An Unintentional Affair (The Affair Series Book 1)
Read An Unintentional Affair (The Affair Series Book 1) Online
Authors: Randi Ocean
© 2015
Randi Ocean, LLC. All Rights Reserved
“An
Unintentional Affair” is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and
incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are completely fictitious.
Any resemblance to actual places, events or persons, living or dead, is strictly
coincidental.
The city sirens rattled
me out of a deep sleep. Checking the clock, it had barely been an hour since I closed
my eyes, but the sirens kicked my brain back into overdrive. The chaos of the
entire week quickly filled my thoughts again.
It was just after
midnight. He was sleeping peacefully; his tight, rippling muscles glistened
with sweat in the soft light. I felt as if I had known him forever. Trying not
to wake him, I slid out from beneath the comforter and tiptoed to the bathroom
to draw a bath. The steamy water and glass of wine began to melt my stress as I
replayed the events of the past week in my mind. Six days. One hundred and
forty-four life-changing hours. How had I had gotten caught up in such a
tangled web? Flashing back to the exact moment when I was aware he was watching
me, it was now obvious he’d been following me for a while. I’d seen him in my
neighborhood bodega on a couple of occasions and on the subway on my way to
work a few times. It was hard not to notice him. He was strikingly handsome.
His biceps pushed the limits of his suit jacket, and his well-defined pecs
filled his dress shirt in a way that was reminiscent of a chest plate on a
gladiator.
Until a week ago, I’d
never imagined that he noticed
me
. I just assumed he lived in my
neighborhood and our common ground was coincidental. It was unfathomable that a
naïve twenty-six-year old like me could wind up in his arms and in the middle
of a conspiracy that was straight out of a James Bond movie.
It started on Wednesday
night on my way home from the studio. I worked as a photo assistant for a still
photographer. On days when we were shooting, I was up before the sun and
heading home long after it had set particularly as the autumn days grew
shorter. Those days were exhausting, and I admit, after the long hours, I
didn’t pay much attention to my surroundings. All I wanted to do was get back
to my little walk-up apartment, get into comfy clothes, and curl up with a
glass of wine and a book. That Wednesday, though, I noticed that handsome man
on the subway, and again as I stopped in my neighborhood grocery for a bottle
of wine, and then
again
walking toward me on the block where I lived. He
was always impeccably dressed. That night he wore an Armani suit, starched
light gray shirt, pocket square, every detail considered. He approached me with
his graceful stride, looking right at me. Our eyes met under a street light. An
overwhelming flutter ignited in my stomach, and I could hardly breathe. I must
have let out an audible gasp because he began to smile as he slowed to speak to
me.
“Are you all right?” he
asked.
Momentarily unable to form
a word, I shook my head to clear my brain, laughing a little. “Yes….” I muttered.
“I’m sorry. I’ve…I’ve just seen you around the neighborhood.”
He nodded. “I’ve seen
you around, too.”
“You have?!” I said
with more excitement and surprise in my voice than I should have. I was suddenly
very conscious of my appearance. My typical shoot day “uniform” consisted of
black jeans and a T-shirt, so I looked extremely casual, almost sloppy, with my
hair still up in an unkempt ponytail. I tugged at the rubber band to let it fall
loosely over my shoulders. He smiled, almost laughing as he sensed my
nervousness. “Well, yes, this is my block so I am around a lot…. I mean, since
I live here…”I said, stumbling over my words.
He chuckled, cleared
his throat, and held out his hand. “I’m Adam Comstock.”
“Emily Ryan,” I said,
relieved that he had interrupted my inarticulate rambling. His hand was enormous,
very warm and velvety soft.
“Pleased to meet you, Emily.
Are you headed anywhere in particular? May I buy you a cup of coffee?” he
asked.
The flutter in my
stomach ramped up a notch, and I could feel my face flush.
When I hesitated, he
started to say, “Maybe another t….” He was about to walk away.
Cutting him off, I said,
“It’s kinda late for coffee. The caffeine will keep me awake all night. Do you
like wine? After work, all I really want is a glass of wine.” The butterflies
in my stomach had my brain spinning and my mouth rambling again. I didn’t want
him to leave or think I wasn’t interested.
He laughed, his perfect
smile glowing like a beacon under the street light. “Wine it is. Have you been
to TJ’s Café? It’s only a few blocks from here.” He pointed down the block in
the direction of the café.
“I’ve walked by there
but never been in. Let’s go.”
He placed his hand on
the small of my back to guide me down the street. His touch was electrifying. Had
he really noticed me before, and could he really be attracted to me? Me, a simple
girl from Virginia who’d had all of three boyfriends in her life. He talked as
we walked, but I couldn’t focus on his words. I had admired him from afar, and
now all I could think about was how intensely alluring he was up close, how
sensual his supple lips were as he spoke. I wondered what it would be like to
kiss him.
**
TJ’s Café was busy for
a Wednesday night. The glow of the fireplace in the middle of the back room was
inviting. As we walked through the bar toward the tables in the back, I
couldn’t help but notice the female customers eyeing Adam. He exuded sensuality
in every way. We found a corner table close enough to the fire to feel its
warmth. My knees felt week from his touch as he guided me into a chair with his
arm around my waist. He shrugged out of his jacket and pulled his chair close
to mine. As he sat down, the dancing flames created an iridescent glow on his
chiseled features. Good lord, he was stunning. I was trying not to stare at him
and focus on the menu instead. It was futile.
“Do you like red or
white?” he asked.
“I generally drink red.”
“Wow, that’s a little
unusual. Most of the women I’ve known prefer white.”
Most of the women
I’ve known….
I wondered how many lovers
he’d had. He probably had his pick of any woman he wanted any day of the week.
“Is a cabernet okay
with you?” he asked, interrupting my thoughts.
“That sounds great.” I
tried to collect myself and not get distracted by the idea of him with other
women. There was something to be said for the fact that
he’d
approached
me
.
The waitress came by to
take our order. She was obviously enthralled with his good looks, too, and stood
closer to him than she needed to. He ordered a very nice bottle of Silver Oak cabernet.
A bottle. Obviously he planned on talking for a while, spending some time with
me. My mind drifted back to imagining him as a lover. I began fantasizing about
his provocative hands touching my bare skin. He was affecting me even through
my clothes. Bare skin was unimaginable. Just the thought of it aroused me even
more.
He broke my
concentration again, shifting to the pleasantries of polite conversation. “What
kind of work do you do?” His voice was soft but commanding.
“I work as an assistant
to a still photographer. He photographs high-end art for auction houses and
galleries for their catalogues. It’s a great job for me because I love art and
I have the opportunity to be around masterpieces all the time. I’ll probably
never be able to own anything like the work we shoot.”
Ramble, ramble, ramble.
Get a grip!
He had a slight smirk
on his face. Obviously, he could tell I was nervous. “Interesting,” he said.
“How often do you shoot?”
“It varies, but usually
about three to four times a month. We just had a shoot today, actually.”
“Really? What kind of
art?” he asked.
“Today it was mostly mid-twentieth-century
oil paintings. Next week we’re shooting a collection of watercolors.”
“That’s fascinating. Who’s
the photographer?”
“His name is Clint
Sinclair. He’s been shooting art for a long time. I’ve only been working for
him for about six months, but I’ve already learned so much.”
“Does he have a big staff?”
So many questions
about my job! I want to know more about the mysterious Adam Comstock.
“No, there are only three of us including Clint. His
wife does the books, so I guess technically four. I tried shifting the
conversation to him. “So what do you do?”
“Oh, um, I sort of work
in the art world, too. I consult with companies in search of art. They tell me
what they are looking for, and I try to find it for them.”
What a coincidence!
I was about to ask him to tell me more when the
waitress reappeared with the wine. She went through the ritual of popping the
cork and letting Adam taste it. He closed his eyes and sniffed the wine. As he opened
his mouth to take a sip, I fantasized about his delectable lips kissing my
nipples the same way he was inviting the wine into his mouth. He nodded his approval,
and the waitress poured. She set down the bottle, a small bowl of nuts, then winked
at him, and left.
Adam lifted his glass
and said, “To new friends,” with a tender smile.
“To new friends,” I
repeated.
We clinked glasses and
sipped. It was luscious. A rush went through parts of my body that I hadn’t
felt in some time. It wasn’t the wine.
**
We talked for a while
over the fabulous cabernet. The conversation had shifted to our favorite wines
and food. I loved that he was such a foodie.
“Do you like honey?” he
asked.
“Yes,” I said with a
question in my voice.
The fire light twinkled
in his riveting blue eyes. “I’d love to show you my favorite way to enjoy honey
sometime,” he said with a sly smile.
My mind wandered to another
fantasy. “Good to know you’re comfortable in the kitchen,” I said, returning
the sly smile and envisioning his tongue lapping up honey from my body.
He looked at me
quizzically and asked, “What’re you thinking about? You have the most peculiar
look on your face.”
I could feel my face
flush again, although since I’d had a couple glasses of wine, I hoped he would
attribute it to that. Trying to tone down my flirtation a bit, I said, sort of
tongue-in-cheek, “I was just thinking how refreshing it is to meet a man who’s
into food.”
He squinted slightly
and nodded, the sly smile returning to his face. He knew that I understood
exactly what he’d been thinking about when it came to honey.
“Are you seeing
anyone?” he asked softly.
The question caught me
completely off guard. My heart pounded. “Um, well uh, no, I....” All the blood
in my body filled my face. My mind was racing.
Who is this dashing and
charismatic man?
I needed to know more about him.
Before I could say
another word, he said quietly, “I would like to see more of you,” then added,
with that sly smile, “a lot more.”
I had been fantasizing
about him since our eyes met on the street a couple hours earlier, but when
presented with this proposition, I was suddenly unsure. I knew so little about
him.
“Adam, I’m very flattered.
I would like to spend more time with you too. I, um….” I was floundering. What could
I say that wouldn’t totally put him off? This was all happening so fast.
He took my hand and
kissed my knuckles. “You are very beautiful, Emily Ryan.”
The tenderness in his
voice made my nervousness fall away. I was captivated by his gaze and completely
tongue-tied. He kissed my hand again and lifted his wine glass for another
toast.
“To seeing more of
you,” he said.
I clinked and smiled,
not repeating his words this time.
