Tempted in the City (6 page)

“Fair enough,” Tony said, getting some of his composure back. “More than fair. If we see that our personal relationship is affecting the work, we'll take a step back. Reevaluate the situation.”

“One would hope we could be that mature about it.”

“Right,” he said with a wry laugh. “For now I'm giving you a heads-up, in case you see anyone from your office around.”

“A heads-up for...?” she asked slowly, the intent in his eyes sending a shiver of anticipation down her spine.

Tony smiled. “I think you know.”

He pulled her into his arms. Nothing that would cause the crowd to pause, but it felt wonderful. “I'd like to start right now,” he said, his whisper close to her ear, “but I'll settle for tomorrow night. How would you feel about skipping our work session tonight and coming over to my place for dinner tomorrow night instead?”

She looked up into his beautiful dark eyes, appreciating again his laugh lines, and his unaffected grin. “I'm sure that can be arranged.”

He showed his approval with a kiss that wasn't nearly as desperate as the one on the rooftop. It started off with a brush of his lips, a taste of his breath, the warmth of his body. She followed him easily. In fact, it was the deepest connection she'd felt to him so far. There wasn't one awkward thing about it. Not the quick swipe of his tongue across her lower lip, not the moan only she could hear.

She sighed into him, and he held her tighter. Finally, he did the gentlemanly thing and pulled back. “Now there's no question I'll need to hail a cab for you so you won't be late. Mind if I hitch a ride?”

“Not at all. But don't you have an appointment coming up?”

“Yeah,” he said, pulling her through a brief break in the pedestrian traffic until he could thrust his arm out for a taxi. “But later. At the office. That's why I can't help out at your place tonight.”

“Huh. I was going to ask you to come into the UN for the ten-cent tour, but now that I know you lied, I'm not going to.”

“You know, I really would like to see the inside,” he said. “I don't really know what you do, except that it has something to do with translation.”

“Something like that, yes. I'll explain tomorrow evening, if that's all right?” Despite her desire to show him her workplace they'd actually used up too much of her lunch break eating and talking. Which was fine, since she had a lot of work to do. Although trying to concentrate after what just happened? That would be a real feat.

6

T
HE
NEXT
MORNING
Catherine stopped at the closest newsstand, bought two magazines and a London
Times
. After she'd paid the nice man who ran the kiosk, she was surprised to bump into a woman she recognized. It was her neighbor on the other side. She had a red front door and a large pot of marigolds on the stoop. At least Catherine thought it was her neighbor. So many of the older women had the same outdated hairstyle, hair severely pulled back into a tight bun.

Still, Catherine smiled at her. “Good morning.”

The woman looked at her as if she was insulted by the greeting. She did give Catherine a brief nod, however, before she summoned an actual smile for the kiosk man. Either Catherine had been mistaken and the woman wasn't her neighbor, or else she'd managed to alienate the entire neighborhood with all the noise. But even so, the woman could have been a little more pleasant.

Later, Catherine spent her lunch hour standing in line at yet another bakery—this time, the Lady M Boutique in Bryant Park. She knew a little bit more about what Tony liked, so she'd narrowed her choices for their dessert down to four kinds of cake.

She hoped the line would move quickly, as she wanted to get back to work as soon as possible. Which didn't mean she would be able to do any work. She'd been so distracted ever since yesterday, it was a little crazy.

After Sal and his crew had left, she'd worked on the upstairs fireplace tile—a horrid, messy job that required more muscle than care. Not really her cup of tea, but once she'd started, she pressed on. Plenty of time to let her thoughts wander, and of course, they'd zeroed in on Tony.

It helped that she'd listened to Marvin Gaye. God, such sexy music. And then she'd taken a long, slow bath in oil-rich water, using her fingers as a pale substitute as she tried to imagine what sex would be like with Tony.

But it wasn't until she'd slipped between her sheets that she realized the depth of the opportunity that had been handed to her. Tony wasn't just gorgeous. He was bright and funny and he lived what she considered to be a real life. At least compared to what she was used to. Of course, she'd known people from all social classes, but her past relationships and all her friends and associates had some kind of tie to her rarified world.

The kind of money her family had was used to a great extent to set them apart, to cushion them from the harsh realities of 99 percent of the population. At least her family had always stressed service as a fundamental precept. But for the most part, their charity was performed at arm's length. Usually, they just made big monetary donations.

Even the men she'd seen socially she'd met at school or through cocktail parties and charity dinners. She'd had some interesting dates, two longer-term relationships with men she liked, but nothing that had rocked her world.

Tony had to be more experienced than she was, and she really looked forward to getting to know him, and not just sexually, either. She tried to think of another man she'd ever been this intrigued by, and couldn't.

It was her turn to order, so she stepped up to the counter. “I'd like four different slices to go, please.” She grinned as she made her selections, and blushed all the way back to the UN, thinking about what it would be like when she and Tony got between the sheets.

* * *

T
ONY
HAD
LEFT
work on the early side. Poor Gina must have suspected he was going to see a woman tonight, and her level of curiosity hinted that she knew it wasn't going to be Rita.

He was used to the fact that practically everyone knew about his arrangement with Rita despite the fact he'd never told anyone, and he knew Rita hadn't, either. They'd barely been out together. Usually she'd come to his apartment and they'd have food delivered. But that didn't stop the gossip mill.

Sometimes he hated the tiny community he lived in. He barely had any time to enjoy being in the most exciting city in the world, so it wasn't as if it was a trade-off. He just wished that people would mind their own damn business.

As soon as he got home, he relaxed. At least to a degree. Knowing he'd be with Catherine soon was damned exciting, but it was the good kind of tension. He looked forward to showing her his home. It was the place he loved the most, and he knew she'd understand what it meant to him. It was far enough away from work that the claustrophobic attention he was normally paid was greatly reduced. And after the divorce, he'd decorated to his tastes, not Angie's.

He checked on the bottle of Syrah he'd uncorked a half hour ago, then checked the time and hurried to take a shower. As it got closer to Catherine's arrival, he became more anxious. Anticipation had him humming as he got dressed, and to his surprise it wasn't just about the hoped-for sex at the end of the evening. There was so much he didn't know about Catherine.

As they'd planned, she called him when she arrived on his block. He took the elevator down to the lobby of his building and met her at the door. Catherine surprised him with a very European greeting, an almost-kiss on each cheek. She also had a pastry box in her hand from a shop he didn't recognize.

“What a gorgeous neighborhood,” she said, as he led her to the elevator. “There's only one button. Is this a private elevator?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Are you in the penthouse?”

“Nope. The eighth floor. It's an unusual building. The eighth, in my opinion, is the best of the lot.”

He could see her reevaluating him, wide-eyed, as they went up floor by floor. Completely understandable. “The area is called the Cast Iron Historic District. I figured you'd like it. This building is prewar, but there's been a lot of work done.”

“I was impressed on the cab ride here. Stunning architecture. No wonder you know so much about restoration. You never said you had your own historic treasure.”

He held the door open for her as they entered the living room. It was a completely open plan all the way to the kitchen. The showstoppers were the twelve-foot vaulted ceilings and the double-arched wood casement windows. Above his oversize custom sofa he had a large print of an architectural jewel from Barcelona, one of Antoni Gaudí's mosaic arches. The walls were white, the floor-to-ceiling drapes were white and gray, and both offset the dark wood floors.

She walked over to the farthest window and stared at the view for several moments. Without disturbing her too much, he took her jacket, purse and the bakery box and put them on his big dining table. He stood by her again, quietly letting her look around while he watched her.

She looked beautiful in a demure black dress that hit her midknee. It had some lace up at the top, which was nice, too, but what he liked the most were her fire-engine-red heels.

Damn, he wanted her to like what she saw. He was proud of the place. The work he'd put into it had been significant, and thankfully, Angie had been fine about him keeping it. Maybe if they'd had kids, it would have been different, but this had been his pet project before they'd decided to get married.

“I'm sorry, this is the rudest question I've ever asked. But, your business is this good?”

“It's very good, but this building is owned by my family. Has been for generations. I did a lot of the renovations myself.”

“It's fantastic.”

“Thank you. Now, if you don't have any objections, I'd like to kiss you. The anticipation is getting out of hand.”

She turned right into his arms, her smile almost as welcoming as her sparkling eyes.

He meant to approach her with a slow burn that would last through dinner, but the moment she parted her lips for him, he abandoned his plan. Her response was better than he'd hoped for. Their tongues touched and tangled. She met him stroke for stroke as he explored her mouth, sampling her sweetness. As he ran his hands over her, he felt a tremor run all the way down her spine. She pulled him tighter against her body, and now he could feel the vibration through his clothes and hers.

Jesus. She'd just gotten here. The urge to pick her up and take her straight to his bed was strong, but he dialed it down about twenty degrees because that wasn't all he wanted from her. He hadn't been a teenager for a long time, although it felt as if he'd suddenly reverted to seventeen.

It was everything he could do to gently disengage from the bonfire he'd started. He didn't want this to be a wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am event. She was worth more than that to him.

“Wine?” he said.

She licked her lips, which didn't help him cool down at all. “Yes, please.”

“I hope you like Syrah.”

“I do. Very much.”

She walked next to him into the kitchen. “It smells wonderful in here.”

“You hungry?”

Her nod wasn't all that convincing. But maybe that had to do with the fact that she couldn't stop staring at him. Of course, he stared right back. He was normally a patient man, but if he didn't do something soon...

Wine.

He still needed to pour her some. Maybe drink some himself. Talk to the woman. Put her at ease.

She brought her glass up for a toast. “To new adventures.”

He couldn't argue with that. They clicked and sipped.

“Very nice wine.”

“I'm glad you like it. So, about what you do?”

“Ah. I'm primarily a terminologist. Although I worked for several years as a translator. And I've also studied kinesics, interpretations of body language, so sometimes I'm called in to help with that. ”

“I've heard of everything but being a terminologist.”

“It's not a common career. I read a lot of newspapers from around the world, watch current television programming and films from different countries, read novels by international authors and try to keep abreast of all the changes in words, tone and nuance. My colleagues and I do our best to standardize the six languages approved by the UN, but any new information about words and their meanings can help everyone and the process in general.”

“That makes sense. It would be important to understand the nuances when you're dealing with politicians.”

“Exactly. Nuance can mean the difference between war and peace.”

“With those skills, I'd ask what you've learned about me, but I don't think I want to know.”

Oddly, a pink blush tinted her cheeks before she said, “I wouldn't be here if I didn't think good things.”

“Huh. I'm glad.” He wanted to shift the conversation. Although he found her fascinating, he wasn't sure how his background could possibly stand up to the life she'd lived. “So, how many languages do you speak?”

“Four, including three of the official six languages of the UN.”

“Which are?”

“English, Russian and French.”

“And the fourth?”

“Italian,” she said.

“Whoa. I can barely manage two. English and cussing.”

She laughed. “Having an ear isn't a requirement of the job, but it helps immensely.”

“What was your first language? I mean, what did you speak while you were growing up?”

“English and French, pretty much equally.”

“You don't have an accent.” He drank some more wine, offered to top her up, but she waved the bottle away. “Well, not exactly,” he said, “but you sound like you might be from Europe.”

“That's not an actual accent.”

“I don't know. There's a little BBC, a little American newscaster and maybe some French in there.”

Her brow furrowed.

“That first day I met you, when you said
‘accoutrements'
...”

“Oh, right. I have a thing for beautiful words in whatever language I find prettiest.” Catherine smiled. “That was excellent pronunciation, by the way.”

“I don't know why. I can't seem to get a handle on Italian. I understand most of it. Just can't form sentences. And here you can speak it. Go ahead, put me to shame.”

Catherine laughed again. Her eyes sparkled and her skin seemed to glow, and he had no idea how much longer he could keep his hands off her.

He took another sip of wine. “You sound as if you really enjoy your work.”

“I do. The UN is exciting and for the most part I like the people I work with. They even offer free classes to all their employees, so I take advantage of their programs.”

“I'm embarrassed to admit I've never been there. You'd think I would have, growing up so close.”

“I'll take you. It'll be better than the general tour. I know a lot about the design and architecture of the building.”

“Oh, baby, you know what I like.”

The way she looked at him now had nothing at all to do with her job. “I've been thinking a lot about tonight,” she said, and moistened her lips. “Ever since you asked me over.”

After putting his glass down, he plucked hers from her hand and set it next to his.

* * *

S
HE
COULD
HARDLY
BREATHE
, there was so much electricity swirling between them.

The way he caressed her cheek and the sizzling look in his eyes asked her for permission to continue without saying a single word. As she nodded, his other hand went around her waist to pull her close.

He leaned in until she could smell the wine on his breath, but then he surprised her by moving his head lower. Starting with the hollow of her neck, he laid soft, tiny kisses all the way up her neck to her chin.

Her eyes nearly rolled back in their sockets, but she got her bearings quickly when he changed his target. After sweeping his tongue over her bottom lip, he slipped it inside her mouth. She made a sound, something from deep in her chest, which made him hold her tighter. His erection pressed against the top of her thigh and as he made love to her mouth, he shifted until he could rock against the top of her pussy.