Chapter 11

11

L IZ

My hand shoots to my mouth.

Why did I have to say that? It's only because of the delicious wine. It's smooth and sweet, full of aroma.

I am tipsy, and he is so damn sexy.

For the last few moments, I couldn't think of anything else. Sex with him and trying to avoid heartbreak.

Why did I have to read Rain's book so many damn times?

I've never studied something so hard. Not even for my finals.

It doesn't help that I know how he feels against a woman when he's naked, hard, and hungry for her.

I know what he does when he enjoys a woman's body.And I know how he can make her come with his mouth, his fingers, and his hard length.

He likes to do it many times a night and he loves to meet someone in secret.

Rain portrayed him as a gentleman.

Maybe because her impression of him was warped in some way.

He paid her to have sex with her. There must be more to being a gentleman than that.

He also likes to sprinkle a little fear in having fun with a woman. Other than that, he is a good lover, generous and caring.

But there's a catch.His heart is never on the line.

So why did I have to say what I just said to him?

His eyes coast over my face.

He's not as tipsy as I am.

My smile turns into hesitancy.

"I need to go," I say quietly, retrieving my hand and pushing my chair back.

He tips his gaze up as I rise.

The room spins with me while I stagger to my feet.

"Are you all right?" he asks, straightening out of his seat and looping an arm around me.

The sensation of falling only intensifies with him close to me.

"Yes. I'm fine."

I flash an unconvincing grin.

"I think I drank too much."

"I'll take you home."

"No need to. I'm okay. I just need to get a cab."

"You'll get a car."

He lifts his other hand to my face and brushes my hair back.

"You're sweating, " he says, running his thumb over my brow, erasing a thin film of warm moisture.

"I'm usually sweating like that when…"

I stop, embarrassed yet still very much entertained.

My inhibitions slowly devolve into a strange desire for this man.

Despite being slightly inebriated, everything I said to him about the morning after was correct.

David Moore is a bad idea for too many reasons, and he entirely agrees with me.

One of the reasons is reflected on his face, although his apparent coldness seems to disagree with his heated body.

But he is here, helping me… Sure. Also, having second thoughts––like me. If we can call them that.

"You can sleep here if you don't feel well. My driver will take you home in the morning."

He means it––I learn––as he tips his chin down, emphasizing the seriousness of his words.

"Where will you sleep?"

"Don't worry about me."

"Are you going to that woman's place?"

"No."

"I don't want to ruin your plans."

"You're not ruining my plans. You get some rest and have a nice breakfast in the morning before my driver picks you up, and you're on your way. It's like we've never met."

He gives me a smile, and I wag my finger at him.

"It was my idea to keep it a secret."

"You'll get all the credit for it."

I think about it for a moment.

As tempted as I am to spend the night here, it would be much better to go home, have a shower, and rest in my bed.

Waking up in his bed might give me a headache in the morning.

"It's better if I leave."

"Fine. No problem."

He pulls away from me and shows me to the door.

I walk a bit unsteadily, glancing at him from time to time before wereach the door.

He has his hand on the doorknob when I stop and look at him.

"Why do you have a reputation for being a cold man?"

His surprise is beautifully camouflaged by a knowing smile.

"Cold?"

"Yes."

"Did you get that from Rain's book?"

"It's not only in her book. People talk."

Breathing a soft chuckle, he shakes his head.

His gaze trails down.

"You're going to get me in a lot of trouble, Elizabeth Fox," he says before whipping his eyes to me.

"Tell me," I insist while he pushes back a grin.

"Would you really like to know how cold I am?"

Even as inebriated as I am, I can still notice what a pivotal moment this is.

Can I blame a bad decision on alcohol?

You bet.

Is he a bad decision waiting to happen?

Absolutely.

There is no doubt in my mind he and I will ruin something.

It's only a matter of finding out what exactly is on the line.

"Do you?" he asks softly, staring at my lips with a longing look on his face that is fleeting and possibly irrelevant in the long run.

"I better go," I say, ending this moment, my heart full of regret.

He doesn't move, his eyes connected to mine.

"You know what? I'll drive you home," he says.

With that, he pivots away to collect his suit jacket.

LIZ

Torn doesn't even describe how I feel.

For one, I'm in a trance. Floating, a bit dizzy, still very much disinhibited, and wrestling with the kind of tension I shouldn't be wrestling in the first place.

He seems cool about my back and forth, but his hand is tense when it takes mine.

"We'll exit the hotel through the back door," he announces. "No one will see us."

I'm too imbued with alcohol to care about the practical aspects of our adventure, but I like that he respects my wishes.

He signed off on them as well.

We move down the corridor, but instead of heading back to the club, he pushes a door open and takes me down a flight of stairs.

He wasn't joking when he said no one would see us.

There's no one here; the silence is only pierced by my heels clicking against the floor.

Raindrops dot my skin when we exit the building and walk into a private parking lot. Luxury cars line the sides as he leads me to a red sports car in the corner.

Swiftly, an idea pops into my head.

There must be cameras down here, but I doubt their purpose is to capture people like us running away from the crowds inside.

He opens the door for me, and I slide in, invigorated––more awake, I think––very much fooling myself.

I'm still drowsy, untroubled, and incited by this new adventure.

David rounds the car and claims the driver's seat.

Moments later, we roll through an electronic gate under the eyes of the security guards.

David signals left and veers away from the mayhem and the hypnotic lights sweeping the front of the club.

This isn't my first time here, but it's my first time experiencing something so exciting.

Sagging back in my seat, I tilt my head to the side and soak in the nocturnal view.

"How long have you lived here?" he asks.

"All my life."

"Seriously?"

I move my eyes to him.

"Yes. You?"

"I moved here recently."

He keeps his eyes on the road while I keep mine on his profile.

I find it odd that a man like him doesn't want to put down roots.This is such a great place to live and work.

He glances at me and speaks.

"But I won't be staying here for long."

His gaze moves away while mine faithfully roves over this face.

"You don't like this place?"

He looks at me again––like truly looking at me––yet not intending to give me an answer.

"What?" he murmurs absently.

"This is a great place to live."

The rain intensifies, and he moves his eyes back to the road as the windshield wipers move frantically against the glass.

"I know… It's a good place indeed," he says monotonously as if it's all the same to him. "Where exactly are we going?" he asks.

I ask him to take me to the coffee shop.

"I can walk home from there," I add.

"I'm sure you can, but it's not a good idea to walk home in this weather," he retorts, and that's that.

A few moments pass.

"You're hard to impress, aren't you?" I ask, and a smile grows on his face.

"Are we talking about women or places to live?"

"Both."

He takes his foot off the gas, and the car rolls slowly despite the roaring engine encased in the sophisticated frame.

I'm sure he picked this car to impress that woman.

He drags his eyes to me and says nothing, although a thought flickers through his eyes.

"Why?" I ask. "You've seen too much?"

He swings his gaze to the road as the coffee shop looms in the distance.

"It's not a matter of seeing too much," he says. "I lived in beautiful places. It just doesn't matter to me."

And he's had beautiful women, which only means the same thing. They don't matter to him.Like the one he had with him tonight.

So much for getting inspiration for my book.

No one would want a book boyfriend like him.

Even if I learned more about him, I'm not so sure his story would be more appealing.

"Stop here," I say as we draw closer to the cafe.

He stops his car in front of the building.

The store windows are beautifully decorated with paper garlands, pumpkins, colorful leaves, fairy lights, and what usually makes a night perfect in the fall––tins of tea and coffee, porcelain cups, boxes of chocolates, and Halloween-themed napkins.

It's not even the end of September.

"Thank you," I say.

"Where exactly do you live?"

"A few blocks from here." I gesture over my shoulder. "In that direction. I'll be fine. Walking at night helps me clear my head."

Our eyes meet.

He searches mine.

"You're not doing it because of me, I hope."

"No. Of course not."

I smile.

He has no idea.

If I spend another second with this man, I'll do something stupid. And as I said before, he is not exactly book boyfriend material.

It's obvious we want to do something we shouldn't do, and we just dance around it, torturing ourselves.

He is reserved with me––I'd be as well if I were him.I, too, don't want to deal with the headache in front of me. But for all it's worth, a night of sex with him might bring a ray of light to my precarious existence.

On the other hand, our actions could create so many problems I have to think twice about hooking up with him.

People will see us together, interacting, talking, sending non-verbal messages to each other.

They'll know something going on.

"I'm not doing this because of you," I say before opening the door and pushing out of my seat.

And once outside, I bend over to have him in my line of sight and press my hand over my neckline so that I don't flash my boobs.

"Go back. Someone's waiting for you."

I slam the door before he has the chance to speak and spin around.A second later, I rush across the street, the rain pelting down.

Tilting my head to protect my eyes, I bolt away while cold water soaks my blouse and drips down my cheeks.

He honks his car horn behind me. Or maybe it's another driver––I don't know.

Either way, I only run faster, not looking back.