Even though she fought him at every turn. He closed his eyes as he remembered how he hadn’t cared who was around them on the street. He’d wanted her with such urgency that the photographer had done them a favor. A few more minutes and they might have started shedding clothing and given the press a story that even his contacts couldn’t squash.
He groaned. After years of judging Nick for chasing everything in a skirt and mocking his lack of control, Gio was coming to the humbling conclusion that he had his own Achilles’ heel—and her name was Julia.
And what did she want from him?
Flowers. He did a quick search on his phone for a flower shop, then placed an order that the florist repeated twice to make sure she’d heard correctly.
Would he like to include a message?
Oh, yes.
Chapter Eleven
The long-stemmed pink roses started arriving the next morning in an abundance that revealed Gio had no idea how small her apartment was. Once she’d packed them into her tiny kitchenette, the window sill, all of the floor space around her bed, and even put a few in the bathroom, she’d asked the delivery man to hand the rest of the vases out on the street below.
Yes, at night the neighborhood showed its underbelly, but during the day its sidewalks were filled with regular people who were thrilled by this unexpected gift: mothers walking their young children, couples who felt the flowers were a sign from fate, and some street vendors she’d never seen smile until the florist pointed up toward her open window and offered them a bouquet. After their initial suspicion passed, many of them had held up the flowers and waved to her in thanks.
The entire experience had put a lasting smile on Julia’s face. She hadn’t opened the envelope that had accompanied the flowers. She knew who they were from and she wanted to savor the moment. When the last bouquet was given away, she closed her window, waded through a forest of roses, and sat cross-legged in the middle of her bed.
She held the envelope to her chest but still didn’t open it. He’s doing what I asked him to, but what do I have in common with a man like Gio? It would never work out. He wants sex. Hot. Glorious. Repeated sex. And he’s willing to do anything to get me to agree.
That’s not love.
That’s late-night porn.
Something he’s already offered to pay me for. That’s what being his mistress would be. A socially acceptable payment for sex.
Even these flowers. One thousand long-stemmed fuck-me-please flowers.
I didn’t think he’d actually send them.
Or that I’d love the gesture as much as I do.
She picked one of the flowers out of a vase on the floor beside her bed and raised it to her nose, closing her eyes in pleasure as the scent filled her senses. The soft petals brushed against her bottom lip, reminding her how his mouth had fit so perfectly over hers. Her body didn’t care about the poor timing of this temptation; it flooded with heat at the memory of being pushed up against the side of a New York building with a passion that had robbed both of them of their inhibitions.
She opened her eyes and studied the envelope again.
Does it include an invitation to somewhere?
It doesn’t matter.
The flowers don’t actually change anything.
I’d be better off spending the day in the Diamond District trying to make a connection than being pulled, albeit willingly, into something I know is wrong for me.
Call him at work.
Thank him and politely refuse to take this further.
Don’t read the card.
Once you open that door, you won’t be able to close it.
You won’t be strong enough to say no.
She lay back on the bed and covered her eyes with the paper.
Her phone began to vibrate on the nightstand beside her bed. She rolled onto her stomach. Unknown number. She held her breath and answered it. “Hello?”
“Good morning, Julia,” Gio said, his voice warm and intimate.
She sat straight up in her bed and dropped the card. “Mr. Andrade.”
“We’re way beyond using last names and you know that.”
Protectively pulling down her nightgown to cover her knees, Julia said huskily, “About that. Thank you for the flowers, but—”
“Did I wake you?”
“No, the delivery did that,” she said, then felt bad that she sounded ungrateful. This wasn’t going as she’d planned.
“So, you’re not on your bed? I have an image in my head of you there, surrounded by those roses.”
The heat from a blush spread up Julia’s chest and warmed her cheeks. She knew she shouldn’t, but she couldn’t help herself. She said, “I am on my bed.” Then she hastily added, “But only because it doubles as my couch.”
He groaned. “I refuse to sink low enough to ask you what you’re wearing, but if you want to describe it I won’t stop you.”
There was something irresistibly tempting about doing just that. Was it the knowledge that in that moment she had the same power over him that he had over her? The sense that he was fighting this as much as she was?
It proved too heady to resist. “I’m still in my nightgown.”
He let out a long breath. “If I were there it wouldn’t be on you for long. Take it off, Julia. For me.”
Her first response was to laugh and refuse, but his softly spoken order echoed through her and her body started humming with need for him. As she gave into it, it became impossible to deny him anything. She slid the nightgown over her head and lay back, fully naked on her bed. “It’s off,” she whispered.
The pained sound he made had her dripping wet and closing her eyes, imagining him there with her.
“Lick your thumb. Lick it, then circle one of your nipples. Imagine my tongue there. I wouldn’t be able to keep my mouth off you. What would you want me to do to them?”
What would have felt ridiculous with anyone else was somehow right with Gio. She did as he asked, gasped as the cold air tightened and puckered her nipple with pleasure. She imagined that her hand was his mouth. Her fingers were his teeth. She pinched herself lightly and moaned. “I’d want you to use your teeth gently. Like you did in your office. Tugging. Teasing. Oh, God, this is crazy.”
“You’re killing me, but don’t stop, Julia. I’m here with you. Right here. What would you want me to do? What do you like?”
She ran her hand up her neck and pushed her hair aside. “I love the feel of your hot breath on my neck, the feel of your lips claiming where I’m vulnerable.”
“I’ll remember that. I’ll start there and kiss my way down, slowly. I’ll kiss the curve of your waist, the silk of your thighs. I’ll want to dive into you, but I’ll make you wait until you’re writhing and begging for me to taste you.”
That would not take long, Julia almost said aloud.
“Are you wet for me, Julia?”
“Yes,” she said, giving herself to him fully in the safety of the situation. Her hand sought her own juices and she began to rub herself. “Oh, God, I am so wet.”
“Do you have a vibrator?” he asked and her hand froze.
I can’t tell him.