Eight Dates With Romance: An S. L. Scott Valentine's Day Collection Page 7

  She almost made her escape undetected, but Audrey saw her and stopped dead in her tracks, stunned by her sister’s appearance. “What are you wearing?” She asked, blurting it out.

  Feeling self-conscious, Evie crossed her ankles and slid her hands into her front pockets. Sensing how uncomfortable her sister was, she clarified. “I mean you look amazing, Sis. Where are you going?” She was surprised her sister actually looked her age for once, instead of always being perfectly put together.

  Appreciating the approval from her younger, and much hipper sister, Evie smiled. “I’m meeting a friend from school. We’re going to blow off some steam from all of the studying we’ve been doing.”

  Audrey lost interest as soon as school was mentioned, and tuned out the rest. She walked back toward the kitchen and waved over her shoulder. “Have fun and I’m so borrowing your outfit soon. Those jeans are hot.” She disappeared into the kitchen, letting the door swing behind her.

  Evie left the apartment in a hurry, almost feeling as if she was sneaking out. As soon as the elevator doors opened into the lobby, she ran out. “Hi, Walter. Bye, Walter.”

  She beat him once again to the door which made both of them laugh. “Have a good time, Miss Wright.” Evie noted the smile on his face reflected the one she had, almost as if he knew her secret and was happy for her.

  Evie was running later than she’d expected, so she took a cab over to the pizzeria. She gave the driver a large bill for the inexpensive fare, not caring about the money, and rushed into the restaurant without waiting for change. William was already at the bar. She slowed her pace trying to regain control of her breath as she walked over and sat down on the barstool next to him.

  Thrilled to see her, always thrilled to see her, he gave her his best smile. “Hey there. Wow, you look great tonight. I haven’t seen you wear anything like this before. I like it.”

  “I thought I would go for casual tonight since I didn’t know how to plan accordingly.”

  “Would you like a drink?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “Do you always know what’s ahead, so you can plan accordingly?” He stood up and offered her his hand as assistance, which she graciously accepted.

  “Too much.”

  “Too much?”

  “Yes, I always know what I’m doing, what to wear to do it, and what is expected of me at all times. I know too much. I think that’s why I’m looking forward to tonight so much.” They walked out the door and down the street chatting.

  He looked down at his shoes feeling sad for her. “That’s disappointing to hear.”

  “No!” She jumped in front of him making him halt with her hands on his chest. “No, that’s not the only reason I was looking forward to tonight, that’s only one small part of it.” She waited until he smiled again and then they started walking.

  As they took two steps down to the subway, she stopped and looked around worried, the inner turmoil building. “What is it?” he asked, concerned.

  “I … um … this is going to sound weird, but I’ve only been on the subway once when I was seven.”

  “You’re kidding me, right?” He was amazed by this tidbit. If she grew up in Manhattan and had ridden the subway only once in her life, this girl was rich, but not just rich, stinking rich. William couldn’t help but feel intimidated by her wealth now.

  “No, I’m not kidding and I was always told never to ride it at night.” She looked nervous.

  William took her hand protectively in his and reassured her. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.”

  Evie remained close to him as he loaded his MetroCard to cover the fare, went through the stalls, and boarded the train. All the seats were taken, but one, and he offered it to her. She shook her head not wanting to be alone, surrounded by the mass of strangers, so he sat down and pulled her onto his lap. When he wrapped his arms snugly around her, she felt safe.

  Three stops later, William led Evie off the train and back to street level. A bit frantic, he turned to her and said, “We’ve got to run.” Squeezing her hand tight, he pulled her behind him. They ran to the booth and he told the man about their reservation. A bit put out, the man signaled for them to board.

  “Another ferry?” she asked as she smiled at William.

  “Not just any ferry, but one that will show us how lucky we are to live in New York.” The wind had picked up, but they both chose to stay outside the boat cabin and enjoy the lights of the skyline.

  “Just so you know, I’ve been on a night cruise around the harbor before.” She knew he thought she hadn’t really seen the city, but felt proud to be able to say she had experienced this before.

  “I bet not on a ferry.”

  She laughed under her breath and then shared more. “You’re right, only by yacht. I prefer the ferry.”

  “I think I’d prefer the yacht.” William was only half joking.

  Because he wanted to and the moment seemed to call for it, William wrapped his arms around her middle and pulled Evie against his chest. She relaxed her back on him. They both liked the feel and the heat from being this close. She smiled, losing herself in the moment of being with someone so wonderful, feeling like a different person, and wanting to blank out her reality. And, although she should have caught the obvious signs of William’s attachment to her, she enjoyed being free for the first time in years. She felt like who she wanted to be.

  They didn’t talk the rest of the hour-long harbor cruise except once when William complimented her. “I like your hair like this. It’s pretty.” This was the first time she felt confident letting her naturally wavy hair show.

  When the ferry docked, they walked hand-in-hand to Little Italy and sat at a sidewalk café. William knew this particular restaurant would charge him more for sitting outside than inside, but it was worth it for the people watching. He had discovered that Evie found this a formidable form of entertainment like he did. They shared a large plate of Alfredo noodles and a bottle of house Chianti. Their conversation flowed as easily as the wine and to their surprise, it felt natural and not forced in any way. When the check came, Evie spoke up, grabbing it from the waiter. “Let me get this, please.”

  “What kind of guy would I be if I did that?”

  “The kind of guy that allows a girl to thank him for all of his generosity. You paid for the subway and the cruise. If you let me get this, I’ll let you get the cab ride back.”

  “No subway then?”

  “I think I’ve had enough excitement tonight.”

  He leaned forward as the waiter left with her credit card and whispered, “By the way, before you think I’m some knight in shining armor, you should know the cruise is free. You just have to make a reservation. The cruise is courtesy of our tax dollars and the city of New York.”

  “I had no idea. That’s actually really cool.” She still didn’t feel bad paying for dinner. It even made her feel more independent.

  They were quiet again during the taxi ride to her home. As they neared the Upper East Side, William scooted a little closer, trying to be nonchalant. “I had a memorable night with you. I hope you feel the same and we can do it again soon.”

  She took his hand, pulling it onto her lap, and closed the small gap between them. Starting to feel tired, she rested her head on his shoulder. “I would love to.”

  The cab pulled up to the curb in front of her building and Joe the overnight doorman was prompt to open the door. “Good evening, Miss Wright and Mr … Oh.”

  Evie interrupted, “Good evening, Joe.” She turned back to face William. “Thank you for an amazing night. I’ll never forget it.”

  “May I have your number?” William asked, feeling timid now.

  She smiled as she took his phone from him and added her name and then her number to his contacts list.

  It was now or never, he thought. William dragged his sweating palms down his thighs and tried to smile at her though his nerves were getting the better of him. Although he never remembered bein
g this nervous with a girl before, he went for it anyway. Slowly, he leaned toward her, closing his eyes, and kissed her. She didn’t pull away which he took as a good sign, so he slid his hand up her bare neck and came to a stop on the side of her jaw. His fingertips disappeared into her silky hair and he pressed his lips a bit firmer against hers.

  Evie tilted her head, feeling a rush of emotion fill her heart, and though she wanted to deepen the kiss, neither of them did. They kept it innocent and sweet, perfect for the pace of their relationship.

  As they pulled away, she was the last to reopen her eyes. “I’ll see you soon,” he said in a hushed voice for her ears only.

  Without realizing she did it, she closed her eyes and touched her lips unaware of her audience: the cab driver, Joe, and William. When she opened them again, she and William exchanged one last knowing smile before she got out and ran into the lobby. She dashed upstairs and into her room, locked the door, and melted against it, sliding to the floor. She could still feel the pressure and heat of William’s lips, of his kiss on hers. She smiled and giggled, feeling lightheaded and giddy thinking of him and that perfect kiss they shared.

  William leaned back, sinking into the back seat as Joe shut the door and the taxi took off into traffic, but he stopped the driver one block up. “I’ll get out here.” He could barely afford the current fare, so he paid the cabbie and walked the remaining fourteen blocks home to save money, thinking of Evie, and smiling the entire way.

  Continued in A Prior Engagement, a bestselling standalone novel.

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  Chapter Nine

  From the Inside Out Series

  Austin has invited Jules to have dinner with him when she delivers a painting he has purchased from her gallery.

  Jules, April 2nd

  The elevator deposits us right into Austin’s apartment—the penthouse.

  He isn’t there when the shiny silver doors open in front of us, but then he is, rounding a corner with a gorgeous smile and warm greetings, welcoming and surprisingly, barefoot. So casually dressed and so sexy. He kisses me on the cheek as his hands hold my shoulders, professional, yet I feel the tingling of something more developing.

  I wonder if he does.

  I have staff with me, so I must behave. He winks at me before greeting them. I stand and wait for instructions. He’s the client. He should make the decisions.

  “How about setting it over there against that wall? I haven’t quite decided and would like to get Ms. Weston’s professional opinion on how to best highlight the painting.”

  After setting the painting down, the interns look to me, so I thank them before walking them to the elevator with a reminder to drive safe and that we have an employee meeting on Monday morning. They leave and we’re alone. Austin’s turned on some music, classic rock. Another pleasant discovery about this charming man.

  “Wine? Or …” He jogs into the kitchen and comes back out just as quickly to show me. “I found this great Gossett champagne. My wine guy pulled it from the reserves for me.”

  He has a wine guy. I’m impressed. His excitement is contagious and I smile, relaxing. “The champagne. We should celebrate.”

  “We can drink to the Rusque finding a home.” On a mission to open the bottle, he goes back into the kitchen. “Make yourself at home, Jules.” His voice travels from the confines of the other room.

  I study his décor—clean, neutral palette, highlighting the artwork. I like that. I used to be more eclectic, warmer in my taste … back when I was with Dylan. I had a much more carefree style. Over the years, I’ve learned that clutter is confining and never replaced any of the knick-knacks he took the day he left me.

  Looking at the walls, a large painting hangs above the couch. It seems to be the one piece I didn’t sell him.

  Handing me a glass of champagne, he says, “I picked that up in Europe four years ago. It caught my eye and I had to have it. Do you like it?”

  “It’s lovely,” I reply, studying the bright colors up top that fade to a gradient mix with the muted base tones. “It’s a great find. I’ve not seen anything like that here. It’s unique in its composition.”

  “That’s exactly how I felt when I saw it, but could never put it into words so perfectly.” Tapping the fluted crystal against mine, he toasts, “To new friends and amazing art.”

  “To amazing friends and new art,” I add, the crystal chiming between us.

  We sip, then he says, “Let me show you around and you can help me find a place to hang the new one.”

  Most of the paintings he’s purchased from me hang gallery style down the long and wide hallway. He says, “I had it designed this way to showcase the paintings.”

  “It’s an art lovers’ dream. Have you had your place photographed professionally?”

  “Once, last year,” he looks down, seeming self-conscious. “It was silly really, a local publication.”

  We stop in his bedroom and I see the Cirie I sold him three years ago on Valentine’s Day. “That’s more powerful than I remember,” I note, staring at it hanging above his headboard.

  He stands there, analytical, before saying, “The deep burgundy blending into the more subtle red, but stopping before it turns pink. I can feel the passion behind it. Cirie knew when to stop. It’s not feminine—”

  “Or masculine,” I say, interrupting, “just beautiful.”

  I hear him whisper behind me, “Yes, so beautiful.”

  I glance over my shoulder.

  His eyes are on me.

  I blink and turn back to face the painting. “Yes, it’s pure passion. Above the bed is the perfect place for it to hang.”

  He steps closer, silently admiring … the painting or me, I’m not sure. His fingers brush against my elbow. His voice comes out lower, “Come with me. I’ll show you where I was thinking the Rusque could go.”

  Liking his touch when his hands are on me, I follow him into another room sticking close. Much like Austin, his office is breathtaking. The room is identical to his bedroom with two full walls of windows, but this room has no curtains to block the world out. He stands back, leaning against the door as I explore the room. The other two walls are white and bare, needing something, craving something vibrant.

  “I think the painting should go right here. It feels right.” I turn around abruptly and ask in all seriousness, “Do you use this room?”

  “All the time.”

  I release my relief through an exhale. “Good. I would hate for that piece to be abandoned in some room that’s never used, where it would never be seen.”

  “So would I. Your passion for art is very sexy.”

  “Art is sexy.”

  “Indeed.”

  I sip then gulp my drink, eyeing him, admiring his lean and fit figure. “It must be hard to date a tycoon,” I joke, the bubbles going to my head. “The world is at your feet, literally right outside the window and down thirty-seven flights.”

  “I’ve never dated a tycoon,” he retorts. “So I wouldn’t know.”

  I laugh and he smiles at the sound. Sipping my drink, each bubble bursts in my mouth. I walk to a window and look out. “It’s a long way to fall.”

  “No further than Heaven and you survived that.” Laughing out loud, I try to contain the roll of my eyes that wants to escape from his corny comment. “I’m sorry. I always wanted to know what it was like to say one of those awful pick-up lines and you gave me the perfect set up.”

  “I think you’ve been carrying that around in your back pocket for about fifteen years too long,” I tease.

  He grins. “Maybe longer. I’ve been interested in girls for a long time now, Jules.”

  “I just bet you have.” I punctuate my words with a wink.

  Standing in front of him, the silliness between us alters into something more, something with depth and it scares me. I swallow hard, trying to change it back by asking, “Do you believe in love at first sight, Austin, or should I walk by again?” Together, w
e laugh this time from my bad pickup line. Walking past him, I bump his hip with mine playfully, then with my smirk still in place, I say, “Now feed me, I’m hungry.”

  Following behind, he says, “If I knew you better I’d …” but catches himself and stops.

  I lean against the wall between two bold, modern paintings, a bit breathless, a lot playful. “You’d what? What would you do if we knew each other better?”

  His feet stop in front of mine and a roguish smile plays on his lips. “If we knew each other better, I would have slapped your ass for that pun.”

  “Consider us good friends then, but let’s skip the ass slap, even as appealing as that sounds …” His eyebrow arches, his body leans forward, one hand stationed above my head. Our breathing picks up, but also deepens, both of us wanting more. I finish by saying, “… And just kiss me.”

  His hand is on my neck, sliding upward over my jaw, caressing my cheek. “You are a fascinating woman, Ms. Weston.” His lips press against mine. They’re soft, yet purposeful. Full and wonderful. My eyes are closed, enjoying, savoring, wanting more. He pulls back and our eyes slowly open. The tip of his finger glides along my bottom lip. Leaning in again for a quick, sweet kiss, he says, “You said something about being hungry—”

  “Yes, starving.” In more ways than one right now. My body craving him more than food.

  He takes my hand and we walk back to the kitchen. “Rao’s?” I ask when I see the bags on the counter.

  “I like it. It’s impossible to get into the restaurant as you know, but I have kitchen connections and get take-out every couple of months.”

  “You went to a lot of effort for tonight.”

  “You’re worth it,” he replies not understanding how much it means that someone thinks I’m worth the effort. He starts unpacking the bags. “Hope you like spaghetti and meatballs. I got the house salad and dessert.” He raises his eyebrows up and down when he says dessert. It’s really quite cute.