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But I was curious.
After all, I’d endured twenty-two years of being treated like the most pristine little doll. I’d specifically moved to New York to escape that life, and if last night’s screaming outdoor orgasm was any indication, I did enjoy being treated the opposite of fragile.
So there was that.
And the fact that I wasn’t going to get this chance again.
It was just tonight. Now or never. Iain had made it clear that this was a one-time thing, and I’d fantasized about this moment since I was old enough to have these kinds of thoughts, so after slicking on some lip gloss in the bathroom of my office, I fished my MetroCard out of my backpack.
Then as I slung it over my shoulder, I breathed deep, thoroughly prepared for the hottest night of my life as I marched out the door.
Crap.
I’d Googled the Victorian Hotel during work today, but somehow, I hadn’t known it was going to be this level of fancy.
The lobby was full of sleek black surfaces and towering light fixtures. They lit everything in a warm yellowy-orange glow, and even the women working behind the desk looked like art—tall and polished in sexy black dresses and custom blazers, with their hair twisted neatly to the side, and their makeup airbrushed to perfection.
It kind of made me wish I’d dressed up a little more. But with my feet still hurting from dancing in heels last night, I’d gone with my trusty white sneakers, a ribbed olive green tank dress, and a black choker to jazz up the whole look. I stood by the fact that it was a cute outfit, though admittedly, my backpack probably didn’t match.
It was powder blue, made of canvas, and what I brought to work every day because it was the perfect size to fit all my stuff. Plus, it was super cute and the only thing that survived my post-high school closet purge.
But I blamed it for the reaction I got when I gave my name to check in.
The brunette behind the front desk had first looked down her nose at me like I was perhaps lost. But upon putting my name into the system, she’d lifted her eyebrows, showing a half-second of unmistakable surprise before she flashed me a smile and handed over my key.
“Here you are, Ms. Maxwell. This is your key to the penthouse loft,” she said so smoothly that my flinch of surprise came at a two-second delay. “Mr. Thorn has already checked in. Just take the elevators to your right and enjoy your stay.”
“Thank you,” I said, wondering if the woman’s scrutinizing eye was because I looked so dazed, or if it was because she was familiar with Iain—the way it seemed everyone in this city was—and wondered what the heck my business was with him.
Oh, you know.
Just having dirty, sweaty, not-gentle sex with him all night. No biggie, I thought as I pressed the button for the elevator, trying to keep it light with myself just to keep the butterflies at bay.
But as soon as I stepped in the elevator—as soon as it gave a tiny lurch and started its ascent to my room—the reality of the night began to sink in, flooding me with nervous excitement and, oddly enough, the desperate need to talk to Kelsey Schaffer.
Sophomore year, when we were still best friends, she used to come over and try to take pictures of Iain when he was walking around in his sweats or coming out of the pool. Because after the first time we saw that thick rod snaked down the leg of his trunks, our crazy teenaged hormones couldn’t seem to get enough.
“And he’s not even hard yet,” Kelsey would whisper giddily to me, to which I’d giggle and nod right along, despite the fact that I didn’t fully grasp what that even meant back then.
Though of course, I knew now.
And that knowledge was precisely what made me so anxious that I tripped on nothing as I got out of the elevator, and dropped my key card twice before succeeding in pressing it against the key pad and finally opening the door into the penthouse loft.
At which point I stopped and stared.
Because whoa.
The soaring space was chicly decorated with sleek leather furniture and abstract art, but I looked right past it all at to stare at the glittering downtown skyline out the spotless floor-to-ceiling windows. They wrapped around the entire room to give a sweeping view of the city that stole my breath and had me floating over in seconds, touching my fingertips to the glass just to make sure it was really there.
It was a hell of a welcome to New York moment, and I swore I’d never been more awestruck in my life.
But then Iain walked into the room.
“Holland.”
I spun at the rich sound of his voice, my heart pitter-pattering before my eyes even locked on him—and how incredibly fucking good he looked.
Holy hell.
