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I laugh—an actual legitimate laugh escaping—at the fact she only now realizes that as I open the bathroom door and walk to the back of the powder room. I step up on the red leather couch and prop openthe window.
Her eyes go wide. “You want me to jump out the window?” She scoffs.
“Come here,” I order. I hear her mumble how ridiculous this is, and she’s going to hurt herself. “I’ll help you up.”
I take her hand and lead her to stand on the couch, then I grab her waist. The moment I do, she sucks in a breath, and her gaze meets mine. My cock twitches as the tension runs between us, and I lift her high enough where she can hook a leg over the windowsill.
“This is so stupid,” she hisses under her breath. “I feel like a damn teenager.”
She carefully wiggles herself out, and I follow her lead, jumping out the window. My polished shoe slides across the gravel, and I freeze.
She chuckles at my unimpressive landing. “Did you ever do anything like this as a teenager?” I ask. I don’t know why I care, but I’m curious. I assume I know her upbringing, but I know better than anyone that what lies on the surface isn’t always the truth.
I lift her again, and she reaches to close the bathroom window from the outside. It locks shut.
“Once,” she replies as I set her down. “But Marco caught me before I even got off the premises.”
I cock a smile. “You didn’t sneak out with the right person.”
Reaching out, I grab her hand and sneak down the back alleyway.
She’s quiet, not saying a word.
A few blocks later, we’re in the heart of New York, near Times Square. There’s no way Marco will find us here any time soon. I wonder if he’s realized we’re not coming out.
“Why do you think you can just waltz in, and I will say yes to doing things with you?” Honey asks.
I wrap my arm around her shoulders and pull her into me as someone almost shoves past her. She smells floral and sweet, and I’m pleased to note she’s wearing one of the perfumes from my store.
Honey’s question is easy to answer. “You want me, I want you. That attraction has been evident since the first time we met.”
From the very moment Crue introduced me to the younger Ricci sister, who was supposed to substitute for Rya, I felt it.
“Yes,” she says. “But…”
“But nothing. Even if you’d married Crue, I would have found a way to have you.”
And I mean those words. Fuck, it would have created a war. But I knew from the moment I laid eyes on Honey I would have her one way or another to get her out of my system, even at the risk of my friendship with Crue. And that makes no logical sense. I am a man of contracts, of discipline. But Honey? She has me walking through Times Square, sneaking around for dinner.
Almost hesitantly, she says, “You can’t have me. You getthat, right?”
I turn to look at her and raise a brow. “Are you so sure about that?”
Those cheeks go red again, but she doesn’t look away this time. “I had a lapse of judgment at my sister’s wedding.”
“Seems we both did, but I was the one who walked out injured,” I point out.
“I didn’t mean to.”
“No? Are you sure? I never said I didn’t like it.”
She huffs out a breath. “What? Is that like an actual kink or something?”
“Are you kink-shaming?”
“What? No, of course not.” She shakes her head animatedly, worried that she might have offended me. So innocent. And I can’t help but think of all the ways I can corrupt her—to open her mind to my world—but it almost goes against every boundary and restriction I’ve put on myself.
“Good, I hope not. Considering my business is sex.”
