The cool, white bedding was the best invitation Charley had gotten all night.
After following her into the elevator at Rudy’s, Travis had spent the entire ride down groping and pawing, pressing her against the wall like a dog in heat. He’d stopped short of climbing into the cab with her, but that was only because she’d slammed the door in his face.
A long, hot shower helped calm her nerves, and now Charley sank into her luxurious down pillows, ready to put that part of the evening squarely in the rearview.
But the oblivion of sleep wouldn’t take her. Her mind was too busy racing through the details of the fundraiser: the cover story she’d have to embellish, the risks she’d have to anticipate, the contingency plans, the backup contingency plans. With Travis as her driver, she couldn’t leave anything to chance.
After an hour of tossing and turning, she finally got out of bed, clicking the remote to open the blinds. Thirty stories below her windows, the streets of Park Avenue pulsed with nightlife, the car horns a muted symphony through the glass.
She wondered if Dorian was awake. He’d said he had a house upstate as well as a penthouse in Tribeca, a Manhattan neighborhood she couldn’t see from her place on Park Avenue. As the cabs raced by below, she imagined one of them ferrying her downtown to his apartment, straight into the blissful heat of his touch.
Her cell phone taunted her from the nightstand, silent and black, nothing but pure, untarnished potential. Before she could talk herself out of it, she grabbed it and pulled up his number.
You awake?she texted.
Yes,he replied immediately.Thinking of you, actually.What are you doing Friday night?
Hmm. That sounds suspiciously like a lead-up to a date.
So?
We said no dating!
When she’d finally agreed to exchange numbers at the museum, she did so on one condition: that they’d keep it casual. Flirty texts were risky enough, but under no circumstances could they actually date. She thought she’d made that clear.
So why was he asking her out?
It’s not a date,he replied. It’s a party. A terribly boring party. Please come.
Why would I come to a terribly boring party?
Not come TO. Come AT.
Charley cracked up.Assumptions, assumptions!
We’ll have access to at least a dozen closets.
Hmm… this party is sounding less boring by the minute.
So… it’s a non-date?
Disappointment settled into her stomach.Can’t,she replied.Work thing.
Cancel.
I wish. Rain check?
Charley froze, her fingers hot over the screen. Why did she ask for a rain check? She was the one who’d made the no-dating rule in the first place, and now she was encouraging him.
God,whatisit about this guy?
Her phone buzzed with his reply.I’ll hold you to it. The hot dog cart isn’t the same without you.
I’ll bet.Charley smiled, but as much as she was enjoying their texts, she knew they couldn’t lead anywhere. Eventually, she and her Mr. Redthorne would hit a dead-end, and he’d become nothing more than a memory.
With a soft sigh, she texted her response.Ok, gotta go. Time for bed.
Alone?
