Gramercy Nights (The Argo Press Trilogy Book 1) (8 page)

I think back to what Sebastian said. About how it’s always about money, and it’s clear now that the primary purpose of this document is to guarantee that I won’t go after him financially. I don’t know how legally binding it is, but it doesn’t matter. Sebastian may not believe this, but I’d never ask him for a dime.

I check the time. I still have fifteen minutes until I have to get back to work. There’s a copier’s around the corner and if I hurry, I can be in and out of there in no time.

Before returning to work, I let Sebastian know his assistant can stop by to pick up the paperwork. His response is almost instantaneous and I wonder if he’s been staring at his phone since his assistant dropped in. For some reason, this thought makes me smile.

You didn’t waste any time.

When I don’t respond, I get another text message from him.

I’ll see you at the loft at eight.

I’m grinning like a total idiot when I walk back into the Gramercy. This is actually happening.

I’m a nervous wreck when I ring Sebastian’s buzzer at a quarter after eight and step back, waiting for him to let me. I want this so bad it hurts, but standing here in the shadow of his imposing building, I can’t help but wonder if the price isn’t too steep. But it’s too late for second thoughts so I take a deep breath as the elevator doors chime open and then I’m standing in the doorway of Sebastian’s loft.

Nina Simone’s sultry voice fills the apartment and the living room is bathed in a warm yellow glow from the dimmed overhead lights. I step inside and notice Sebastian stretched out on the sofa, his long limbs perfectly relaxed, a glass of wine in one hand, and when he sees me, a smile breaks across his face, showcasing his perfect white teeth.

For one long, agonizing moment, he doesn’t move and neither do I. He stares at me, his green eyes raking over my body in silence, taking everything in, and even in my jeans and t-shirt, I feel naked, exposed, like he can see through all that, can see down to my core. Finally, he pushes himself gracefully from the couch and walks towards me with purpose, placing a gentle kiss on my cheek that sets it on fire. He slides my bag from my shoulder and places it gently on the floor and takes my hand, threading his long fingers between my trembling ones. The gesture is at once intimate and forceful and he lifts my hand to his lips, kissing it gently.

“There are a few things we need to settle before dinner,” he says, his voice a seductive whisper and I close my eyes, letting him lead me blindly through the apartment.

When I open my eyes, we’re standing in the library and there’s a fire burning in the fireplace, the crackle of the logs filling the air.

He gently pushes me down into a green leather wingback facing the fireplace and asks if I’d like anything to drink. I nod vaguely.

He pours bourbon from a crystal decanter but before he gives it to me, he says dryly, “Please pace yourself. I’d rather not put you to bed in the guest room again.”

I grimace in embarrassment, taking the glass from his hand. He leans back against the bookshelf, watching as I take my first tentative sip. He smiles, his eyes twinkling mischievously and then, in a flash, it’s gone.

“I need your bank account number.” Sebastian’s words cut through the fantasy, reminding me just why I’m here. This is a financial transaction, not a date.

I swallow the lump in my throat. “I can write it down.”

He nods and finds a piece of paper and pen on his desk, handing them to me. “Good.” He takes his cell phone from his pocket as I scribble down the number, amazed that I actually remember it.

“Ben, I have the account number,” he says without looking at me. With one hand, he motions for me to hand him the paper. “Wire the sum we agreed on.” His words are short, clipped, professional and I can imagine him at work, intimidating and cold. As he reads off the numbers, I wonder how many times he’s made this exact phone call while a girl, just like me, waited in this very chair.

I don’t want to think about it.

He hangs up abruptly and crosses the room to hand me his phone. “Tell Tom you’ve found another job.”

“What?” I pull myself upright. He never said anything about quitting my job. “No.” I glare at the phone in his outstretched hand, refusing to take it.

“No?” There is surprise in his voice and his green eyes bore into me.

“No.”

He shrugs. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

I stare at him in horror. “You can’t do that.” But of course he can. He can do whatever he wants. The money is in my bank account. I’m his.

This is what I agreed to I realize with a sinking feeling at the pit of my stomach.

“This isn’t negotiable. I need to know you’re available.” He fixes his steely eyes on mine.

“What happens when this doesn’t work?”

“What makes you think it won’t work?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. But I’d like to know that I’m not totally fucked if it doesn’t work.”

He considers his answer carefully before speaking, twirling the wine around in his glass. “Danielle, you’re free to end this whenever you want. I won’t ask for the money back. And if I’m…” he pauses, searching for the correct word, “…unhappy, then the same applies. You’ll still be paid, if that’s what you’re worried about.” His words are cold. “In any case, you aren’t going to work tomorrow.”

“I can’t do this,” I whisper, my earlier resolve evaporating.

Sebastian stops and stares at me. “What do you mean you can’t do this?”

“I’ve worked my entire life. I can’t not have a job.”

“You would have a job,” he says impatiently, like I’m the one who’s being dense.

“Fucking you isn’t a job.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he snaps.

I shrug my shoulders and take a sip of my drink.

“Think about this for a second. Yes, I want to know you’re available, but I don’t really see how you intend to translate if you are wasting all your time at that coffee shop. You’re a translator, Danielle, not a bloody barista. Act like it.”

I flinch. And it isn’t because of his cold tone. No, it’s because he’s hit a nerve. “Give me the fucking phone.”

“You know, it’s rather cute that you curse when you’re angry,” he says with a glimmer of amusement. I snatch the phone from his hand impatiently. I just want to get this part over with.

“Fuck you.”

Sebastian just grins.

When it’s all done and I hand Sebastian his phone, I realize all the loose ends have been tied up and this is it. This is what I’ve been waiting for. I take one last sip of bourbon before placing my glass on the side table and push out of the comfortable chair. My heart is racing and I can feel warmth of the fire kissing my skin.

“Should I get undressed?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady, no small feat with Sebastian Casal’s smoldering gaze trained on me. He regards me carefully, a look of bemused puzzlement crossing his face.

“Not unless you want to.”

“Isn’t that why I’m here?”

He looks like I’ve slapped him across the face and quickly runs a hand through his unruly hair.

“You’re not a whore, Danielle,” he says, finally, the anger in his voice barely contained. 

“I’m pretty sure there’s a document on your desk that says otherwise.”

“Will you please let that go? The money is a gift. It’s not payment for services rendered.”

I glare at him. “That’s semantic bullshit and you know it.”

Sebastian lets out a frustrated sigh. “I’m getting more wine. Would you please sit down?” He storms out of the room, a look of complete and utter disgust painting his beautiful features and I sit, feeling like a scolded child.

When Sebastian returns, he’s somewhat calmer. “Is that what you think? That I considered you a whore?” His soft voice is wounded.

“If the shoe fits,” I mumble, refusing to meet his gaze.

I hear him approaching, can feel his presence as he perches on the arm of my chair, so close I can smell him, can feel the tension radiating off him. He doesn’t touch me, and that miniscule distance between us feels like an ocean.

“Forget the money,” he says harshly. “Forget the documents on my desk. Forget everything else. It’s just you and me. Do you want this?”

“You know I do,” I answer stubbornly.

“Good. Because that’s all that matters. That’s the only thing that matters. You have no idea how much I want this, how much I want you.” He sighs. “Whatever happens between us will happen because it’s what we both want, not because I paid you.” I close my eyes and just listen to his melodic voice. “Don’t ever think that if I ask you to do something, you have to. I want to know what you want. I need you to be honest with me.”

The sudden feeling of his fingers trailing down my cheek startles me. “I want to know all those deep, dark fantasies you’ve kept secret.” His words create a deep ache in my core. “But not tonight. Tonight, I just want to hear you scream my name when you come.”

My eyes fly open and I watch a dark cloud pass over Sebastian’s face. When I try to look away, his long fingers cup my chin, forcing me to look straight into his intense green eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

“I can’t…” I trail off miserably, but he won’t look away, won’t take his firm hand from my chin, and I am completely and utterly trapped as he silently urges me to continue. “…I’ve never…during sex.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, remembering the way Jake’s words bit into me, how he all but called me defective. He’d been angry, like he thought I was doing it on purpose. And knowing he was being an asshole didn’t assuage the sting of humiliation I’d felt.

Sebastian continues to stroke my face gently. “Danielle, look at me.” His tone is unreadable, and when I open my eyes, he is staring down at me. “That’s nothing to be ashamed of. A lot of women have trouble climaxing from sex. Do you orgasm when you masturbate?”

I nod. I hate that we’re having this conversation, that we have to have this conversation.

Sebastian leans down, his lips finding mine and when he breaks away, he’s watching me sadly. “Is this why you didn’t want to quit? You were afraid that I wouldn’t want you when you told me you have trouble climaxing during sex?” His voice is softly probing.

“I’m broken. That’s why my last boyfriend left me. He said I made him feel like less of a man.” I’ve never spoken these words out loud before, not even to Connor, because I was too ashamed of what it said about me.

“Your last boyfriend was a fucking idiot,” Sebastian says hotly.

He stands slowly, taking my hand and pulling me to my feet. “Enough talking for now, I’m hungry.” He leans down, pressing his lips to mine, igniting a fire in my body and for a brief instant, I think he’s talking about sex, but then he breaks away and says, “I hope you like chicken.” And I smile, because he is the only person I’ve ever met who can make chicken sound sexy.

Chapter Ten

We eat a rotisserie chicken and sautéed green beans while sitting at the kitchen counter and it’s as if the whole scene in his library never took place. We’re just two people getting to know each other over dinner. Perfectly civilized. Though Sebastian does seem to touch me more than necessary. He asks about Marc Serrat and I tell him about my time in Barcelona, leaving out any mention of that earlier trip with my mom. There are some things he really doesn’t have to know.

It isn’t until we’ve finished eating and Sebastian clears away our plates that my earlier anxiety returns. It’s like every casual touch ratchets up the tension between us until I’m afraid I’ll burst. There’s something about him, something I can’t pinpoint, that makes me long for him. I offer to do the dishes but he shakes his head and tells me his housekeeper, Gloria, can deal with them in the morning.

This is the moment I’ve been waiting for. My heart pounds as Sebastian grasps my hand, leading me back to the big white sofa in the corner of the living room. I sink into it and stare out at the loft buildings across the street. Most of the windows are dark, offices vacated for the night, but some still show sign of inhabitants. Sebastian sits beside me, resting one hand on my thigh, his touch burning into me. We sit in silence, the tension between us palpable, staring out the window, and I can feel the dull throb starting at my sex, the unshakable attraction I feel for this man.

I want him to kiss me. I want him to touch me. Because sitting next to him is driving me insane.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” I say finally.

“Doing what?” he asks with feigned innocence. “I’m perfectly content to sit here all night.”

A frustrated sigh escapes my lips, making him laugh. An ache settles between my thighs. I want him so much in this moment, it hurts.

He brushes the hair from my neck, his light touch sending sparks across my skin.

“Should I kiss your neck?” he asks in that low, seductive voice I’ve come to know so well. I nod, desperate for his touch and when he chuckles, his warm breath caresses the sensitive skin of my neck. “What was that?”

“Please,” the word escapes my lips, breathy with need and in an instant, I feel his warm lips pressed against my flushed skin and I hear myself moan as he bathes my skin in kisses, his tongue lapping against my flesh, making me squeeze my legs together.