Chapter 8
chapter 8
MAYA
I’m not Cinderella. Or Rapunzel. Or Sleeping Beauty.
I’m an independent woman who stands on her own two feet. I make my own money and solve my own problems, all while looking out for my family and friends.
I’ve never needed a prince to swoop in and save me, which is a good thing since, thus far, princes have been in very short supply in my life.
But as Anthony and I are whisked south toward the East Village in another cozy cab he didn’t hesitate to pay for and he singlehandedly wrestles the picnic basket and blanket, my suitcase, and my backpack up the stairs to his fifth story walk-up, leaving me with nothing to worry about except Pudge in his carrier, I can’t deny that it feels good to be taken care of.
It feels great actually.
Stepping into Anthony’s adorable apartment with its brightly colored décor and cinnamon-scented air feels even better.
Though I have to confess his home isn’t anything like I imagined it would be on the way over.
Anthony’s personal style is the height of classic luxury—all cashmere, leather, and tailored wool—while his East Village walk-up exudes bohemian charm. Exposed brick walls hold mismatched floating shelves filled with well-worn books, their spines cracked and loved. A Moroccan rug in deep jewel tones covers weathered hardwood floors, and fairy lights twinkle along the exposed beams of the ceiling. The whole space feels like somewhere you’d find by accident and never want to leave.
Like a hobbit cottage, but big enough for two humans and an extra-large cat.
“I love your place,” I breathe, taking in the eclectic mix of vintage furniture as I wander through the small kitchen into the living area. A leather armchair that’s seen better days sits beside a pristine mid-century modern coffee table. Art prints—everything from Monet to abstract pieces I don't recognize—create a gallery wall that somehow works despite its randomness.
“Thank you,” he says with a slightly uncomfortable laugh. “It’s kind of a hodge podge of everything.”
“It’s great,” I assure him, understanding how awkward it can be to show your home to someone new. I put Pudge’s carrier on the ground, setting him free to explore, while I set up his portable litter box in the far corner by a vintage record player stand my friend, Elaina, would kill for.
Pudge inches slowly from his cozy cave, visibly relaxing once he’s glanced around to find no menacing radiators or other looming threats. He does a circle of the room, sniffing until he seems confident that he’s the only furry creature nearby before leaping up to investigate a burgundy velvet armchair near the sealed-up fireplace.
He circles three times, testing the fabric with gentle flexes of his claws, before settling in like he owns it.
“He won’t damage the fabric, don’t worry,” I say, smiling as Pudge begins to purr. My anxiety-prone cat looks more at home here than he has since we left Maine. “He’s very good about things like that. Leave anything halfway edible in the trash, and he’ll find a way to get into it and leave a path of destruction all over the kitchen, but he’s never shredded the furniture.”
“I’m not worried,” Anthony says, glancing Pudge’s way. “It’s just nice to see him so relaxed. Poor guy. That radiator was a nightmare, wasn’t it, buddy?”
Pudge makes a grumbling sound of agreement before closing his eyes, making us both laugh.
“Now, how about we get the people something to help us relax?” Anthony asks, arching a brow. “I don’t know about you, but I could use a drink after all the excitement.”
I exhale a sigh of relief. “Yes, that sounds good, thank you. I know it was just a car backfiring, but my nervous system is positive we barely avoided violent and certain death.”
Anthony nods seriously. “And the only thing worse than a violent death is a violent and certain one.”
I fight a smile. “Are you making fun of me?”
“Never,” he says, his lips hooking up on one side. “I find you completely charming. Even the fact that your backpack weighs nearly as much as your suitcase intrigues me. What do you have in there? Your entire rock collection?”
“Gold bars,” I riff as he moves into the kitchen. “Gold bars and pirate treasure from off the coast of Maine. I don’t have a local bank in New York, so I figured I’d pay the rest of my deposit on the apartment in gold and jewels.”
He makes a considering sound as he opens one cabinet before closing it and opening another. “Decent plan. But I doubt you’ll get a good exchange rate from the bankers around here. They’re a soulless lot.”
“I think all bankers are.” I run my fingers along a shelf of leather-bound classics on the mantel, recognizing some of my favorites. I grin as I come across a well-loved copy of Pride and Prejudice. “You like Jane Austen?”
“Hmm?” He turns, blinking for a moment before his gaze flicks from my face to the bookshelf and back again. “Oh. Yes. I um…I mean, I haven’t read any fiction for a while, unfortunately, but back in school I burned through all the classics. I read a few grade levels ahead of the rest of my classmates and had a great English teacher who kept me stocked with reading material.”
I amble over to join him in the kitchen as he pulls a bottle of red wine from a storage nook below the cabinets. “Really? You were a book nerd?”
He smiles. “Huge book nerd and teased relentlessly for it. Even the fact that I was good at soccer couldn’t keep the other kids from calling me four eyes.”
My brows lift. “You wore glasses as a kid, too? Mine were an inch thick before I got contacts.”
He shakes his head with a laugh. “No, actually. I’ve never worn glasses.” He shrugs. “But kids, you know. They don’t make a lot of sense. I never understood them. Even when I was one.”
I nod as I lean against the island, watching him work the corkscrew into the top of the wine bottle. “I get that. I mean, I had a few really close friends when I was growing up, but in general, I was always more comfortable with adults than other kids my age.”
“Because you’re smart,” he says.
I shrug. “I mean, yes, I did well in school, but I wasn’t reading a few grade levels ahead of the rest of my class. Sounds like you’re the smartest smarty pants in this room.”
He laughs as he pours the wine, again seeming a little self-conscious, which…I like. Unexpectedly, I find this vulnerable, slightly unsure of himself Anthony as compelling as the confident charmer from the garden earlier tonight. “Well, my grandmother always said a high IQ is only useful if you have the street smarts to know what to do with it.”
I frown. “And you don’t think being a male escort is the best thing you could have done with your high IQ?”
He bites his bottom lip, looking troubled as he places his hands palm-down on the island on either side of the two glasses of wine he’s poured.
Instantly, I know I’ve said the wrong thing.
“I’m sorry,” I hurry to add. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I was just curious. Personally, I think a male escort is a great thing to be! Any job that helps people and makes you feel like you’re doing good work in the world is wonderful in my book. No judgement here. At all. I mean, I’m so grateful for the time we’ve spent together so far. It’s been…really special.”
He looks up, an expression on his face I can’t quite read. “You’re…”
“A jerk?” I supply after a beat, my shoulders inching closer to my ears.
“No.” He shakes his head as a slow smile lilts across his face. “Not at all. You’re lovely. Inside and out. Not many people would look at an escorting job that way. And I’m grateful for the time we’ve spent together, too. You’re special.”
Now it’s my turn to feel self-conscious. I shrug awkwardly. “Well, thank you, I just… I just want the world to be a kinder place. If we could all stop judging each other, and lead with compassion, that would be a lot easier.”
“Agreed,” he says, sliding one wineglass across the island toward me. He then lifts his own. “To a kinder, gentler world.”
I lift my glass, clinking it against his. “To a kinder, gentler world.”
I hold his gaze as I take a sip of the wine, tingles flooding through my entire body as the lightly fruity, oaky red slides smoothly over my tongue. The wine is excellent, but it’s the eye contact that makes me keenly aware of the way my lips caress the edge of the glass.
Suddenly the fact that we’re in a place where no one is going to bother us hits full force, making my stomach flutter. We may have gotten off track with the drama at my terrible hotel, but now we’re safe and cozy and…alone.
Aside from a very tired cat who is already snoozing like his life depends on it…
“Good?” he asks.
I nod. “Very good. You have excellent taste in wine. And food. And dessert.”
He smiles. “Thank you.”
“And I love your decorating style.” I nod over my shoulder as my brows glide up my forehead. “Up for a tour? I’d love to see the rest of your home.”
And your bedroom …I silently add, feeling a little bit wicked. But it’s okay to be thinking about his bed. Anthony knows I’m attracted to him, and he doesn’t seem to mind.
In fact, he seems to like it when I’m turned on and begging for him to take me.
The memory makes my skin heat as he circles around the island.
“Of course,” he says. “I’ll show you your room first. I put your suitcase in the corner, but feel free to unpack as much or as little as you want. Until recently, I had a friend staying with me for a little while, so the closet and drawers should be empty. Please make yourself, and Pudge, at home.”
“Thank you so much,” I say, following him down the narrow hallway. “I know I said I was fine with the hotel from hell, but this is so much better.’’
He casts a smug grin over his shoulder as we pass a cute bathroom with a yellow cast iron tub and a shower curtain showcasing a black-and-white picture of the city skyline. “I mean, I hate to say I told you so, but…”
“Nah, I think you like it,” I tease, my nerve endings humming as he pauses in the doorway to the small bedroom. Just the feel of the sleeve of my sweater brushing against his chest as I stop beside him is enough to make things low in my body pulse.
I pause, glancing up, breath catching when I see him watching me with a mixture of hunger and affection that seems so real.
Geez… I’m going to have to watch myself with this man. He’s so charming, so exactly the kind of man I’ve always hoped I’d meet, and it would be so easy to forget that this is all pretend.
“I do enjoy an ‘I told you so’ moment every now and then,” he murmurs. “It’s a character flaw. I’m bossy, and I like being right.”
“And you’re smart, so you probably are right most of the time,” I say, my voice growing breathy as his Anthony smell fills my head, making me want him even more.
It isn’t his cologne or shampoo, though, it’s just…him.
I want to bottle the scent that lingers at the warm curve of his neck and uncork it every time I want to remember the time I took a wild chance and ended up meeting an incredible man.
He inclines his head in humble acceptance. “I am. But it’s easy to be right when you stay in your comfort zone.”
I hum in agreement and force my gaze from his, taking another sip of my wine as I survey the tiny space. Even with just a full bed draped in a blue comforter on one side and a small desk and bureau on the other, it feels crowded. But it’s more than enough space for Pudge and me. “This is perfect. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Want to see upstairs?”
“I’d love to,” I say, following him back down the hall.
The apartment isn’t large, but it’s perfectly arranged. In addition to the kitchen and living room in the main part of the space, there’s an office nook tucked under the stairs that holds a vintage desk and more books. I’m completely charmed by the space, even before we reach the top of the steep stairs and open the door to a lofted bedroom that takes my breath away.
“Wow, this is amazing.” My eyes widen as I take in the king-sized bed covered in plush white bedding opposite a wall made completely of hazy vintage glass.
“And there’s a balcony. Sort of,” Anthony says, motioning toward a slightly rusty glass door that leads out onto an iron-worked platform about as big as our picnic blanket in the garden. He sets his wineglass on the bureau before reaching for the door handle. I do the same, crossing my arms over my chest and huddling against the chill as I follow him outside.
There’s a thin railing around the platform, but it would be easy to climb over it and jump down onto the roof of the building next door.
Or fall between the buildings and break your neck on the pavement in the alley below…
“It’s probably not entirely up to code,” Anthony adds, likely noticing my caution as I inch closer to the railing to peer over the edge. “But the view…”
I glance up, my concern vanishing with a wistful sigh. “The view,” I agree, gazing across the snow-dusted city, now glowing in the light of a nearly full moon. String lights from another balcony a few streets over cast a warm glow across the rooftops and puffs of white rise from several of the chimneys, carrying the scent of woodsmoke into the night air.
It’s like every romance novel about falling in love in New York at Christmastime rolled into one perfect moment.
And then, as if on cue, a saxophone begins to play “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” from somewhere below.
“Talk about perfect timing,” I whisper, moving closer to Anthony, my blood fizzing as he wraps an arm around me, drawing me against his side. We listen to the musician play for a long moment before he asks in a hushed voice, “Is it weird that this is the best Christmas I’ve had in a long time?” he murmurs. “I mean, I love my family, but this…”
“This has been magic.” I turn to him, skimming my palms up his chest as his arms tighten around me. “Just…perfect.” I gather my courage, my pulse speeding faster as I add in softer voice, “I can only think of one thing that could possibly make it better.”
His fingers dig into the fabric of my jeans, just above where the small of my back becomes something more intimate. “Are you sure? We can wait. I don’t want to rush you.”
“Please,” I whisper, my heart now pounding in my chest. “Rush me. Take me to your bed and rush me. I don’t want to wait, I want?—”
He cuts me off with a kiss, a deep, wild kiss that assures me he’s as eager to finish what we started in the garden as I am. He backs me toward the door, our tongues dancing as his hands roam over my body with a mixture of confidence and reverence that makes me feel safer than I ever have with a man. I feel simultaneously safe and wild, in control and deliciously reckless, and I know this is going to change everything.
I’m not just losing my virginity tonight.
I’m losing my virginity to my dream man, a fantasy come to life who gets more irresistible with every passing minute. I love that Anthony is smart and kind as much as I love his gorgeous body and gifted hands. I love his laugh and his smile and how bossy he gets when he’s worried about me. And I really love that he was worried, that he truly seemed to care about keeping me safe.
If he’s even half as good as I think he is, this man is one in a million.
And yes, a crazy part of me is starting to wish he could be my one in a million. For keeps.
Falling for a man I’ve paid to make love to me would be ridiculous, of course, but as he closes the door behind us and cups my breast through my sweater with a soft groan of desire, I know fighting it is pointless.
I’m catching feelings for this man, and I don’t want to stop.
I’m not sure I could stop, even if I tried.
I may have zero experience when it comes to love, but I know this feeling snatching me up and spinning me around isn’t something that will be easy to ignore or control.
So, right then and there, as Anthony murmurs, “I can’t wait to make you come for me again, beautiful,” I let go.
I give myself over to the physical sensations making me burn and the warm ache spreading through my chest, determined to enjoy every minute of this wild ride.
Even if it ends with a broken heart.