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He slowly backed me into a mirrored wall and caged me with his body, his forearms resting on either side of my head. He could pretend he was giving in to me, but I didn’t miss the tent in his pants. How could I? I was attuned to everything about this man. He might be infuriated with me, but that didn’t impact his desire for me. The feeling was mutual, because no matter how much I worked to maintain distance between us, my body was constantly clamoring for his.
With only a couple of inches between us, he stared down at me with an exasperated expression, although there was that distinct slight curve of one side of his mouth.
“What do you want?” he asked gruffly.
Lifting my gaze from the blue and gray pattern of his tie, I twisted it in my hand and yanked down while lifting on my tippy toes. “The same thing you want.”
I pressed my lips to his, pushing into his mouth with my tongue. He opened just enough for me to have a taste, and, God, did I take it. I moaned at the delectable flavor. It had been over a week since I’d seen him. He tried to stay stiff and distant, but I pushed his jacket open, wrapped my arms around his neck, and plastered myself to him, rubbing my erect nipples against his chest.
His hands landed on my hips, keeping me in place, neither bringing me closer nor pushing me away. His fingers swiped across my exposed skin, but other than that…nothing. Why was he being so reticent? Usually, he mauled me. Which was how I liked it. Had I pushed him too far? I whined against his mouth when he didn’t make a move between us. Nicu didn’t care that we were in an elevator. If he wanted me, it wouldn’t matter where we were.
Pulling back, I inspected him. “What is it?”
“You’re drunk,” he answered simply.
“It’s sweet of you to be concerned about that, but no, I’m not.”
“You’re not entirely sober,” he pointed out.
“Well, not entirely sober, no. But I’m not drunk. I’ve got my wits about me.”
“That doesn’t work for me,” he replied.
Okaaay, not what I expected.My brows slammed down. “What does that mean?”
“It means I won’t have you regretting that we fucked because you were drunk. It means I’m not going to let anything happen between us so that you can use it against us tomorrow.”
“What? No, I wouldn’t do that. I’m not drunk; I’m tipsy, and I want to be with you tonight. God, do I,” I emphasized.
“You say that now, when your judgment is impaired. Tomorrow, you’ll run out of here, more guilt and shame piled on what you’re already carrying. I had a hard enough time getting you here. Not going to fuck it up now.”
Of course, considering how I’d behaved in the past, I could see where he was coming from. I did throw him out and run away because of guilt, but for once, I wasn’t feeling guilty. He’d saved me from danger, and I was done fighting this thing between us. Not only that, but I ached for him. I wanted him, and I didn’t want to wait.
“That’s not true,” I insisted, frustration building inside me. Here I was, throwing myself at him, and he’d chosen this moment to go hero on me. Grrr, just when I was ready to give myself to him, he had to choose this moment to start acting decently. It was beyond the pale, dammit. My fingers clawed up and down his shirt, grabbing onto the tips of his collar and twisting them.
Frowning down at me, he shook his head. “Let it go, Jewel. It’s not happening. Not tonight.”
Ping.The elevator door took that moment to open. I was about to scream in frustration when he grabbed my hand and pulled me down a corridor to a door and flung it open. Cat had told me the brothers and Tatum, who shared the penthouse floor with Alex in the other tower of the building, didn’t lock their doors since they had exclusive access to these floors.
He prompted me to enter with a sweep of his hand, and I sauntered in only to stop dead in my tracks. Now, I wasn’t a stranger to opulent luxury. When I wasn’t at school, I lived with my mother in an apartment that took over most of one floor of a luxury building on Park Avenue. They were family apartments she had grown up in, but while spacious, they were cold and dreary. This place, on the other hand, was breathtaking.
From my position in the foyer, I faced two walls of glass that gave way to an expanded view down 59th Street, Central Park West Avenue, and a swath of Central Park itself. The black and white tiles below my feet morphed into a set of stairs that led down to a wide-open space rivaling the size of a loft. There was a living room area sunk down from the rest of the room, filled with a variety of oxblood and black leather couches around a low coffee table. While everything was sleek and elegant, there was a lived-in quality I was already in love with.
While the decor was modern, there were red and white accents in several rugs, wall hangings, paintings, and a few pillows scattered among the couches that were inspired by traditional Romanian decorative embroidery.
“Your place is incredible,” I said as I stepped down from the foyer and crossed the expanse of the apartment, passing the living room area on my left and the dining room area on my right, straight to the view. I could see the outline of trees outside, on the wraparound terrace.
He was behind me, standing close. I leaned into him.
“The mother of one of my soldiers helped decorate it. She has a real eye for making it modern while retaining the sense of it being Romanian. Know what I mean?”
“I do,” I replied, nodding. I liked how his culture was close to his heart.
“Glad you approve.”
I wasn’t sure if he was being facetious, but when I glanced at him over my shoulder, his expression was somber.
“That means a lot,” he added.
“How could it? We barely know each other.”
He gave a light shrug of one shoulder, a gesture I’ve seen him do often. Without answering, his hands lifted and rubbed my arms. “I’ll get you a couple of glasses of water, and then we should turn in.”
I circled around in his arms and eyed him carefully. “Oh, yeah? And what will we be doing when we ‘turn in’?”
“Sleeping,” he replied, grimly. “Only sleeping.”
We’ll see about that.
