by Ella Brooke
Twenty minutes later, Ian was leading Hazel up a long, crazy corkscrew of a staircase as she stared up with saucers for eyes. He hadn’t been here himself, actually. He never would have wanted to come during the day, and the only person he’d ever known who might have wanted to go was his mum, who had gone with her sister during a visit to the States.
“I didn’t think you were one for kitsch,” Hazel said, looking a bit anxiously down at her feet every so often. Ian would never let her fall, but her nervousness was cute.
“I’d like to think it’s patriotism.”
Hazel snorted. Her stamina seemed good, though she’d just eaten, and that boded well for their evening. They climbed the stairs for what seemed like an endless time. Finally, they reached the top, and Hazel’s laugh emerged from her like a wind chime, airy and free.
“It’s so small in here.”
“We are inside her head.”
“I guess it wouldn’t be good for Liberty to get a big head—can’t serve the tired masses that way,” Hazel joked.
Ian went to the opening in the Statue of Liberty’s crown and stuck his head out. Before them, he could see the waves of the ocean, dark but occasionally catching the flecks of light from the statue. He saw buildings on the far side of the water, as well, lit up against the night. Hazel came up beside him to poke her head out as well.
“Lovely, isn’t it?”
“It’s impressive. I don’t know if it’s lovely.”
Ian groaned. “Just enjoy your life for once!”
“I am! I just think it would be so much more beautiful if the water were cleaner. I can’t help if my thoughts go to dark places.” Hazel reached over and grabbed his hand. “That doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate how amazing this place is. You know, I’ve been to New York before for conferences, but I’ve never done anything touristy like this. I always mean to do these things, but I get busy, and then I get tired.”
Ian stood up straight. When she followed him, he took her other hand and brought them both to her lips. “Darling, I want you to promise me something.”
“I-I um. Okay?”
“You have all of the strength and determination of a bloody tank. And it’s wonderful. Regardless, I want you to promise me that you won’t let your mission prevent you from wresting everything you can from life. In the short time I’ve known you, you have never missed an opportunity to learn or fight.” He leaned forward until their faces were almost touching. “Promise me you’ll try to exercise a similar verve for your own happiness.”
***
Hazel blinked slowly. She bit her lip, then breathed, “I promise,” before reaching up to kiss him. She gave his lower lip a wet suck before raking her nails down his neck.
Her mantra was broken. No more swearing that she wouldn’t be with him again. She would be with him as many times as she could physically stand, and then maybe some more. Ian seemed energized by her sudden interest, and he wrapped his arms around her, pressing her back against the slat between the openings of the crown.
Hazel looked back and felt her heart leap over the distance between them and the ocean. Meanwhile, Ian had begun licking and sucking on her neck, and the area between her legs began to grow warm and throb. She wanted him, needed him, inside her as soon as possible.
She slid her hands down the back of her leggings, pushing them and her panties out of the way. Ian looked up at her with a wicked glint in his eye and muttered, “Time for dessert, then?”
Before she could guess his meaning, two dexterous fingers were rubbing against her lips down there. Teasing and riling her up in a way that made her buck her hips and gasp in spite of herself.
“Oh, love. We’re just getting started.”
Ian kissed her once more before dropping to his knees. His fingers continued to stroke her gently, but soon his tongue was moving inside of her. He lapped broadly over her lips, and pushed inside, and sucked, ever so gently, against her sensitive nub. Hazel writhed helplessly. It felt so damned good. No one had ever touched her like this. She’d only had straightforward sex or a few sad attempts at oral. She’d never had a man come at her with such gusto, such hunger, that it seemed he wanted to take in all of her.
Clearly, Ian was very hungry. He lapped and sucked tirelessly until she felt her pleasure rising like a wave. She shuddered, almost afraid of how it would feel, and if it would last. She had often worried about the time it took her to get there, but Ian always had a stamina that outlasted her stubborn body. He could coax an orgasm out of a rock if he set his mind to it. Now, he slid a finger inside of her and continued to tease.
“Right there! No… Yes! Harder! Harder!” Hazel gasped. She gripped the opening in the crown.
A staccato cry rose from deep inside her as she began to come. A brief, wild firework of pleasure… But as she came, Ian’s fingers moved. He continued to stroke her lips, and Hazel gasped again as a second orgasm struck her, and then a third. She lost count, her body so awash in feeling that she almost couldn’t breathe.
At last, it died down, and Hazel quivered from the intensity. She sunk down, letting Ian wrap his arms around her as she panted.
“Oh, God, Ian, that was, so, so amazing,” she muttered. “I can’t…” She fumbled for words. “I love you.”
Ian said nothing, but kissed her forehead and pulled her panties and leggings back up to protect her from the cold. They stayed there for some time, curled together in the afterglow high above the New York skyline.
It wasn’t until later that night that it dawned on Hazel what she’d said, and how true it was.
Chapter Nine
“You’re looking healthy.”
Hazel pursed her lips at her mother and refused to rise to the bait. “Healthy” was code for “Did you gain weight?” It was possible, even probable, that her semester of late nights and Pop-Tarts had resulted in some college pounds, but it was nothing she’d noticed beyond a little bloating, and she was due for her period soon anyway. But, of course, Martha Greenwood would notice and felt obligated by law to comment.
Instead, Hazel chopped squash at the table. She hated Thanksgiving. Beyond the political problems with the holiday, it meant a moral obligation to go home and take on an undue portion of the work while the boys fooled around, all while trying to survive the absolutely nasty smell of wet roasting turkey carcass for an entire day. If she were honest, Hazel would admit that sometimes she got a craving for a burger around that time of the month, and she missed rotisserie chicken, but turkey was just nasty. She’d been trying to block off her sense of smell since the moment she walked into the house.
“How are Basil and Briar doing in school?” Hazel asked. “Are they getting ready for the SAT yet?”
Martha scoffed. “They’re just freshman.”
“Hence, why I asked. Some people start early these days. It’s harder to prepare for now that they changed it. There’s more math and more historical readings.” Hazel shrugged. “I would’ve struggled with the new version, and I know B and B don’t like reading all that much.”
“The boys are fine, Hazel. Why do you have to judge?”
Hazel bit her lip and tipped the squash into the pan with the other vegetables. If she wanted something to eat besides mashed potatoes, yams, or some other kind of tuber filled with sugar, she had to make it herself. It had been that way since high school, and it was most of the reason she’d learned to cook, and why she showed up early to make sure most of the vegetables were made without butter slathered all over them.
“Hey! What’s our little hippy up to these days?” her stepfather Steve asked as he went to get another beer from the fridge.
“Just grinding out her senior year,” Martha said. “I think you’re working too hard, sweetie. You look tired.”
“I have a lot of professional opportunities right now.” Haze pulled out the sliced eggplant from the fridge and took it to the sink to rinse. “I have to work hard if I want the last few years to pay off.”
“That’s
the spirit, kiddo.” Steve reached over and mussed her hair. “You know, if you ever need something to get by, there will always be a spot at the office for you.”
“I appreciate it, Steve, but I’m not really interested in the insurance game.”
“No, just in the businesses-that-don’t-make-money game.” Steve laughed at his own joke.
Hazel flattened her expression. “Yep. That’s me.”
Martha shook her head as she put together the yams. “You should at least make the time to date a little, Hazel. I know you’re into politics and everything, but college is the time for you to be looking for someone to spend your life with.”
That stung. Even if those two thoughts didn’t have anything to do with one another, her mother would always connect her life failures to her choice in major. And, unfortunately, she couldn’t just tell them that she had been sleeping with her professor for the better part of two months. “Okay, you know it isn’t the 1950s, right? I’m not getting a Mrs. Degree.”
“Don’t get snitty with me.”
“I’m just saying… women don’t have to meet their husband in college.” Hazel sprinkled her herb mixture in with the vegetables and olive oil and started to stir. “You met Dad in college, though, and that worked out just awesome.”
Steve snorted.
“If I hadn’t met a husband in college, the world wouldn’t have been blessed with your miraculous self,” Martha said.
“Yeah, that would be a huge loss.” Steve laughed again and kissed Martha on the cheek. “Don’t clog up the oven with that rabbit food. We gotta get the turkey in there.”
“Don’t worry. Rabbit food cooks faster than bird corpses,” Hazel drawled.
“Oh, don’t be vulgar,” Martha said.
Hazel rolled her eyes and arranged the vegetables on the roasting pan.
***
Hazel didn’t think she was going to make it through dinner. The smell of the turkey was more overwhelming than she remembered. Plus, it was a little overcooked because her mother always got distracted by watching football with the boys. Hazel tried to close off her nasal passages by force of will but only succeeded in forgetting to breathe. She got up and excused herself from the table.
No one noticed.
Hazel went into the bathroom and shut the door. After splashing water on her face a few times, she put the lid down on the toilet and sat on top of it. She pulled out her phone and sent a message to Ian.
Should have taken you up on Chinese food Thanksgiving. How is it?
She stared at her phone, hoping against hope that he would get back to her. It was pathetic, being so dependent on this guy she couldn’t even call her boyfriend, but she couldn’t help it. They saw one another almost every day. They worked together. She was halfway through writing his book. He’d even expanded his company’s charitable contributions just to keep her around.
Even so, they had never talked about where things were going. Beyond fun. Beyond sex. After New York, which had been wall-to-wall sex and expensive outings (with a couple of business meetings attached), Ian had made a point to find places to take her whenever possible—day trips to nature preserves, nights out dancing, tickets to the symphony. Hazel spent more time with Ian than anyone else, but she still couldn’t bring herself to ask him where all of this was going. The longer it went on, the longer she worried that he was just having a nice fling with his student, and it would be over once the semester ended, or he grew bored.
Her phone buzzed, and Hazel looked at it hopefully. It wasn’t Ian though. It was the Period-Tracker app giving her a message that she should have started today. Hazel frowned. Usually, the app was dead-on. Maybe she would start later that day.
She sighed and washed her hands, looking at herself in the mirror. She did look a little tired. No doubt being home had something to do with that.
When she opened the door, Hawk was standing outside with his arms crossed.
“Sorry, did you need to go?”
“No. I just wondered where you disappeared to. It seems like Steve is bothering you more than usual.”
“I think I’m just hormonal. Or maybe he is more irritating. Or maybe I just wish Dad still came for holidays.”
Hawk shrugged. “Well, he’s got his new family. I think he gave up on us after Steve knocked Mom up.”
“He could at least call,” she pointed out.
“He could, but that would revoke his position as abandoning father.” Hawk launched himself from the wall. “We can escape to my room after dinner—get away from them for a while. Plus, my room smells more like Gain than turkey.”
“That sounds nice. I was going to try to cut out early, but I’ll stick around if you want to play video games.”
“Always.”
***
It was a bit late when Ian heard the doorbell. He went to the intercom and asked Dave the doorman who it was, then instructed him to send Hazel up. In truth, he barely counted this as a holiday, and so had been in his study for the bulk of the day, making notes over Hazel’s latest draft.
The elevator opened on a sweater enveloped Hazel, whose eyes were a little red and her eye makeup smudged. Ian wrapped his arms around her and kissed her head.
“Darling, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. Holidays are just hard.”
“Alright, then.” Ian rubbed his hands over her shoulders and guided her to the sofa. “Maybe you need a holiday from your holiday, then. We could go somewhere. I do have the jet.”
“No, I don’t want to go anywhere.” Hazel snuggled up against his side. She looked a bit pale, in addition to everything. That sweater seemed to swallow her, but the leggings underneath probably didn’t provide much warmth.
“How about I get you a glass of wine?” he offered.
“No. Um, thanks, though.” Hazel bit her lip. “I could go for some mint tea, if you have any.”
“As you wish.” Ian kissed her cheek lightly and went to the kitchen. There, he put the kettle on and snuck glances back at Hazel. She seemed tired, but that was no surprise. He often thought that her vegan diet, as rushed and unplanned as it was as a student, didn’t offer her enough protein to get through the day, let alone a full class load and three jobs. He returned with two steaming mugs of tea (though his was caffeinated), and a plate of cherry-oat bars with almond butter that his shopper had picked up from the store from the vague list item “high protein vegan snacks.”
“I could turn on the television,” Ian suggested. He reclined beside her and offered an oat bar, but she shook her head. She was clearly nervous about something. She hadn’t looked like this around him in some time. “We could just space out for a little bit? Get your mind off of whatever happened with your family?”
“Do you have issues with your family? I guess they don’t do Thanksgiving in the UK.”
“No, but we do have such wholesome holidays as Guy Fawkes day, whereupon we celebrate setting fire to traitors.”
Hazel raised both brows as she stared up at him. “I had no idea Britain was so intense.”
“We did try to take over the world for a time.” Ian combed his fingers through her hair. “My family has always gotten on okay. Mum is still around. I do miss my father, but again, he did mentor me in his business. Did I ever tell you how the company got its name? Cartwright & Benton?”
Hazel wrapped her fingers around the hot mug and blew on her tea. “No.”
“Benton was my mum’s maiden name. My father considered her a partner.”
“Oh. That’s really sweet. Kind of romantic.”
“Trust that you would find a business arrangement romantic.”
“I just think if you’re going to be with someone, you should respect them.” Hazel heaved a heavy sigh.
Ian licked his lips as he considered that. “Do you think I don’t respect you?”
“I… I don’t know.”
“I wouldn’t let someone co-write a book with me if I didn’t respect their work,” Ian said. W
here did these anxieties come from, he wondered. He thought back to their first night, when she’d been nearly moved to tears that he thought highly of her.
“My work yes, but…” Hazel shifted so she could look at him more directly. “What are we? I mean, are we a couple? Are you my boyfriend? That sounds so weird to call you that.”
“Do we really need to put a label on this? Aren’t you having a good time?”
Hazel seemed to pale even further. “I am, but it feels wrong to be doing this with someone for as long as we have without trying to define what we have at least a little. I’m not asking for a ring or anything. I just want to know if we’re going somewhere.”
Ian sighed and took her hand. “You know we can’t be open as a couple.”
“Does that mean we are a couple? I’m sorry, I know it’s not ‘cool’ to need to know these things.”
Ian lifted her chin and kissed her lips. “I don’t want our relationship to ever hurt you. I can use my influence to keep things under wraps for now. We can worry about all of this later.”
A little wrinkle appeared above Hazel’s brow. Her annoyance tightened her jaw and pursed her lips.
“We could date officially, then, once the semester is over? Once you’re technically not my teacher, and we’re just two people working on a book together. Theoretically, we could,” she pressed.
“In theory, yes.” Ian moved his arm around her waist and kissed her again. This time, she kissed back.
He knew he was being vague about their relationship, but it was necessary. Even if he didn’t care about the job at the university, the scandal that would come from him dating a student might be enough to disrupt his business substantially. And it would definitely be bad for Hazel’s career.
If he’d been able to resist starting this with Hazel, as young as she was and looking up to him as a mentor, he would have. But it had been impossible—looking into her stormy gray eyes, being close to her lovely, willowy frame, listening to her impassioned words—not to want her. Not to touch her. He had to have her. Now that he did, however, he was afraid he would lose her in trying to protect her.