Her eyes soften, her pink, pillowy, wet lips part, and I crush my hand around my glass, throwing it to the ground.
Kit just went from being under my skin to being under my skin sideways.
I tear out of my seat and march over to her with the beat of my heart blotting out everything else, the chatter in the crowd, the lines of confusion etched across her angelic face. I rip my jacket off and put it around her shoulders, take a my checkbook out of my pocket and tear a sheet from it. Without taking my eyes off hers, I grab a pen from my pocket, scribble my signature on the blank check and slam it, bloodied, on the emcee’s table.
I leave the amount and pay-to lines empty. Whoever’s in charge can set their price and fill it in themselves.
I put my arm around her and she nestles against my chest, bringing her fingers to land on my heart. I drag her out of there so fast I think her feet grow wings.
“What the hell are you doing?” she hiss-whispers up to me.
“I’m getting you the fuck out of here, sweetheart. You’re mine.”
3
Kit
Well. This is quite unexpected.
I feel like I’m floating. My heart grew wings some time between meeting this man’s eye and when he threw a blank check at Ms. Steele.
Then my heels grew wings and I floated as he strong-armed me out of there.
I peer up at him, feeling extremely confused and very lovey-dovey. Blame it on the alcohol, except I didn’t drink this evening. I was saving the spike in a low-grade buzz for the moment I had to actually go on the date. Blame it on the holiday.
Blame it on this man.
I feel my heart hum against his chest as he closes his arm around me. I think this is the man I smelled from yards away before. I look up at him again, at his cut jaw, his bright green eyes, his slight stubble, a shock of black hair peppered with gray and shaved on the sides.
Pressing my fingers against his chest, I feel myself shudder beneath him as I exhale.
“Would you care to explain what the hell is going on with you?” I demand as he ushers me through the lobby. My legs are wobbly and if he weren’t holding me against his chest I might just fall in a pool at his feet, intoxicated by his scent and his dominant touch.
“You’re the one who needs to do some explaining, sweetheart,” he whispers against my ear. The ground beneath my feet changes from the carpet of the lobby to the asphalt of the sidewalk, but I barely feel it. It’s like I’m walking on air.
“I do not,” I protest, pushing away from him. I pull his jacket up to my neck and try not to purr when the cologned fabric brushes against my cheek. My voice in indignant, but yes, my heart feels like I should be explaining why I was selling myself off instead of immediately running over and jumping onto this man’s lap the moment our eyes met.
I feel like I need to apologize for not being down on my knees in front of him in a hotel room somewhere. I don’t understand what this man is doing to me. It’s…peculiar.
“What do I need to explain?” I say. “You’re the one acting out of the ordinary.”
“You looked like you were having a little bit too much fun up there,” he says indignantly, rolling his shirt sleeves up. “And in case you forgot, we just met. How do you know this is out of the ordinary for me?”
Oh no. Oh no. My body tingles from the tips of my toes to the top of my head when he bares his forearms. Call me a sucker for a tall tattooed man in a suit. He looked good up close, he looked so good from far away too, and he looks ah-mazing in-between. He’s tall and wide, with perfectly-tailored black pants and the crispest, most slim-fitting white shirt. He’s wearing a skinny black tie and his forearms are covered with faded etchings.
Hoo-boy.
He looks like he’s preparing to get his hands dirty and doesn’t intend to stop until he’s elbows-deep.
“A girl isn’t allowed to have a little fun?” I put my nose in the air and turn my cheek to him again. Indignant.
“What about your article on purity balls? Our society’s obsession with virginity? The economics of dating in the mid-to-late twenty-first century?” Impatient, he puts his hands on his hips. “Huh?”
Color me the same stunned shade of red as my dress. This man reads academic sociology papers on top of everything else? Wait, has that paper been accepted without me knowing it, or is he on the review committee for the journal I submitted to? He doesn’t look like any professor I’ve ever met.
“It’s complicated,” I say, throwing my hands up. “And anyway, I’m a person. An individual. I affect the culture just like the culture affects me.”
The v-word buzzes in my head. The way he said it makes me hot enough to consider giving it up.
“And your contribution to the world of academic literature is to…what, to sell yourself for a date?”
He’s right.
“You’re wrong, man. It’s just the idea of a date, which you’d know if you’d read the brochure.” I dig my hand into the pocket of his suit jacket, still hung over my shoulders, and pull out his car keys and four copies of the brochure. I shove three back in and flip one to the second page, marching toward him, shoving the glossy paper in his face. “Two supervised hours with Ms. Katherine Kensington to take place on the grounds of the Kensington Hotel. It’s for a good cause, and it’s hardly a real date.”
He’s right. But I can’t help that this was my only option. I also can’t help what makes me all tingly.
And this controlling, argumentative man with the perfect jaw and smoldering eyes and tattoos is making me tingly. Very tingly.
“Who are you?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at him as I walk backwards in my too-high heels. We’re beginning to make a scene. I stretch my arm out and put a corner of the brochure up between me and him in a pose of accusation.
I know I haven’t submitted that paper to any journals yet.
His knees bend and he looks like he’s about to pounce. I’m getting annoyed and a little scared now.
I think I might have a stalker on my hands. A dangerously beautiful, sexy stalker, but that doesn’t make it okay.
“Who are you?” I demand of him. “You have three seconds to reply.”
Three. Two.
I hit the button on his key fob and hear a car across the street beep. I dart toward the sidewalk and a luggage cart blocks him. I barely check for cross-town traffic before running over to his sexy white muscle car, swinging the door open, and slipping inside.
Okay. The last time I drove was when I took my driver’s ed class. I didn’t even bother to take the road test because growing up in Manhattan I didn’t need to drive. My father had a driver for me anyway, and I never thought I’d be behind the wheel of a motor vehicle again. Ever.
This is one of those freaky robot cars. I punch a button for the ignition and brace myself on the armrests as the car pulls out of the spot on its own, steering wheel turning and everything. Impressed and a little intimidated, I let the tech do its magic with my fingernails digging into anything I can get my hands on, and as I try to figure out who the hell this guy is, I can’t help but allow myself a little indulgence.
I breathe in deeply, letting his scent invade my senses. Fresh wood, light citrus, black coffee, dark chocolate. I bite my lip and a little whimper escapes as I wiggle my ass against his driver’s seat. His butt was on this seat. His fingers were on this steering wheel. I wrap my fingers around it as he darts into my field of vision and puts his hand out, crouching in front of his own damn car.
He must be regretting tossing off that blank check now, because my crazy is showing. I grip the steering wheel and hit the gas and then the brakes just as fast. I let him sweat. If I can’t get this man on a stretcher, this should wring some answers from him.
Cars behind me are honking. We’re holding up traffic. I open the window a crack and throw my voice into the street.
“Who are you?” It comes out in a squeak. “Are you a stalker? Are you trying to kidnap me?”
“No, I’
m not a stalker. Think about what you’re doing, Kit. You think the best escape route would be taken in a stolen car? A car you stole from me? What happens when I go down to the police station and the cops lead me right back to you?”
Someone behind me leans on their horn, and I hit the gas and brakes again to make this guy jump. Crazy is crazy, there is no half-way for me. And he’s right. This makes no sense. What was my big plan here?
“Well…” I feel my shoulders fall. If a stranger seems to know about you - specifics - one must be allowed some depth of skepticism to wade in, even if it only reaches your ankles.
I don’t have enough time to compose my thoughts before I feel his phone vibrate in the pocket of his suit jacket. Even if I tell this handsome stranger to stay away from me, can I keep the jacket? Oh, maybe I can ask to keep his car too. And yes, he is definitely the man I caught a sniff of back inside. My hormones are going crazy, and I clench my thighs together to try to suppress the ache. It doesn’t help, only makes it worse, and as his phone continues to vibrate, I reach into the pocket to fish it out.
When I see who’s calling, my heart skips a beat. I slide my finger across the glass to accept the call.
“Dad?”
He lets out a sigh on the other end of the line.
“Kit,” he says, “let me talk to Maxwell, alright?”
Maxwell. Max-well. That’s a good name. My dad knows this guy? I put my nose to the crack in the car window.
“It’s my dad,” I say, slipping the phone through. Maxwell takes a few big strides over and takes the phone like I’m a prisoner slipping her meal tray back through the bars. I sink down into the seat and pull Maxwell’s jacket closer to my chin, knotting my fingers through it. He turns away and nods several times, speaking a few affirmatives to my father before turning back to me.
“He wants to talk to you now.” He slides the phone through again and I bring it to my ear.
“Dad? You know this character?”
“Yes.” He clears his throat. “His name is Maxwell Armstrong. We’ve worked together in the past. You…you can trust him, Kit. I promise, you can trust him no matter what.”
I suck in a big breath and let it fill my lungs. Playing cops and robbers was fun for a few minutes, but I think I might like trusting Maxwell even more. Now I’ll let my guard down a little, but I’ll still reserve the right to judge later, if needed.
“Dad,” I say, testing out how far I can go, “can we leave the vicinity?” I hold my breath.
“Yes. Just make sure you stay with Maxwell.”
Yeah. I think I can manage that.
“No armed guards following us around?”
“Fine.” His answer is terse but relenting.
We end the call and I hit the button to unlock the doors. Without giving me a chance to get out, Maxwell opens the driver-side door and slips in, taking me by the waist and gliding me to the seat next to his, hitching my legs over the center console like I’m a just a light little feather. Oh boy. I settle in and I can still feel his fingers, their gentle pressure on my waist, his big hand under my knees. I wrap my arms around my stomach and peer up at him.
“Where are you taking me?” I wonder out loud.
“I told you I was getting you the fuck out of here,” he says, shifting gears and smiling over at me. “So we’re getting the fuck out of here.”
I risk a peek behind us. Sure enough, my security team is filing into their cars, and three black Cadillacs follow me and Maxwell as we start toward wherever the hell we’re going, but then, after a moment, they all part and pull over to either side of the street.
I smile and sink down, bringing his jacket up around my chin, again trying not to purr into it.
Something tells me I’m in for a wild ride.
4
Maxwell
This was a fucking crazy idea.
One her father isn’t happy about. Frankly, one I’m not very happy about, myself.
I’ve never been this close to her before. I’m starting to rethink my decision, as though I’d made a decision. But it wasn’t a decision.
I shift my gaze to drink her all up. I could describe her to a sketch artist down to the finest detail, but that’s not making me any more satisfied in looking away. Hell no. The way her chin has the tiniest dimple in it, the way her deep, warm blue eyes have flecks of honey in them. I could describe the way she likes to look out over the Hudson River when her official guards bring her to the park with a book and a veggie sandwich. I could describe how she likes to button her coats from the top-down instead of bottom-up.
“Well.” She breaks the silence between us.
“And?” I reply. We’ve been circling the block for ten minutes. She’d asked for a moment to gather her thoughts. She called me a stalker. Technically, she isn’t exactly wrong, though stalkers don’t usually get paid.
“I mean, my father trusts you, and that means I do, too. What’s fair is fair, I guess. He told me you were trustworthy. If he’s even half as good a judge of character as I think he is, then you’re alright. I just never would have imagined some random rich guy was interested in the academic papers of an undergraduate, or that my father was paying very much attention when I described my latest effort to him.”
“I knew you’d come around.” I shift in my seat. Fuck, now that I have her, I’m beside myself trying to decide what the hell I’m doing. The truth. The truth now seems like a good avenue to pursue here. “You seemed like a nice girl, and I just wanted to get to know you better. Can you blame me?”
“Well if it were up to me, you wouldn’t have had to pay to go on a date with me, Mr. Armstrong,” she blinks through her long dark eyelashes. My god, am I fucked. The way she says my name makes me want to bend her over my knee and ask her to name three other things I don’t need to pay for.
Her lips, her body, her heart?
“Please call me Max,” I reply. “And besides, it’s all going to a good cause. Your words, not mine.”
“True,” she sighs, gathering her hands in her lap. She’s showing compliance. I like it. I also like her reckless streak. “Want to know a little secret?”
“Sure,” I tell her, nodding toward her. “Tell me a little secret.”
“Promise you aren’t going to make fun of me, are you?”
No, sweetheart. Never.
“You can’t dangle a secret on a string and then give conditions for its divulgence. That’s just cruel. So no, I can’t promise I won’t make fun of you, but I promise I can try.”
“Okay, as long as you try.” She purses her lips, wringing her hands. “This is my first date.”
I thought I’d lost control, but now I’ve lost my mind. I need to get myself together, but I can tell already, with those blue eyes smiling up at me through those thick lashes and those legs crossing and uncrossing next to me that now Kit’s under my skin, she’s staying there.
“First date?”
I tip my chin up and study her as we stop at a red light.
“First date,” she confirms. “And that means I demand that if you are going to do this, you do it right. Make my first time count. So I don’t want any further analysis of the situation. Just treat me how I want for once, okay?”
“Describe your perfect date, then,” I tell her. “And spare no detail. I paid good money for this, and I want to make sure you get the most out of it.”
“Shouldn’t you be the one who’s looking out for his own interests, Mr. Armstrong? It’s your meeting, as they say. You approached me.”
Kit stretches her legs in a way that feels just for me. I grip the steering wheel harder, my knuckles turning white.
“It’s my pleasure to make sure a woman like you is taken care of, Kit,” I say. “So please, tell me about your perfect date.”
“Fine,” she says, turning to me. Her eyebrow raises slightly and her lips part. “I’d like dinner and a movie. But…I have conditions.”
“Conditions?”
“Conditions. Well
, just one, really. I would like to get out of the city. My father has such a tight leash on me that the only bits of freedom I can breathe are when I’m on the run, you know? So I’d like to just pick a place and just,” she takes a big breath, “stay there for a minute.”
I do know.
Just last week she got away from her security team and ended up racing on foot to the dog run in Madison Square Park. I already knew she was going to do it, so I went ahead of her and set myself up in a pair of jeans, a hoodie, and dark sunglasses, parked myself on a bench, and peered over the top fold of the Sunday Times. When I finally saw her appear at the dog run I knew she’d searched for on her phone, her little white and yellow dress nearly gave me a heart attack. Her guards descended on her soon enough, dragged her away, but I was there.
“Sure,” I say, gritting my teeth. “So what does that mean, Kit, where am I taking us?”
“I don’t know,” she says, chewing her lip and looking out the window. “Oh! Wouldn’t it be fun to go to a hotel together?”
I’ll be lucky if the steering wheel doesn’t break under the crush of my fists.
“What?” I grit out through clenched teeth.
“Did I just say that out loud? I didn’t mean to say it. Forget what I said.”
She looks about two seconds from sticking her fingers in her ears.
“Explain yourself,” I tell her.
“I mean, wouldn’t that be fun in a way? Think about it. We could check into a hotel and get room service. And we can watch a movie.” She sends me a side-long glance. “We won’t, like, be sleeping there or anything.”
The idea of having Kit alone in a hotel room is enough to make my mind go blank and plant a white flag of surrender there.
“Of course. Why a hotel?” I ask her tersely. She’s making my blood hot. She’s a tease in designer heels, and the whole time I’ve known her, watched, I’ve been going back and forth in my head as to whether she knows how much power she has. She could make billionaires dive their planes nose-first into the ocean at just the mere suggestion that it might please her in some perverse way.
Buy Me, Love (The One and Only Book 1) Page 2