Going Down (Quickies #1) (4 page)

“Seems like maybe you could afford to do both,” I teased. Was he not a gazillionaire?
 

“You don’t earn money by wasting it,” he explained. He could’ve very easily sounded condescending, but he didn’t. “I’m not rich because I throw it away.”
 

“Fair enough,” I said, turning on my heel, taking in the high ceilings and crown moulding.
 

“Would you like a drink? I have a bottle of wine breathing on the counter in the kitchen.”
 

I nodded, wanting to laugh at how absurd this all was. Me, standing in a billionaire’s apartment while a bottle of wine was breathing on the counter in the kitchen. Paige and I always just drank it straight after we uncorked it. It seemed I had a lot to learn, and I knew there were a lot of things that Carter could teach me if I’d let him.
 

I followed him into the kitchen, a long room with shiny granite countertops and wooden floors. Carter had stainless steel appliances with so many buttons I wouldn’t even begin to know how to use them. He probably didn’t know how to use them either, if I had to guess. Or maybe he did, and that was just another surprise I had waiting for me where he was concerned.
 

“Where’s the-”

“Food?” he asked, grinning. “Warming in the oven. I thought we could talk a little first, get to know each other. I’m sure there are some things you want to ask me, and there are definitely some things I want to ask you. We can eat later, unless you’re hungry now?”
 

I shook my head. “I can wait to eat, but I don’t have any questions,” I said before I could fully think about the words that were coming out of my mouth.
 

Carter laughed as he pressed the mouth of the bottle to a glass and poured. “You don’t?”
 

Might as well be honest, I figured. “I Googled you.”
 

“You did?” He handed me a glass, then poured one for himself. “Isn’t that considered internet stalking?” he teased.
 

“Or it’s a smart move for a girl like me, who gets invited to a stranger’s house for dinner.”
 

“You came, so you couldn’t have found anything too incriminating.”
 

“Not really,” I replied.

“So tell me, Chloe. What do you know about me?” His eyes sparkled under the warm glow of the kitchen lights.

I took a sip of wine, enjoying the flavor on my tongue. “You’re twenty seven, the middle son to Claire and Michael Armstrong, both heirs to shipping fortunes. You graduated from Penn after a brief, ill-fated stint at Yale. You have two brothers and one sister.”
 

Carter looked at me, his piercing eyes making it difficult for me to turn away. “Those are a lot of facts, but not the important things. Besides, you’re at an advantage; I’m easy to look up. It’s much harder to find dirt on you.”
 

I laughed, gently swirling the wine in my glass. “You could always hire someone to dig up my past. I’m sure you have the resources.”
 

He nodded and smiled. “I do, but I’d rather you tell me.”
 

“There’s not much to tell.”
 

“Let me be the judge of that.”
 

I shrugged, looking down at the red in my glass. “I’m twenty three, the youngest of two kids. I was raised by a single mother, and worked my way through college so I could have a better life.”
 

Carter took a deep breath, setting his wine down on the counter and moving closer to me, his tall frame overshadowing me. He reached up, slid the back of his index finger down the slope of my jaw, and there went those damned goosebumps again.
 

“Chloe,” he said, all soft and amused, like it was his favorite word. “Tell me something about you that I can’t find on your Facebook profile.”
 

I sighed and closed my eyes. “I’m scared of sharks and bees. I love the way letters look when they’re printed on paper, love the smell of the leather binding of my favorite book.”

“Is that what led you to get a job at a publishing house?” he asked.
 

I looked up at him, eyes wide. I hadn’t told him that. He must’ve recognized the vague beginnings of panic in my eyes, because he was quick to explain.
 

“I asked Paige about you,” he said, smiling. “It was all above the board, promise.”

I laughed, kind of nervous. “I like reading, that’s what led me to get a job at a publishing house. I read through manuscripts, plucking the gems from the scrap pile.”
 

“Do you write?”
 

“No,” I replied, shaking my head. “I lack the discipline, and the talent. I’m just a reader, I love books.”
 

“Discipline is overrated,” he said, reaching out and taking my hand. “Come, I have something I’d like to show you.”

He led me out of the kitchen and down a long, narrow hallway, to a large wooden door on the right. When he opened the door, city light was flooding through the windows that stretched two stories high, casting a romantic glow across the immaculate wooden floors.
 

The room was full of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, each one lined with carefully placed books. There was a glass case to the right, which I guessed probably held first editions.
First editions
. I was in awe.
 

Carter didn’t turn on the lights, but the moonlight was enough to see by.
 

“May I?” I asked, nodding toward one of the shelves.
 

“Absolutely.”
 

I walked over to the shelf closest to me, and ran my fingers along the spines. These were American classics, alphabetized by author. A few shelves down, English literature. All leather-bound, well-loved.
 

When I turned, Carter was a few paces behind me, closer than I expected, but somehow still too far away. I had expected a garage full of expensive, flashy cars or state-of-the-art technology, and maybe he had those things somewhere. But he chose to show me this, this room that made me want to close my eyes, breathe deep, and get lost in someone else’s world.
 

Maybe, just maybe, there was more to him than I’d thought.
 

“Have you read all these?” I asked.
 

“Not yet,” he replied, stepping closer. “But I will.”
 

He surprised me, again. I knew he was intelligent, but I had this idea of him out partying and doing billionaire things, not inside this library, reading more books than I could ever imagine owning.
 

“What?” he asked.
 

I shrugged. “I’m just surprised by you.”
 

“Why?” He reached out, placed his hand right next to mine on the shelf.

“I thought you’d have cars, yachts. Expensive toys, not a roomful of books. Not that you can’t have all of those things, but I just didn’t think you’d show me something like this to try to impress me.”
 

He let out a short laugh, a sad kind of smile on his lips. “I’m not trying to impress you, Chloe. This? It’s me. Cars are useless to me here in the city, and what would I do with a yacht? I like the smell of paper and glue, and old books and history. I like to think about the stories of the people who have read and loved these books,” he said, closing the gap between us. He rested his hand on mine, slowly twisting our fingers together, and my breath just caught right in my throat. “Do you know how many people fell asleep turning these pages? How many hands held these covers after a hard day’s work? The book contains a story, but the book
is
a story, too. I like stories. I want to read as many of them as I can.”
 

The look in his eyes was too intense, too full of meaning for someone I’d just met, so I turned, trying to get some distance between us. But Carter followed me, catching my waist with his arm, pulling me against his body so that my back melded against his chest. And god help me, it felt
right
.
 

I slid my hand across his strong forearm and the fingertips of his other hand ghosted along the straps of my dress as he leaned in, the stubble on his chin tickling my shoulder.
 

“Tell me, Chloe,” he whispered, his hands drifting down my ribs, along the curve of my hips. “If I opened you up, what kinds of stories would I find?”
 

I turned in his arms, fisted his shirt between my fingers, and pulled his lips to mine.
 

It was a frantic kiss, the kind that made my toes curl, made me wrap my arms around this man to cling to him, to get as close to him as I possibly could. I just
wanted
him, wanted his five o’clock shadow scratching against my skin, wanted his fingers twisting in my hair, wanted his tongue brushing against mine. And it was so easy to get lost in him, to lose myself in the feeling of his calloused hands sliding across my thighs, the feel of his muscled chest against mine.
 

Before I knew it, Carter pressed me up against a pillar, using it for leverage to lift me up, his mouth everywhere. I wrapped my legs around his waist, feeling his erection against my thigh, and I ground against him, drawing the most amazing sound from his throat: half sigh, half moan. I fumbled with the buttons on the collar of his shirt, desperate to put my mouth on him, wanting to start with the warm column of his neck.
 

“Fuck,” he said as I licked and nipped at his skin there, laving my tongue across his Adam’s apple. “I’ve been imagining this ever since you walked into my office.”
 

There was something about that sentence that made the hormone-induced fog in my brain clear long enough for me to see clearly to the other side of tonight. Not that I wanted a relationship with Carter, at least, I wasn’t completely sure that I did. But this wasn’t me. It wasn’t
me.

The Chloe Moore that I’d spent twenty three years on this earth being didn’t go over to a billionaire’s house and have sex with him against a pillar in his own personal library. The Chloe Moore I knew liked sweet kisses and first dates, high thread count sheets and foreplay.
 

“Wait,” I said, pressing on his chest. “Stop.”
 

He did, immediately. “What’s wrong?” he asked, cupping my cheek.
 

I sighed and dropped my head, because it was too difficult to look into those half-lidded, lust-filled eyes.
 

“Nothing,” I said, sliding my legs down until my feet were on the floor. I was anything but steady though, my knees all wobbly from being kissed by the most gorgeous man I’d ever had my hands (and lips) on. I had him, here, right within my grasp; wanting, kissing, touching, tasting. And I was going to walk away. “I have to go.”
 

I walked as quickly as I could, making my way to the elevator, frantically pressing the button. It wasn’t unlike the rush I was in last night in the lobby of his building, except for this time, instead of wanting desperately to get to him, I was desperate to get away. I couldn’t think when I was around that man, couldn’t trust myself at all.
 

I could hear him running after me, calling my name. Just then the doors opened and I stepped inside, sliding my fingers along the curve of my neck, still feeling the delicious sting from his stubble.
 

“Wait!” he yelled reaching his arm out, and then he was standing in the elevator in front of me, the doors sliding closed behind him. I hadn’t pushed a button, so we just stood there, looking at each other. Unmoving. Too close in this small space.

And when I looked into his bright, beautiful eyes, I couldn’t remember all the reasons why I thought this was a bad idea. What was wrong with wanting him? What was wrong with reaching out and taking what he was giving, when he was so ready and willing to give it? What was wrong with feeling, when that feeling was so, so good?

Carter reached up, tracing the edge of my bottom lip with the pad of his thumb, watching me intently. I could barely breathe for wanting, could barely think because he was standing so close. Then his hand slipped behind my neck, his fingers threaded through my hair, and he tilted my head back, putting my neck on offer for his kisses.
 

He pressed his needy lips to my skin, and this time I let him. I
let him
.
 

“You make my heart feel like it’s beating out of my chest,” I told him as he laved his tongue across my collarbone, slipping the strap of my dress off of my shoulder. “And I don’t usually do this…” I gasped as he pulled the bodice of my dress down, taking one side of my bra with it. He cupped my breast, then gently bit at the top, calming the sting with his tongue. “Ah, I mean…one-night stands.”

“Mmm-hmm,” he hummed as his lips brushed across my nipple, then his tongue flicked out, teasing it into a stiff peak. “Who says this is one night?”

“Oh my god,” I breathed. “I…I like cuddling and foreplay.”
 

“Who doesn’t?” His hand traveled down my side, tickling the skin on the outside of my thigh. Then he lifted my leg, hooking my heel on the railing to his right. I leaned back on the rail behind me, gripping it with both of my hands. If I didn’t hold onto something, I was sure I would float away.
 

Carter licked and sucked at my breast, making my head loll back as I slowly, steadily lost control. “I like breakfast in bed. Belgian waffles with strawberry compote and a pile of whipped cream as big as my head, oh…okay? Ah!”