Start Me Up

by Maggie Riley

  I went out and bought some fair trade lingerie the very next day. Some very skimpy fair trade lingerie.

  Some of which I was wearing right at that very moment as I sat in my new office looking out at Manhattan. Sometimes the whole thing felt like a dream. A wonderful dream that I never wanted to wake up from.

  Apparently, Mr. Mistoffelees felt the same as he jumped on my lap to get to the desk where he had found a sun spot. Directly across my laptop’s keys. I gently moved him before he rewrote the project I was in the middle of – a collaboration with Nancy Sinclair about the arts and crafts movement – and gave him a few gentle chin scratches as he spread out on the desk, exposing his soft white underbelly.

  Life was looking pretty damn good for the two of us.

  I heard the door to the apartment open, and I leapt to my feet, my heart going to my throat, the way it always seemed to when I knew Jack was home. As I came out of the office, I heard his wonderful low voice mingling with a higher, unfamiliar voice.

  Ella.

  It was my first time meeting Jack’s daughter and I wiped my damp palms off on my jeans, and tried not to look totally nervous. Because as much as moving in with Jack had been a big step, meeting his daughter was the step. Nothing was more important to Jack than his daughter’s approval. And I didn’t blame him one bit. Everything I had heard about Ella made it clear that she was the apple of her father’s eye. I wanted to impress her, or at the very least, I wanted her to like me.

  So I took a deep breath, smiled, and walked into the living room.

  Of course, Mr. Mistoffelees had darted in before me, and so as I entered, I heard Ella’s delighted cry.

  “Kitty!”

  Within seconds, she was lifting my cat into her arms.

  I winced, knowing that Mr. Mistoffelees didn’t always do well with strangers, especially ones that picked him up without the appropriate amount of scratches and cooing. I braced myself for him to start hissing and scratching, and even reached out my hand to pluck my cat out of Ella’s arms if he got too devious.

  But he didn’t. Instead, he settled into Ella’s embrace as if it was made for him and started purring like a lawnmower.

  “Kitty,” Ella cooed, rubbing his chin and causing him to purr even louder.

  The cat distraction gave me a moment to look at Ella before she even noticed I was there. I had seen pictures of her, of course, and even spoken to her on the phone once or twice, but this was my first time seeing her in person.

  She was so adorable that she took my breath away.

  Ella had her father’s dark hair, and as she grinned at Mr. Mistoffelees, I could see that she had inherited her smile from him as well. It was like looking at a miniature, feminine version of Jack, and I did pretty much the same thing I had done when I had met him and fell in love instantly.

  I wanted to run over and wrap her up in my arms, just like she was doing to my cat. But I knew that doing so was probably the worst way to introduce myself, so I stood there, my hands laced in front of me, rocking back and forth on my heels just like I always did when I was nervous. Because I was really, really nervous.

  But I was also content in watching Ella watch Mr. Mistoffelees while Jack watched Ella. There was a whole new expression on his face – one of complete love and adoration. It was similar to the look he gave me every time I saw him, but there was a fatherly pride in this look, one that made my heart twist in the best possible way. I hadn’t thought it possible to fall more in love with Jack, but here I was, falling more deeply.

  After a moment, Jack glanced up at me, and his smile broadened into the grin I knew was just for me. He gave me a wink and put his hand on his daughter’s shoulder.

  “Hey Ella,” he crouched down next to her. “That’s a pretty nice kitty, isn’t it?”

  Ella, who was still sharing a love fest with Mr. Mistoffelees, barely glanced back at her father. My cat nudged at her chin and she giggled.

  “I like him,” she told Jack. “He’s warm and soft.”

  “Like someone else I know,” Jack said in a lower tone, looking up at me and giving me a very, very wicked smile.

  “What’s his name?” Ella asked, snuggling my cat even closer.

  Jack gestured with his head, indicating that I should answer.

  “His name is Mr. Mistoffelees,” I said, and came down to crouch in front of her. “And he seems very happy to meet you.”

  “Mr. Mistoffelees?” Ella scrunched up her nose as if thinking.

  “It’s from a musical,” I told her. “It’s called Cats and it’s all about cats.”

  Her eyes went round and she looked back at her dad as if looking for confirmation. He just gave her a shrug, and she held my cat close and then finally glanced over at me. I was kneeling and therefore almost eye-to-eye with her.

  “There’s a musical about cats?” she asked, her voice a little quiet and a little shy.

  My heart did that twist again.

  “There is,” I confirmed. “And it’s on Broadway right now. Maybe your dad can take you.” I looked over at Jack, who looked like I had just suggested a night of pure hell.

  “Or maybe Libby can take you,” he countered, before putting his arm around his daughter. “Hey Ella, remember how I said you were going to meet someone special today?”

  She nodded, squeezing Mr. Mistoffelees.

  “Well, this is Libby,” Jack held out a hand to me.

  I took it, watching how Ella’s eyes followed the gesture.

  “We spoke on the phone a few times,” I reminded her gently, hoping this all wasn’t overwhelming her.

  But she wasn’t looking at Mr. Mistoffelees, or her father, or even really me any more. Instead, she was fixated on the shawl I had wrapped around my shoulders. She let go of my cat and he jumped to the floor, staying close to Ella so he could continue to rub up against her.

  “That’s pretty,” she told me, reaching out her hand.

  “Thank you,” I took it off and handed it to her so she could get a better look.

  It was a rectangular shawl in an intricate leaf pattern. I had started it last winter and it took me almost until summer to finish it. Out of all the knitting I had done, it was my favorite. And Ella was touching it like it was sewn out of gold or something equally precious.

  I was so in love with this child already. First my cat, and now me. She clearly had magical child powers that I was helpless against.

  “You can keep it,” I told her.

  Her face lit up. “Really?”

  “Really,” I said with a smile, feeling as if I had won some sort of award.

  Jack gave me a knowing look. “She’s already got you wrapped around your little finger,” he teased.

  “Not a bad place to be,” I countered.

  “That’s true,” he agreed readily, and helped Ella put the scarf around her shoulders. “You know that Libby made that, right?”

  Ella’s eyes went even wider and she looked up at me with awe, all her shyness gone.

  “Really?”

  “Really,” I grinned. “I could teach you, if you want.”

  “What do you think, Ella?” Jack asked, hoisting his daughter into his arms and standing. Somehow, he was able to balance her against his hip and still reach out to help me up. “Do you want to learn how to knit?”

  “Yeah!” she said with great enthusiasm. “Can we start now?”

  I laughed, loving how excited she was.

  “Sure,” I told her. “I’ve got some knitting needles and a ball of yarn.”

  “Why don’t you girls start on that and I’ll order us a pizza?” Jack suggested, putting Ella down. “And maybe we can watch a movie when the food arrives.”

  “Ok!” Ella was practically jumping up and down with anticipation.

  “Let’s go get some supplies,” I told her, turning towards my office.

  Before I could take a step however, I felt her slip her tiny hand into mine. I looked down at the little girl who had linked our fingers togethe
r and knew that I was completely and utterly wrapped around her finger.

  “She’s wonderful,” I told Jack as he came into the bedroom after putting Ella to bed.

  I was sitting on our king-sized bed, wrapped in a silken robe, my hair full and loose.

  “Yeah, she’s pretty special,” Jack agreed, a big goofy smile on his face. “And she thinks you’re special as well.”

  “Really?” I asked, feeling warmth spreading through me. I had so badly wanted to make a good impression.

  “She’s so excited about learning to knit,” he told me. “I heard her telling her mom about it during her pre-bedtime call.”

  “I’m so glad,” I clasped my hands to my chest, grateful that our first meeting had gone well.

  “I never had any doubt,” said Jack, shrugging off his shirt.

  I stared, knowing that I would never get enough of him. Just his naked torso was enough to get my blood pumping. Then Jack looked over at me and his grin went from that of an adoring father to a wicked, wicked boyfriend with naughty things on his mind. He sat next to me, his hand toying with the neckline of the robe.

  “I like this,” he said in that low voice of his. “What’s underneath it?”

  I gave him what I hoped looked like a casual shrug. “Guess you’ll have to find out,” I teased.

  He growled and within a moment, I found myself pinned to the bed, his long, hard body pressing against mine, his mouth hot on my neck. His hands were already untying the slippery knot of the robe and as it fell open, he helped push it away, exposing the lacy lingerie set I was wearing underneath.

  Jack sat back and let out a groan of pure male appreciation.

  “God, you’re gorgeous,” he told me, his eyes intense.

  I reached for him, needing his mouth on mine. His kiss was hot, his tongue thrusting into my mouth as he made quick work of my lingerie, tossing it onto the floor on top of the robe.

  “I don’t think this is very fair,” I ran my hands down his rock hard stomach, my fingers going for his belt. “We should even the playing field.”

  “You’ll get no argument from me.” He shucked his jeans and his boxers and then there was nothing between us except the thin latex condom he rolled onto his considerable length.

  I was so wet and ready for him, but he took his time, kissing down my chest, swirling his tongue over each nipple, his fingers teasing my clit. It was exquisite torture. By the time he entered me, I was nearly begging for release. As he slid deeper, going inch by inch, I could feel my orgasm building. Then as he thrust completely inside me, filling me, I came, my entire body shaking with the intensity of the moment, my back arching off the bed.

  And then, even before I could catch my breath, pleasure began to build inside me again as Jack thrust steadily, his hands clutching my hips, his pelvis kissing my clit. I wrapped my legs around his back, and he went deeper. I couldn’t get enough of him. I wanted more. More. More.

  “It’s so good,” I moaned, my fingers digging into his perfect ass, urging him to go faster.

  He obliged and I could tell that he was on the edge. I was there right with him, and just as he pushed me over a second time, I could feel him follow, his orgasm shuddering through him, a masculine groan torn from his lips as we both found our release.

  Jack had his hand tangled in my hair, and I had my palm pressed over his chest, where I could feel his heartbeat. He kissed my forehead, both of us still breathing heavily. I snuggled closer to him, ready to let sleep take me. But before I could, Jack’s voice broke through the quiet.

  “Libby?”

  Something in the way he said my name, had me looking up at him.

  Even in the now dark bedroom, I could see the serious expression on his face. I pulled back, worried.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “Nothing,” he sat up, and ran a hand over his face. “I just need to–”

  He reached over and grabbed something out of his jeans.

  “I love you,” he told me.

  “I love you too.” I took his face in my hands and kissed him.

  “And I wanted you to meet Ella before I did this,” he said, getting off the bed and going down on one knee.

  Even though I saw it happening, I still had to pinch myself.

  Jack held up the most beautiful diamond ring I had ever seen.

  “Will you marry me?” he asked.

  My mouth dropped open, and my eyes went wide. I pinched myself again. Hard. Maybe too hard.

  “Ouch,” I winced.

  Jack was still holding up the ring, giving me a bemused expression. “What are you doing?”

  “Pinching myself,” I explained to him. “Because if this is real life, then everything is perfect.”

  “Well, babe,” he slid the ring onto my finger, “it’s definitely real.”

  “Then everything is definitely perfect,” I told him, and launched myself into the arms of my future husband.

  The End

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  Dating the Billionaire by Poppy Dunne

  Keep reading for the first chapter of DATING THE BILLIONAIRE by Poppy Dunne!

  Chapter One

  Dahlia

  Books are sexy. You can throw all the champagne dinners and limousine rides and sharp, well-cut Armani suits at me as you like—and I would like, so we’re clear—but nothing provides the same tactile pleasures as books. Think I’m kidding? Not a chance. Pick up a book, riffle through the pages, and breathe in that certain, wonderful, nerdy perfume. Slip off the dust jacket, and you have a very naughty and nude volume at your fingertips. But like any good partner, it’s what’s inside that counts. A good book? Same thing as a good man: never let it out of your sight, and don’t let your friend borrow it unless you want the pages to come back all crinkled and the dog to have chewed on it.

  That metaphor ran away from me, but my point stands.

  So when I tell you that I’m sitting in the public library, waiting for my new client with a steaming cup of cherry hibiscus tea beside me and my black leather planner all spread out before me, I’m a happy girl. And when I find out that my new client, a sweet, blushing thirty-two year old with Warby Parker eyeglasses and chipped nail polish, is a librarian? Well, I have to help this girl find happiness, on behalf of book lovers everywhere.

  That’s what I do. Professional dating expert, helping happy ever afters manifest for the last ten years. I started at Vassar during my senior year, ever since I got Dwayne Rees and Becky Collins into a romantic clinch outside the rose garden.

  “Ms. Rossi?” the librarian asks as she sits down opposite me, hands right in her lap. Okay, she’s shy. No problem.

  “Please, call me Dahlia.” I give her a warm smile, and she loosens right away. This is (check my notes) Amy Jacobs, and I’m about to make her extremely happy. That makes me happy.

  “Wow, that’s such a pretty name.” She’s totally sincere, which melts my type-A heart.

  “It’s what happens when you have an Italian American father and a Southern lady for a mother.” It’s true. From my dad, I get a head full of thick black hair and a stubborn disposition. From Mom, it’s the name and the unwavering belief in everlasting love. Deadly combination, that. I’m just glad every single day that Dad managed to talk Mom out of the name Magnolia when she was nine hours into labor with me. The drugs probably helped his case. Dahlia Rossi sounds like a lady professional; Magnolia Rossi sounds like a martini.

  Of course, the downside of an Atlanta belle mother is that, now I’m past thirty, she’s poking me a lot more about my own happily ever after. “Dahlia, don’t you know how I yearn to see my grandchildren?” I can hear her saying with a gentle, decorous sigh. Then I imagine her standing on an antebellum porch and waving a lace handkerchief into the breeze.

  Mom sharply told me to stop romanticizing Gone with the Wind at a young age, but old habits die hard.

  Okay, back to reality and Amy Jac
obs.

  “So. How can I help you?” I watch her twist a turquoise bead bracelet around and around on her wrist. She’s a fidgeter, which means she’s going to need someone who makes her relax.

  “I’ve never done anything like this before.” She blushes hard, and I take out my emergency stash of chocolate covered blueberries, offering her one. Something about the soothing embrace of chocolate tends to make women open up. This trick never fails. Amy happily takes a couple, rolling her eyes at the taste. I like a lady who appreciates the sugary finer things in life.

  “That’s fine. Whenever people come to me, it’s because whatever they’ve tried so far hasn’t been working. After a little time with me, they never have to go back out into the dating world.” Not that dating isn’t and can’t be a lot of fun, but different folks need different things. There comes a point when settling down is just what people want. Humans need stability and predictability to feel safe, and that extends into romance.

  I haven’t quite hit that point myself yet, but I recognize it in others.

  Amy nods, finishes her chocolate, and says, “So there’s this guy who comes to the library. I’m usually tucked away in reference, but I came out one day to help him. He’s, well.” Her eyes actually sparkle. This is a woman in the mad grip of a crush. Much fun as those are, you want to make sure there’s compatibility. A whirlwind romance with an underwear model is no bad thing, but if you’re Amy Jacobs and want something stable, it might not be in the cards.

  “What’s he like? Did you talk to him?”

  She nods. “He’s a PhD student at Columbia. He wants to be a clinical psychologist.” She sighs like she’s said the dreamiest thing in the world. So, the intellectual equivalent of an underwear model? For Amy, we can work with this. “He’s really nice, too. I didn’t expect him to be so nice. And the next time he came in for a book, he asked for me by name. Since I’d been so helpful before, I guess.” She says that last line and drops her eyes, her energy dropping with it. Instantly, I get a read: the guy seems to like her, since he went out of his way to ask, but Amy’s got bad self esteem. She thinks the only reason a man would be interested in her would be to get something from her.