ‘Claire, I’m sorry.’ His brown eyes were sorrowful, as though his heart was breaking. It was like I had just said the words that would tear us apart, not him. ‘I never meant to hurt you.’

  I felt my fists clench. My shock, my disbelief, was morphing into something else, even as the hot tears pooled in my eyes.

  He never meant to hurt me.

  ‘You’re breaking up with me!’

  Silence.

  ‘In Paris.’

  He looked away.

  ‘Under the Eiffel fucking Tower!’ I screamed, attracting the attention of those who were unlucky enough to be standing nearby.

  Was there any feeling worse than this? A punch in the face on a gondola in Venice maybe? He might as well have punched me – it felt like all the air had been sucked from my lungs.

  My admiration for him, my total and utter besotted and blind obsession with Liam, died. I could feel my heart darken; my soul was so black it scared me. We had been together for eighteen months, had moved from Melbourne to London so Liam could follow his path in life – whatever that had meant; he’d never actually clarified it. If he meant we were both always strapped for cash and working double shifts in the dimly lit London pub, then we were following his path all right. Living the dream! We had been so determined to find our way and make a new life in a foreign land, despite Liam’s rather lacklustre path in London. I had been certain we knew each other’s dreams and fears. And that’s what was burning a hole in my heart, because at the crux of it, I don’t actually think Liam knew me at all. Because anyone who ever did know me knew that coming to Paris had been my lifelong dream. I had mentioned it often enough. The city was so close to our new home, but until this weekend we had been too busy to make the trip: there was an excuse, there was always an excuse. So when Liam not only agreed, but instigated this trip, I had convinced myself that this was the moment. Why else would he bring me here?