Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Dylan
“Maybe I should be the one kidnapping you for a ransom,” she says from behind me.
I chuckle at that. I watched the way her eyes widened when she caught a glimpse of the bank of windows that greets everyone who enters my apartment.
It was a selling point at the time I bought the place.
I had money to burn and no one but myself to impress.
Three bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a doorman seemed excessive, but investing in real estate is rarely a fool’s pursuit.
I’ve increased my equity since I took possession. The doorman’s face has become one of the few constants in my life, and the views of my corner of Manhattan haven’t changed enough for me to notice.
I live on Fifth Avenue.
My office is a block over on Madison.
I reap the benefits of other people’s misery.
Guilt doesn’t factor into that.
If you wake one morning to realize that you don’t want to be legally bound to the person next to you in bed, I’m the man you call.
“I assure you no one would pay a ransom for me.” I toss my keys on the antique wooden table that houses my home bar.
That consists of a half dozen glass tumblers, an ice bucket that is filled nightly by my assistant, and a bottle of Macallan 15.
Next to that is a manila envelope.
It holds the details of whatever hell awaits me tomorrow.
Every night but Friday and Saturday, my assistant prepares his notes for the appointments and cases I’ll be dealing with the next day.
Divorce as a business is lucrative. Tomorrow will be profitable judging by the thickness of tonight’s envelope.
“Don’t be so quick to say that.” Her gaze trails around the room before it lands on my face. “You must be important to someone.”
Watching as she gives me a full once-over, I shove a hand through my black hair.
In the car on the way here she avoided looking at me. Her attention was stolen by the Uber driver who was as infatuated with her as I am.
His small talk about the construction that plagues the city in the spring and summer was annoying and trite, but she found it inviting and intriguing.
At least, that’s how it seemed to me as I sat and studied her profile, wondering how anyone can be this beautiful from every angle and in every light.
“Who are you important to?” I reach for the scotch, but I stop before I curve my fingers around the slender neck of the half-empty bottle.
I don’t need a drink. I need a fuck.
She takes a step closer to me. The heels of her stilettos tap against the brushed oak hardwood floor. “You. Tonight.”
She’s right. She’s also still dressed.
I cross my arms over my chest. “Take off your shoes.”
Hesitation doesn’t halt her. She kicks her shoes off with fanfare, sending one flying onto my Italian leather sofa.
She’s no more than five-foot-three or four without the added benefit of her heels.
“The dress,” I demand. “Drop the dress.”
“Tit for tat.” She shakes her head. “Or is it tits for that?”
I watch as her hand circles the air in front of her. “Lose the suit jacket, Dylan.”
My modus operandi has remained unchanged for at least the past decade. The woman I’m with strips naked. I bring her to orgasm with my fingers, or if the temptation is strong, my mouth.
Only then do I undress and that’s so I can fuck freely.
Another round might be in the cards if the first was enticing enough. Often it’s not and my lover for the night will take her leave after trying to push her number on me.
I don’t need phone numbers. I need space to sleep, preferably alone.
I slide my gray suit jacket from my shoulders. Folding it in half, I place it over the arm of the sofa.
“Cufflinks,” she says in a voice that is a mix of a breathed whisper and a veiled moan.
Power is heady. If watching me undress gets her wet, I’ll play her little game.
I remove my cufflinks, carefully placing them on the table next to the bottle of scotch.
I turn my attention back to her. Her bare feet are shifting on the floor. It’s not nervous energy. She’s moving to a beat that only she can hear.
She’s a natural. A born dancer, much like the woman she reminds me of.
“The dress,” I repeat. “Take it off.”
She shakes her head. “I’ll lose the watch.”
Her left hand makes quick work of the clasp on the silver watch on her right wrist. Once it’s free, she tosses it at me.
I effortlessly catch it.
My gaze drops to it. It’s delicate. The band is dotted with diamonds. I rest it next to my cufflinks before I place my watch beside it.
“Your turn,” I point out noting that the only other jewelry she’s wearing is a pair of small silver hoop earrings.
My patience should be wearing thin, but I have all night. Even though I’m aroused, this exchange is unexpected and as fascinating as the woman I’m staring at.
“No.” She takes two steps closer to me. “I want you to take off your shirt.”
I’d debate the point and likely win, but the white button-down shirt will be on my bedroom floor within the next thirty minutes, so I comply.
I watch her eyes as I loosen my navy blue tie before tossing it on the back of the sofa. Her gaze is riveted to my fingers. Each button that is undone reveals more of the smooth skin of my chest and my abs.
“Do you have any tattoos?” she asks, stepping closer.
The query perks my brows and my curiosity. “Is that a requirement?”
“It’s a question.”
I’ve never considered inking my skin, but that’s not because I don’t see the beauty of the art or believe in the meaning behind it.
The person I hate most in the world is covered with tattoos. His chest, back, and arms bore colorful ink the last time I saw him.
A tattoo on my skin would inevitably remind me of him.
I don’t need or want that.
I answer the question with a push of the shirt from my shoulders.
Her eyes rake my bare torso and arms. “Turn around.”
If she’s this demanding in bed, a second or even third round is a given. I can’t remember the last time I wanted a woman this much.
That’s a lie. I can remember even though I’ve tried in vain to forget.
I don’t move. “I’ll show you my back once you show me you.”
Her eyes drop to the front of her dress. It’s modest, but low cut enough to reveal the promise of a pair of round tits.
She’s tiny but curvy. She’s exactly what I want and need tonight.
Her hands fall to the thin leather belt that is cinched around her waist. She unbuckles it before she slides it off and drops it at her feet.
My hand moves to the front of my pants. I squeeze my hardened cock through the fabric as she glides one shoulder of the dress down revealing the thin strap of a black bra.