Gramercy Nights (The Argo Press Trilogy Book 1) (4 page)

The moment has passed. And all I want is to feel his lips against mine once again, to feel his need, but he’s pulling away.

“I should go.” It takes all of my earthly willpower to get those words out of my mouth.

He nods, taking my hand in his, caressing my knuckles with the pad of his thumb, sending another rush of desire through me. He kisses my temple. “I want to see you again. Soon. Because if this is what you look like after a kiss, I can’t imagine what it’s like to watch you come.”

My whole body tenses, like I’ve been plunged into a freezing cold pool.

“What?” He stands to his full height, towering over me, a puzzled frown on his face.

I don’t tell him that’s never going to happen, that he’s never going to see me come, no matter how much I want it to. “I’m just tired and the train is going to take forever.”

He motions to a car idling on the corner, its red break lights illuminating the sidewalk.

“My driver, Gary, will take you home.”

“No, it’s fine,” I protest, but after the wine, the idea of being driven home instead of waiting for the subway sounds divine.

His strong fingers wrap around my hand and he brushes it over the bulge in his jeans. “I’m going to have a hard enough time sleeping tonight,” he whispers. “Don’t make me worry if you got home safe.”

He thrusts his iPhone at me and I take it timidly, worried I’m going to break it. “Give me your number.”

I give the iPhone one terrified look before thrusting it back at him. “I don’t know how to use one of those.”

He laughs. “Okay. What’s your number?” He types it in quickly, his long, elegant fingers dancing across the keyboard before dropping it into the back pocket of his jeans.

He places one more tender kiss on my lips before opening the car door.

“Sleep well, Danielle.”

Before he has a chance to slam the door shut, I ask the question that’s been bothering me all night. “I thought you had a plan for me.”

He stares at me blankly. “We can discuss that later,” he says, his voice clipped, before slamming the door shut. The car begins to move and I sink back into the leather seat, at once exhausted and wired. As we’re driving over the Williamsburg Bridge, my phone vibrates in my bag and I know it’s Sebastian.

I shouldn’t have let you get in that car.

A silly grin spreads across my face.
I guess you should have thought about that earlier.
I bite my lip, waiting for the response that I know will come.

Yes, it would seem that way. What time do you get off work tomorrow?

Eight.

Then I’ll see you at eight.

Chapter Five

When my alarm goes off, I want to throw it against a wall and bury my head under my pillows. I’m not hungover, but I am exhausted. I take a cold shower and spend a record-breaking amount of time deciding what to wear. I’m a jeans and t-shirt kind of girl, and I can usually be dressed and out the door in ten minutes flat, but tonight I’m seeing Sebastian. I’m giddy and nervous and I want to look good. Scratch that. I want to look irresistible. I want him to take one look at me and know he
needs
to have me. The only problem is, my wardrobe isn’t exactly equipped for seduction.

I manage to dig a slinky cotton dress with a cinched waist from the bottom of my miniscule closet. I pull my dark curls into a messy bun and slide my feet into a pair of high-heeled clogs. 

I realize I’m running late and take one final look at myself in the mirror in the living room, pleased by what I see. I look good. Or at least as good as I’m ever able to manage. I grab my bag and head out the door, a mixture of nerves and excitement crowding for space in my stomach. It’s been years since I last went on a date.

Dan whistles when I come in, making me want to smack him.

“I almost didn’t recognize you. You look great.”

My eyebrows come together in irritation and I have to remind myself to take it as the compliment he intends and not the insult it comes off as. Sure, I could probably stand to dress a little nicer but if all it takes to make me unrecognizable is a dress and some spectacularly sensible clog heels then I’m in trouble. Mainly, though, I’m just amazed by Dan’s lack of tact on most occasions. You’d think after years of working in the service industry, he’d have picked up something by now.

The day crawls by. Most of the afternoon I spend restocking various items from the basement storeroom, armfuls of coffee sleeves and paper cups that we’re usually too busy to get around to. Running up and down the stairs keeps my mind at least somewhat occupied and I have to be careful not to trip and fall. It would be just my luck to fall down the stairs and break a hip on the day I have a date with the most gorgeous man I’ve ever laid eyes on.

No matter what I do, I find myself replaying last night in my head, the way Sebastian lifted me easily and pressed me up against the wall, the way his kisses lit my skin on fire and I can’t help but blush. I feel like everyone can see inside my head, into my thoughts. It’s unnerving. And so sexy.

I want to have sex with him. Desperately. Because just kissing him was out of this world. And he strikes me as a one of a kind lover, someone who knows exactly what he’s doing. I’ve been with enough men to know that isn’t usually the case. But the sad truth is, no matter how gifted of a lover he turns out to be, I won’t be able to get off. I don’t have a problem coming when I masturbate, but I’ve never gotten off with a man. It was the reason my ex, Jake, left me and whenever I think about it, I’m overcome with shame. At twenty-five, shouldn’t I know how to orgasm with a partner? I hate Jake, but what if he was right? What if I am broken? I’m not naïve. I know there is no way a man like Sebastian will want to sleep with me once he realizes the truth.

But it’s too late to back out now, even if I wanted to. Which I don’t. There are butterflies in my stomach and I feel like a kid on Christmas morning who knows all the presents under the tree are just waiting to be opened.

By eight, I’ve had so much coffee I feel physically ill. But no matter how nervous I am, I want tonight and whatever it brings.

I find Sebastian leaning against the brownstone next door, wearing a pair of fitted jeans and a white button down with the top two buttons undone. His sleeves are rolled up casually to his elbows and he looks amazing, more than amazing, and I’m happy I decided on a dress instead of my usual t-shirt and jeans. Not that Sebastian seemed to mind yesterday.

On the sidewalk at his feet is a large shopping bag from Eataly, Mario Batali’s enormous indoor Italian food bazaar.

“Hey,” I whisper, hanging back nervously. I don’t know what to expect. Maybe last night was a fluke?

But when Sebastian looks up from his phone, the smile he gives me sends a rush of pleasure through my body and I can tell he’s happy to see me. He pushes off the wall gracefully and in a second, he’s leaning down to place a chaste kiss on my cheek, his lips lingering just a moment longer than necessary as they brush against my flushed skin.

His eyes rake over my body, taking everything in. “You look amazing.”

My already flushed cheeks turn a deeper shade of crimson. “Thanks,” I mumble, looking away. Connor always says I can’t take a compliment to save my life.

Sebastian’s large hand finds my low back and the light touch is enough to set my body on fire.

“I thought I’d make dinner at my apartment. I hope you don’t mind,” he says, casually motioning to the shopping bag in his hand. I notice a baguette peeking out of the top.

“That’s fine,” I say but what I’m thinking is that it’s more than fine. That means we’re going back to his apartment. My insides clench at the idea, desire flooding my body.

We walk in silence, Sebastian’s hand firmly steering me as we go. Around us, New York is bustling. Shop windows illuminate the crowded sidewalks. Somehow, with Sebastian at my side, the city feels different, new. Like I’m seeing it for the first time. The exquisite architecture, the palpable energy. This is my home, the city where I’ve lived since I was eighteen, and yet, it feels like a different world. Magical and filled with promise.

We stop outside a loft building on the corner of 20
th
and Fifth Avenue, just a few blocks from the Gramercy. The lobby is small and unassuming, with small black and white tiles covering the floor, and if I close my eyes, I can almost imagine what it would have looked like when it was still being used commercially.

The large, cherry wood elevator dispels any fantasy I may have harbored that this is anything but a luxury apartment building. There are only eight buttons on the elevator panel. Sebastian turns a key next to eight and presses the button.

“Have you lived here long?” I ask, trying to fill the deafening silence in the elevator.

“I bought it when I moved back from London,” he says without much thought.

I’m about to ask him more when the elevator doors chime open and I gasp.

“After you,” he says, placing his hand on my back, urging me into what has to be the most amazing living room I’ve ever seen. My footsteps echo on original hard wood. Persian rugs dot the floor, adding a hint of color to the otherwise subdued palette. It’s stunning. Enormous windows cover two walls and look out across Fifth Avenue. There’s a dining table that could easily seat twelve next to a professional, stainless steel and black granite kitchen, open to the rest of the room. The floor plan is open, airy, and just a touch modern without being cold. I’m floored. The last guy I dated lived in a tiny studio walk-up.

I spin around and Sebastian is standing by the closed elevator doors, an amused smile on his face.

“You live here…alone?”

He nods, taking a step to close the distance between us. “Whom else would I live with?”

“I don’t know. Roommates? You’re so young.” I say this realizing I have no idea how old he actually is.

“Thirty-two,” he says, answering my unasked question.

“That’s insane.”

“That I’m thirty-two?”

“No. That you live here alone.”

He laughs softly to himself and brushes past me on his way to the kitchen, dropping the shopping bag on the granite counter. “Look around. I’ll start dinner.”

Going to NYU, I met a lot of people from Manhattan and I saw my fair share of magnificent apartments they called home, all a far cry from the run-down two-bedroom on the end of Long Island where I grew up, but this is by far the most spectacular. The worn rugs on the floor give it a homey feel, despite the obvious touch of an excellent interior designer. Two enormous white couches form an L facing the corner windows. The apartment is enormous and yet, surprisingly comfortable and I walk towards the windows.

It isn’t until I turn around, spotting the open French doors leading to a library that I squeal like a child. Any thought of Sebastian disappears as I make my way into a room that can only be described as paradise.

Most of the books are well-read paperbacks, some that I’ve heard of, many that I haven’t. I’ve always believed you can tell a lot about a person by what they have on their bookshelves but all this tells me is that Sebastian is a voracious reader.

I let me fingers run across them. One day, I’d like to have a room like this. Somewhere I could go to be alone. I look around, realizing there isn’t a single thing that I’d change. A pair of deep green leather armchairs look like heavenly and I can just imagine curling up with a mug of coffee and a book, the crackle and burn of a fire in front of me.

It’s amazing.

“This is favorite room in the house,” Sebastian says, startling me.

When I turn around, he’s leaning against one of the French doors with a glass of red wine in his hand. He takes a sip. “Would you care for a glass?”

I nod. “But just one, I have work in the morning.”

He gives me a wicked smile. “Then I won’t keep you up too late.”

The promise in his voice takes my breath away. I don’t know how he does it. Turns such a simple statement into a sexual innuendo, but he does. I follow him back to the kitchen and watch as he pours wine into an elegant stemless glass and when he hands it to me, his fingers brush the inside of my wrist, the unnecessary gesture sending sparks of desire through me. I notice he’s taken off his shoes and I watch as he pads back to the stove in argyle dress socks.

Even his socks are classy and sexy.

“Do you need help?” I ask as he dumps salt into a pot of boiling water on the stove, humming to himself. He glances over his shoulder.

“No. Just sit and relax. Everything will be done in a second.”

He grabs a box of fresh ravioli from the counter and pours its contents into the pot. The way he moves around the kitchen makes me think he spends a lot of time cooking. He looks comfortable. Easy. Relaxed.

Suddenly, he flips around, his eyes boring. “You aren’t a gluten-free vegetarian, are you?”

I laugh. “God no! I eat everything. Or mostly everything. I have yet to meet a food I do not like.”

He visibly relaxes. “Other than sweets.” It isn’t a question and my heart flutters, just a little, that he remembered.

I shake my head. “No, I eat sweets. I just prefer savory. So, what are you making?” I hoist myself up onto the granite countertop, realizing only after I’m comfortably seated that most people, especially people who live in apartments like this, probably don’t appreciate relative strangers sitting where they prepare their food. I fidget, trying to decide if it’s better to jump back down now or pretend I don’t realize my major faux pas, when Sebastian closes the distance between us, pressing his hands firmly into the countertop on either side of my hips. I let my eyes close as his scent fills my nostrils, masculine cologne and something else, something more raw, more natural, more Sebastian. One muscular arm snakes behind me, and I find I’m holding my breath, praying that he’ll kiss me.