Karen leaned over to give her a hug. “You have it. You know you do.”
“Thank you.”
Karen pulled away. “So what now?”
“I’ve spent eight months alone, figuring out who I am and proving I can stand on my own. I think now I give myself permission to go with my gut.”
“Follow your heart?” Karen’s tone made it clear what she thought of the cliche.
Nina smiled. “Maybe.”
“Suit yourself,’ Karen said. “Just remember: the heart is a lying fool. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Nina laughed as she moved around the rack to the other side. She pulled her phone out of her bag and looked at their text exchange.
Do I have a say?
Of course…
Another question lingered behind the one on the screen. It was the only question that mattered.
What do you want, Nina?
She didn’t hesitate.
See you at seven.
6
Six hours later Nina pressed the buzzer on the intercom in her apartment and waited for Jack to make his way upstairs. He’d given her no instructions for their date, no guidelines in terms of apparel. She’d spent twenty minutes standing in front of her closet before she decided to put her money where her mouth was and dress however she damn well pleased. If she and Jack were going to start again, they would both have to open up about who they really were.
And Nina was someone who sometimes liked to wear pants and flats.
She looked down at her outfit as his footsteps sounded on the stairs. She’d chosen a pair of tailored navy cigarette pants and comfortable pointed toe flats. She’d gotten the ivory blouse on sale at Bergdorf thanks to Julia who’d plucked it off the clearance rack for her before it made it onto the floor. The silk was light and sensual against her skin, the lace trim of her matching bra barely visible.
She tried to remember if she’d ever worn pants around Jack, then reminded herself that it didn’t matter. She wouldn’t play Trilby to his Svengali, and there was no evidence that’s what he wanted anyway. It was true that he’d been exacting in his expectations, but in hindsight she wondered if it had been a kind of game: how long will it take for Nina to assert herself?
He’d found out — and so had she.
This was different. She’d agreed to see him again on the basis of his promise to be more open and the promise she’d made with herself to be more honest.
He appeared a little at a time as he climbed the stairs, the top of his head appearing first, the silver at his temples catching the light as his face came into view.
“Hello,” she said as he approached the door.
He looked into her eyes and smiled. “Hello.” His gaze combed her from head to toe before returning to her face. “You look beautiful.”
She could see he meant it by the shine in his eyes, by the smile that could never lie. “Thank you.”
“May I come in?”
The request took her by surprise. Jack had always come to the door when he’d picked her up and dropped her off, but he’d never gotten more than a glimpse of her apartment from the doorway, had never shown an interest in having more than a glimpse.
She hadn’t minded back then. The apartment had been a work in progress, the furnishings sparse. She hadn’t been eager to show it off to a man who lived at the Mandarin Oriental in a penthouse that offered views of the Chrysler Building, Central Park, and the Statue of Liberty.
Now it suddenly mattered that he see her home. It was a new kind of intimacy, and she tried not to be nervous as she stepped back to let him in.
He seemed to occupy every square inch of space as he entered the living room. It wasn’t just his size, although he was over six feet tall and carrying the lean muscle of a tennis player. It was the larger-than-life aura that was uniquely Jack’s.
He stopped in the middle of the room and turned to take it all in. “This is nice,” he pronounced. “Warm.”
She closed the door. “Thank you.”
He walked to the bookshelf she’d pulled off the curb on trash day three months earlier. She’d spent an entire weekend with the windows open, painting the bookcase a deep blue-gray in the middle of the living room, newspaper placed under it in order to protect the old wood floors.
She hadn’t really felt at home in the apartment until the paint had dried and she’d unpacked the books she’d brought with her from Larchmont, adding them to the ones she’d picked up since moving to Brooklyn.
He scanned the shelves without speaking. She remembered this about Jack — the silence that was only uncomfortable because she was waiting for his touch. It was strangely soothing to be back in the cocoon of it.
His hair was cut short. It curled at the back of his neck, making him seem almost boyish until she came to the broad shoulders pulling at the wool of his coat.
He bent to study the spines on the lower shelves, then straightened and moved around her sofa, stopping at the end table near the window. His fingers grazed the patterned pot holding one of her succulents, and he leaned down to study the photograph of the sari.
“This is nice,” he murmured. “From your gallery?”
“Yes.”
From Liam.
She pushed away the reminder. She wouldn’t be able to start over with Jack if she kept thinking of Liam. They’d been intertwined in her mind for nearly year, but Liam was gone.
It was time to let him go.
Jack’s eyes swept the room, resting on a toy mouse in the middle of the floor. “Where is your cat?”
“Probably hiding under the bed. She’s a bit skittish.”
He nodded. “Do you have your passport?”
She blinked at the sudden change in conversation. “Not on me.”
“You should get it.”
“You said dinner,” she said.
He walked slowly toward her. “I promise you there will be dinner.” He was only a couple inches away, his presence an assault on her senses. He bent his head and touched his lips to hers. The kiss was gentle, but she felt his restraint, a vibration in the air. He pulled away and scanned her face before stopping at her lips. “Now get your passport, darling.”
Her breath was shallow, desire expanding in her chest, flooding the far reaches of her body. She stood there for a long moment, not wanting to leave his orbit.
Then she went into her bedroom to get her passport, back under Jack Morgan’s spell, this time with her eyes wide open.
7
Nina stared out the window, her eyes pulled to the illuminated arch of the Arc de Triomphe. She’d allowed herself to be led onto Jack’s plane without question, relieved to find that he’d arranged for fresh lobster and champagne to be served once they were in the air.
She was famished, and she’d eaten enthusiastically as Jack looked on with laughter. Last year she’d been too nervous around him to indulge her appetite, but her promise to be herself was liberating, and she ate without apology, closing her eyes and savoring the fleshy meat drenched in lemon juice and butter, a perfect counterpoint to the dry champagne.
She’d tried to pack a bag and had been assured by Jack that everything she needed would be provided. She knew him well enough to know it wasn’t an empty promise, and she’d left her apartment with nothing but her handbag, coat, and a quick text to Moni that she was leaving town for a last-minute trip and would explain at the gallery Monday morning, plus a plea to feed Virginia while she was gone.
She hadn’t allowed herself to second-guess her decision to trust Jack until she’d woken with her head on his shoulder and had turned her eyes to see the Eiffel Tower rising in the early morning sky.
She’d immediately stiffened, the memory of their last trip to Paris coming back with an alarming crash. Jack had brought her hand to his lips, leaving a kiss on her palm before turning his eyes to hers.
“I’ve ruined the most romantic city in the world for you,” he’d said. “Let me fix it.”
“No sex cl
ubs?”
“Just you and me, Nina.”
She’d nodded with her heart in her throat.
They’d landed at De Gaulle and stepped into a waiting limo. She tried not to think about the last time they’d been in the city, about her naivety and her flight back to New York with nothing but the clothes on her back, her phone still with the guards at the mansion that was a sex club for the rich.
They were starting over. Jack understood the rules now.
So did she.
She shouldn’t have been surprised when the car pulled up to the Plaza Athenee. It was the same hotel where they’d stayed the last time, and while anyone else might have sought to differentiate this experience from that one, Jack wasn’t one to run from discomfort. He wasn’t going to let her run either.
She understood what he was doing: replicating as much about their first trip to Paris as possible, insuring they wouldn’t pretend it hadn’t happened, allowing this trip to overwrite that one.
They took the elevator to the same suite where a bottle of champagne on ice greeted them, along with a bowl of luscious strawberries. Nina found an assortment of expensive toiletries in the bathroom, obviously chosen for her by someone in Jack’s employ, along with a selection of underclothes with tags from La Perla.
“I take it we don’t plan on leaving the hotel?” she asked, closing the drawer.
Jack removed his jacket. “What makes you say that?”
She smiled. “I can’t see Paris in underclothes.”
“You haven’t checked the closet,” he said, tossing aside his jacket.
She walked to the closet and found several items hanging there — a dress, a skirt, four tops, even a pair of trousers. Three Christian Louboutin shoeboxes were stacked on the floor. She had a feeling the brand was no accident, that underneath Jack’s brooding, he’d been paying attention to every detail, even the kind of shoes she wore.
She wouldn’t have been at all surprised if he knew the black Louboutins she’d worn when they were dating were a huge splurge, her one pair of expensive shoes, purchased only because Karen had insisted they were on sale.
“It should get you by until Monday,” he said.
She turned to look at him. “How do you know I have to be at work Monday?”
“I called the gallery and asked.”
“You think you’re pretty smart, don’t you?”
He returned her smile. “Just attentive to details.”
“I’ll say.”
He loosened his tie and started to unbutton his shirt. She watched as his bare skin appeared at the top of his chest.
“Would you like a bath?” he asked.
“No.” It was just after eight in the morning in Paris. She’d been traveling for nearly ten hours, but now that she was alone with Jack, all she wanted was to bridge the physical gap between them.
He nodded and crossed the room to stand in front of her. He looked down at her for a long moment, then slid a hand into her hair and tipped her head. This time when his mouth closed over hers there was no restraint.
The kiss buckled her knees and she locked her arms around his neck and molded her body to his, matching the sweeping exploration of his tongue as his cock pressed against her stomach.
He pulled away all at once and looked down at her face with naked longing. When he spoke, his voice was anguished. “I was afraid I’d never do that again.”
He grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled back her head.
She gasped when he lowered his mouth to her neck, trailing kisses down her throat and stopping at the well between her collarbone.
He reached for the tie on her blouse and pulled. The silk unfurled, her chest cool as the air hit the newly revealed skin.
His eyes were hooded as he lowered his gaze to take in her cleavage. He let go of her hair and stepped back, putting a couple of feet between them.
“Take off your clothes, Nina.”
She didn’t hesitate to work the buttons on her blouse, but this time she knew why she was obeying: because she wanted to.
She thought briefly of his expression the first and only time they’d had sex the year before. It had been indecipherable, but she wondered if she simply hadn’t known him. There was no mystery in his fevered gaze now.
It was all hunger.
She finished with the buttons and shrugged the blouse to the floor. Then she kicked off her shoes, unfastened her pants, and slid them over her hips. She didn’t wait for his instructions to unhook her bra and slip it off her shoulders or to dispense with the thong underwear.
There were some things she remembered about Jack. He would want her naked.
He looked at her for a long moment. The blackout curtains in the suite were closed, the room so dark it might have been midnight. Somewhere beyond the hotel, Paris was stirring to life, the sun rising over the storied city.
Here there was only the two of them. A world built for two.
He walked to the bedside table and opened the drawer. When he straightened, he was holding a length of rope in his hands.
She had no idea how it had gotten there, could only assume it had been prearranged along with the clothing and toiletries, but she knew she didn’t want it.
She walked toward him and took the rope from his hands. “Not this time, Jack.”
He bowed his head. “There are some things I can’t change, Nina.” His voice was rough.
She threw the rope on the floor and took his head in her hands. “I’m not asking you to. I just need to know that you can want me without it.”
Surprise lit his eyes. “Is that what you think? That I don’t want you without a prop?”
“I don’t know,” she said, “but I need to know. And tonight I touch you when I want to touch you.”
She lifted her hands, finished unbuttoning his shirt, and pulled it off his arms. She unbuckled his belt and slid it through the loops on his pants with a snap.
He smiled when she reached for his zipper.
She dispensed with his pants and his cock sprang free, as thick and perfectly formed as she remembered. She ran her hands up his chest, over his pecs and across his shoulders. She was working her way back down, her fingers skimming over his abs when he lifted her off the floor.
The contact of his bare skin on hers was almost painful, a welcome burn.
He tossed her onto the bed, and she scooted back and propped herself up on her arms as she looked up at him.
He kneeled between her knees and spread her legs, his gaze combing her body, lingering on her sex.
She’d sometimes wondered if Jack had been as exciting as she remembered, if she’d wanted him as much as she thought she did or if it had all been an illusion, a product of her years with Peter when her sexuality had lain dormant.
Looking at his naked body, she knew the answer. She was pulsating with need, a kind of erotic muscle memory that craved the promise of his smooth skin sliding against hers, his lean muscle under her fingers, his mouth mapping every curve of her body.
He stretched over her and pressed his shaft against her folds until she gasped, her clit pulsing with the friction.
“Whenever you doubt that I want you, remember this, Nina.” He took one of her nipples in his mouth and sucked, then raised his head to look at her as he slid his shaft against the bud of her clit, the promise of his penetration enough to make her whimper. “Just thinking about you makes me this hard.”
His tongue dove into her mouth, and she pulled her knees up around his hips and let her hands roam his muscled back. The first time she’d been with him had been exciting, a glimpse into a brand of sex she’d never even imagined.
But she hadn’t been able to touch him, had been ordered to hold onto the headboard while he lit her body on fire with his hands and tongue. She’d understood then that restraint was more than discipline for him — it was an aphrodisiac, one she wasn’t impervious to.
Every moment she’d refrained from touching him had made her want him more.
She took advantage of her freedom, digging her nails into the flesh of his back, running her hands over the mound of his ass and pushing him further against her until he groaned.
He kissed his way along her jaw to her ear, lingering over the lobe, biting down hard enough to make her moan as pain intertwined inexorably with pleasure.
She gave it back to him, biting down on his shoulder.
“I knew you were naughty from the first moment I saw you,” he murmured, nuzzling the base of her neck.
She sighed as he flicked one of her nipples with his tongue. “Then you knew before I did.”
“I know more about you than you think, darling. And I’m going to show you everything.”
He drew the hardened peak into his mouth and sucked.
She gasped, twining her fingers in his hair, closing her eyes to everything but the sensation of his hot mouth on her skin, his body sliding against hers, his cock nestled in her wet folds. She was desperate for him to fill her, could almost feel him pushing through her channel, swollen and throbbing.
He worked the other nipple and left a trail of kisses down her stomach. She’d been self-conscious about her body the first time she’d been with him, all too aware of his reputation for dating supermodels, of her own aging skin, the once firm curves now slightly soft in spite of her efforts at the gym.
She didn’t care about any of it now. She was just happy to be with him, to be really with him: no rope, no barriers, no games.
He dipped his tongue into her belly button, ran it over the curve of her hip. She reached for him as he positioned his head between her legs.
“Not tonight, Jack.” She didn’t want his mouth on her pussy, his fingers penetrating her. She wanted only his cock, buried deep inside her, tunneling through her ferociously, coming inside her. “I can’t wait.”
He slid up the length of her body and reached for the nightstand.
“We don’t need it,” she gasped. “I can’t… I can’t get pregnant.”
It wasn’t the moment she’d planned for the confession, but she didn’t want anything between them.
The Surrender of Nina Fontaine (Awakening Book 2) Page 4