Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 90899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Dave, who knows exactly who I am and exactly how much money I have and who might be the man inspecting Maya’s building on Wednesday. He has employees, of course, but he still does a lot of the on-site work himself.
What if I’d volunteered to join her at the inspection without checking who she was working with first? I would have some seriously uncomfortable explaining to do, and Maya would have felt like a fool.
Or worse, betrayed.
The last thing I want to do is be on the dealing side of betrayal.
The closeness of the call sits like lead in my stomach. I haven’t been a regular visitor in Red Hook in years—I’m too busy for more than a quick dinner with my family every other week or so—but the old neighborhood operates on an unchanging code. Everyone knows everyone. Everyone looks out for their own.
And everyone talks.
Anthony Pissarro showing up with a girl half his age, who’s looking to buy an apartment building in the neighborhood, would be gossip fit for spreading all the way from my uncle’s bar down to the pier by IKEA, where my friends and I used to gorge ourselves on cheap Swedish meatballs from the snack bar back in high school.
“Everything okay?” Maya asks, lifting her head. Her breath is warm against my neck, tempting, dangerous now that I know our paths might very well cross again outside our week of pleasure.
I hum and force a smile. “Great,” I lie. “Why?”
“You’re quiet,” she murmurs. “You’re usually pretty chatty for a guy.”
My smile is real this time as I curl my hand around her thigh and squeeze. “Yeah? For a guy? Is that good? Or should I work on being the strong, silent type?”
“It’s good. Great. It’s so much easier to get to know someone when they’re chatty.”
The reminder that I can’t let her know me, at least not all of me, makes my stomach twist. What the hell have I gotten myself into?
“Thanks for coming back to my hotel,” she says. “I know it’s a longer drive and probably not nearly as nice as your place.”
“Not a problem,” I say, kissing the top of her head, relishing the lightly floral scent of her shampoo.
And it’s not a problem.
Most likely.
I doubt I’ll know anyone hanging out at her economy brand hotel on Christmas, but I spend my fair share of time in Midtown. Before I left the firm, I had meetings in the area at least once a week. The chances that we could run into someone I know while we’re out grabbing breakfast this week or wandering through one of the neighborhoods that I’d love to show her are better than decent. New York is a big city with a huge population, but I’ve lived here for forty years and have the network to show for it.
A network that loves brunch in Chelsea and Greek food in Williamsburg as much as I do…
I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking. There’s no way I’m going to be able to keep my real identity a secret.
I should end this now. Walk away before Maya discovers that I’m not who I’m pretending to be. Before her moment of independence and empowerment is ruined by learning that her “escort” is a jaded billionaire who’s abused her trust.
Before I get in any deeper with this woman who makes me feel things I haven’t felt in years…
But when Maya shifts closer, pressing a soft kiss to my jaw as she whispers, “Still. Thank you. I appreciate it,” I don’t even think about pulling away.
I can’t walk away from this sweet, sexy woman.
She deserves to have all her erotic dreams come true and, selfishly, I can’t stomach the thought of another man touching her. I want to be the man making her come, the one to make her feel safe enough to ask for everything she wants, everything she needs. I want to indulge her in every fantasy and then teach her a few things she might not have gotten around to fantasizing about yet.
I want to be her first.
You want to be her only, a possessive voice whispers in my head, but I ignore it. That kind of thinking has no place here. This is temporary. A week of pleasure, nothing more.
But it’s a week I’m going to make the most of, no matter how much smarter it would be to bail first thing tomorrow morning.
The driver turns onto Fortieth and slows far too close to Penn Station for my comfort. I look up, shocked to see the neon sign for The Traveler’s Rest glowing above a building with boarded up windows covered in graffiti. “This is where you’re staying?”
“It’s not that bad,” Maya says with a laugh. “I mean, yes, it’s a little scary from the outside, but the room is really clean. And this was one of the only places that accepted pets around here. And it’s only for a week.” She reaches for the door, stepping out onto the trash-littered curb.