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I slide into the limo next to her, and she smiles something wicked. I know she’s thinking what I’m thinking. I know she’s wishing I would spread her out right here and claim her and drag her back to my apartment.
But time will reveal all things.
“Drink?” I say, proffering some of the best bourbon on the planet.
“Yes, thank you,” she says swishing the amber liquid around in her glass.
She takes a sip, eyes locked on mine the entire time.
Fuck, this girl has the potential to get me in deep. I may never swim out of her endlessly sexy green eyes.
She’s provocative and seductive and fucking perfect. My time in NYC is looking very worthwhile all of a sudden.
“So, where are we going?” she asks lightly.
“A hotel downtown. A boring dinner,” I say, taking in her curves.
It’s nice to see her up close and personal.
“Boring, huh? Sounds like a great time,” she quips.
I look at her intently and say, “I promise we’ll just make an appearance and then we can get out of there.”
“Okay,” she says simply, staring into my eyes.
For a second, we’re locked in this moment, sparks flying and an unspoken connection between us. This girl has me on fire already, and I barely even know her. But I’ve watched her for long enough to see that she intrigues me and that I’m dying to get to know her more intimately.
My driver takes us to the place, and all the while, Naomi chatters nervously away. She tells me about her job as a stylist. She mentions the fact that she was cheated on about a year ago, and all I can think of is what a total fucking idiot that guy was.
She tells me that she’s lived at The Bradford ever since and that it’s where sh
e licked her wounds, and now she calls it home.
I can’t seem to stop staring at her. She’s trying to gauge my reaction and to get me to open up, but I’m just not that kind of guy. I hold my cards close to my chest on everything. I’ve found that it doesn’t work to my advantage to have people knowing too much too soon about who I am.
We get to the hotel, and I help her out of the car. She looks fucking gorgeous.
We go inside, and the room is spinning with all manner of financial people. A lot of society folk are here, and Naomi seems to fit right in. She, of course, has more style than any of them.
I lead her easily around the room, making introductions.
“Hi, Simon, this is my date, Naomi.”
“Naomi Parish,” she says holding her hand out to greet him.
The girl is friendly and sociable—qualities I admire, because I don’t possess them. She’s like a goddamn social butterfly making the rounds, getting to know people.
We drink, and we dance, and we make our appearance—then I decide it’s time to go. Time to enact phase two of the plan.
“You ready to get out of here?” I breathe the words down her neck as we walk away from the dance floor.
“Ready when you are.”
I drag her away from the function and back to my waiting limousine. Suddenly, the idea of restraining my cock for one single second more is too overwhelming. Yes, I want to fuck this girl. But more than that, I find myself wanting to be with her.
I knew she was gorgeous from the times I saw her through the window, but I never imagined she’d be so fucking charming and smart and funny.
“Geez,” she says, trying to pull back from my grasp. “You in some kind of hurry?”
