Chapter 24
CHAPTER 24
Erika
“ N o, Foster. Stop sending me gifts, stop sending me flowers, and stop trying to get me to go out on a date,” I snapped, my voice edged with frustration as I stepped out of the elevator.
He didn’t miss a beat. “I tracked you to your office,” he had the nerve to say, his tone casual, almost teasing. “The least you can do is have a drink with me.”
My heart skipped a beat as I spotted him standing in the lobby, casually leaning against one of the white support pillars. Foster was dressed in black jeans and a white T-shirt that hugged his frame in all the right places.
He looked effortlessly attractive, and despite my irritation, I couldn’t help but notice how good he looked. Lately, my mind had been a battleground, torn between memories of our time together and thoughts of Lincoln. I missed Lincoln, but I knew it was my fault we were no longer together.
I narrowed my eyes at Foster, my voice dropping to a hiss. “Do you mean a drink, or do you mean a fuck in your apartment? On second thought, do you have your limo? Maybe you’d like to take me there and fuck me.”
His lips curled into a smirk. “Hostile. Bad day?” He paused, his eyes darkening with something that made my pulse quicken. “I can oblige if fucking is what you want to do, and yes, I do have my limo out front.”
“I just want you to leave me alone,” I retorted, the words laced with a bitterness that I couldn’t quite shake.
“You know I can’t do that,” he said, his voice softer now, almost coaxing.
“You did it for nine years. Why did you come back to New York?” I demanded, crossing my arms defensively.
“We’re making a spectacle of ourselves,” Foster observed, his gaze flicking around the lobby. “Let’s sit in my limo.”
I glanced around, realizing with a sinking feeling that people were indeed staring at us. Foster was the kind of man who drew attention wherever he went—gorgeous, charismatic, impossible to ignore. I had to admit, we made a striking couple, though the thought only added to my frustration.
“Just to talk, and then I need to go home,” I insisted, trying to regain control of the situation.
“We’ll see,” he replied with a hint of amusement as he placed his hand on my back, guiding me toward the double glass front doors. He moved around me to hold them open, and once we were outside, his hand returned to its place on my back. The heat of his touch seeped through the thin fabric of my pink silk blouse, sending an unwelcome shiver down my spine.
His limo was waiting at the curb, sleek and black, a gentleman in a gray uniform, complete with a hat, stepping out to open the door for us. I slid into the cool interior, pressing myself into the far corner of the black leather bench seat, hoping Foster would keep his distance. But he didn’t. He settled beside me, close enough that our knees nearly touched.
“To answer your question,” he began, his voice low and serious. “I came back for you.”
I snorted, turning my head to look out the window. “Bullshit. How many women have you had since we were together? Hundreds?”
“Not many,” he replied, his tone maddeningly calm.
“How many?” I pressed, my fingers fidgeting with the hem of my short gray skirt, wishing it were longer and didn’t expose so much of my legs.
“Erika, I don’t know the exact number,” Foster said, his voice tinged with exasperation. “Does it matter?”
I glanced at him, trying to gauge his sincerity, but his expression remained infuriatingly passive. “I guess not,” I muttered, more to myself than to him.
“All I thought of was you,” he said, his voice softening, and for a moment, I almost believed him.
The car began to move, merging into the evening rush hour traffic. I turned back to the window, watching the city blur past. “I don’t believe you. Why wait until I’m involved with someone to come back?”
“I didn’t know what to say,” he admitted, his voice heavy with something that sounded like regret. “Most of the time we were together, you had me in knots.”
“I think it was the other way around,” I countered, my tone sharp. “I wasn’t as versed in the world as you were. You exploited my na?veté.”
Foster leaned closer, his breath warm against my ear. “You were anything but na?ve, especially in bed.”
My cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “I wasn’t the world traveler like you were,” I mumbled, hating how vulnerable I sounded. “I had boyfriends, but none like you.”
“None like me what?” Foster asked, his hand suddenly cupping my chin, turning my face to his. His eyes were intense, searching mine for something I wasn’t willing to give. “None who could make you come so hard you screamed?”
I wrenched away from his grip, scooting over to the bench seat along the side of the limo, desperate to put some distance between us. But Foster wasn’t deterred. He followed me, and within seconds, I found myself trapped beneath him, his body hovering over mine, his gaze smoldering as he traced my lips with his index finger.
“Foster,” I breathed, my voice trembling with a mix of anger and something else—something I didn’t want to acknowledge.
He didn’t respond, just continued to trace the outline of my lips, his touch sending sparks of heat through me, reigniting memories I’d fought so hard to suppress. And as much as I wanted to push him away, to tell him to leave me alone, my body betrayed me, drawn to him in a way that felt inevitable, inescapable.
“These pretty lips,” Foster murmured, his voice low and smooth as he traced my mouth with his finger. “How I’ve longed to kiss them again.”
I shivered, resisting the urge to lean into his touch. “You already have,” I muttered, my voice edged with irritation. “What do you want from me, Foster?”
His eyes darkened, the intensity in them almost overwhelming. “You,” he said, his tone firm, leaving no room for doubt. “I want all of you. Forget Lincoln Elliott. I’m the one who can make your dreams come true.”
“Or shatter them,” I shot back, my heart pounding in my chest. The memory of our past was too raw, too painful.
“Never,” Foster insisted, his voice softening as he tried to reassure me. “I’ve changed. I would never hurt you.”
“The hurt is already there,” I whispered, the words slipping out before I could stop them. “You hurt me more than anyone could ever hurt me.” It was partially true, but I knew deep down that Lincoln could hurt me more because I loved him, too.
Foster’s expression softened with a hint of regret. “I want to make amends,” he said, his voice sincere. “Have dinner with me.”
“At your apartment? And after dinner?” I asked, staring up into his green eyes, searching for any sign of deceit.
“That’s up to you,” Foster replied, his voice dropping to a whisper as he leaned closer, his breath warm against my skin. “My intentions are noble, though I would love to take you to bed. The decision is entirely up to you.”
I felt my resolve weakening as he drew nearer, his lips so close to mine that I could feel the heat of his breath. We were practically kissing, the tension between us crackling like electricity. I waited, my heart racing as the space between us closed. When he finally pressed his mouth to mine, a jolt of desire shot through me, and I couldn’t suppress the reaction. My nipples hardened, and as his tongue stroked against mine, a flood of memories and sensations crashed over me.
I knew I was in trouble.
“Do you want some dessert?” Foster asked, his voice smooth as silk.
It was no surprise that he had a personal chef prepare my favorite meal—filet mignon with petite potatoes and roasted Brussels sprouts. I was starved, having barely eaten all day, and after the heated make-out session that left me disoriented, I didn’t protest when we ended up at his place. We were dining on the patio, overlooking the glittering city. I estimated his penthouse was worth at least fifteen million dollars.
The space was breathtaking, recently renovated with top-of-the-line materials. My realtor’s eye couldn’t help but survey the kitchen—a chef’s dream with all the latest appliances, including a six-burner Viking stove. The entire area was open and airy, with high ceilings and dark wood floors. The place was sparsely furnished since Foster had only recently decided to move to New York permanently.
I narrowed my eyes at him, suspicious. “What kind of dessert?”
Foster’s lips curved into a wicked smile. “What kind of dessert do you want? If I remember correctly, you’re sweet as pie. Has that changed with age?”
“I’m not sure you’ll find out,” I replied, trying to keep my tone light but guarded.
“You’re not sure? Is that a definite?” he teased, his eyes darkening with mischief.
“Stop teasing me, Foster,” I warned, feeling the familiar pull of his charm.
“Erika,” he said, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, “I haven’t even begun to tease you.”
That was my cue to leave. “I have to go. Thank you for a lovely dinner.”
I stood up, but Foster was faster, his hand catching my wrist and pulling me onto his lap. “We never discussed our status,” he purred, his breath warm against my ear.
Throughout dinner, we danced around seduction, the tension thick between us. Foster knew exactly what he was doing, but I was no longer the na?ve college girl he once knew. I had stood my ground, enjoying the meal but keeping my distance.
“That’s because you spent the entire time trying to get me into bed,” I retorted, trying to keep my composure.
His arms tightened around me, his touch possessive. “Stay with me tonight,” he murmured, his tone more of a command than a request.
My stomach tightened with conflicting emotions. “I can’t. I have work tomorrow, and I need to be sharp.”
“When?” he pressed, his voice edged with impatience.
“Maybe never,” I replied, trying to put distance between us, even though I was sitting in his lap.
“Why are you fighting this?” Foster asked, his frustration evident. “Because I’m not sure I want it to happen. We have history, and not all of it was good.”
“There was some good—most of it was good until the end,” he argued, his voice softening as he tried to appeal to my memories.
“And that was your fault,” I shot back, unable to keep the bitterness from my voice.
“I admit I fucked it up. You were one of the best things that ever happened to me.”
I swallowed hard, trying to push down the emotions that were threatening to surface. “Let me go. I’d like to leave.”
“I can have Vincent take you home in the limo,” he offered, his grip loosening but still firm.
“I’d rather take a cab,” I replied, determined to regain some control.
“Kiss me,” he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper.
“Christ, Foster, you never give up,” I muttered, exasperated.
“One kiss is all I’m asking,” he coaxed, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that was impossible to ignore.
Knowing he wouldn’t let me leave until I obliged, I leaned in and pressed my lips against his. What started as a simple kiss quickly escalated as Foster wound his fingers into my hair, kissing me harder, more insistent. His tongue slipped past my lips, and I felt myself weakening, the familiar taste and feel of him overwhelming my senses.
I straddled him, my hands wrapping around his neck as I gave in to the moment. His muscles were tense beneath my touch, but as I stroked my fingers over his shoulders, I felt them relax. A soft moan escaped me as Foster’s hands roamed down my body, his fingers pushing up my skirt until they found the nearly bare skin of my ass.
The line between right and wrong blurred, and I found myself losing control.
“Fuck, a thong?” Foster mumbled against my lips, his voice rough with desire.
“Shut up and kiss me,” I whispered, pulling him closer.
“I want to do more than kiss you. Stay with me tonight,” he urged, his breath hot against my mouth.
I broke away, locking eyes with him. “I can’t.”
“Then spend the weekend with me,” he persisted. “We can visit my house in Montauk.”
My brow furrowed in confusion. “How do you have a house in Montauk? You just moved back.”
“I have homes all over the world,” he replied casually, as if it were the most natural thing.
“I’m not surprised,” I muttered, trying to mask the awe in my voice.
“If Montauk isn’t tempting enough, how about Rome?” he suggested, his tone teasing but serious.
I frowned, taken aback. “New York?”
“No, baby, Italy. We could leave Friday night and come back Sunday night. My plane has a bedroom. By the time we land, you’ll be fresh as a daisy and ready for your workday on Monday,” he said, his eyes gleaming with the promise of adventure.
“You seriously think I believe that? If I spend the weekend with you, we’ll do nothing but have sex, and that includes on the plane home,” I retorted, crossing my arms in a futile attempt to shield myself from his charm.
Foster’s knuckles brushed softly against my cheek. “I won’t lie, I want to make love to you, but only if it’s what you want.”
I moved off his lap, trying to put some distance between us. “I don’t know what I want.”
“Then go home, sweet Erika. Go home and think about what you want. I can give you the world. I want a future with you,” he said, his voice sincere, making my heart ache with the weight of his words.
“Thank you,” I murmured, standing up on shaky legs. Foster always weakened my will as well as my body.
“Do you want to take me up on my offer for a ride?” he asked, his tone softer now.
“I think that’s best,” I conceded, not trusting myself to say no.
Foster rose from the couch and followed me to the door, handing me my purse from the foyer table. I thought I was home free until he pressed his body against mine, pinning me to the door. His mouth found my neck, his lips hot and insistent as they moved to my ear. He licked around the shell, sending shivers down my spine. I was practically on fire, my resolve crumbling with every second.
“Call me with your decision,” he whispered, his breath tickling my ear before he backed away, leaving me breathless and aching with the weight of a choice I wasn’t ready to make.