Chapter 36
Chapter thirty-six
One Year Ago
New York City
Teddy
We almost get caught by my mom.
Helen and I are kissing. Messy, desperate, consuming kisses as we stumble from the elevator toward my hotel room. Of course, my family has a block of rooms all next to each other. A charming little detail I never would’ve considered an inconvenience, until now.
Please God, let the walls be thick.
We’re three doors away when my mom steps into the hallway. She’s distracted, looking back into her room and saying something to my stepdad.
I don’t think. I grab Helen’s hand and pull her into the stairwell two doors down. It’s cold in there. Stained concrete walls, exposed pipes, the smell of mold.
“What’s going on?” Helen asks, rubbing her arms for warmth.
I peer through the narrow glass window. “My mom’s out there. Getting ice, judging by the bucket in her hand.”
Helen folds her arms over her chest, eyes narrowing. “You want to hide me. Are you ashamed?”
There’s a hitch in her voice. A flicker of hurt, of betrayal.
“No.” I swing around fast. “No! It’s not like that.”
She doesn’t say anything, just stands there with that look, shoulders stiff, mouth a flat line. The kind of silence that’s louder than yelling.
“I’m not hiding you,” I say again, softer this time. “I don’t want her to ruin this moment.”
Helen arches a brow. “This moment where we sneak into a cement stairwell to avoid your mother?”
“Exactly.” I crack a grin. “Romantic, right?”
She doesn’t smile.
Shit.
That usually works.
“I just…” I rub the back of my neck, a little lost, not sure what to say.
“I like you, okay? Tonight has been amazing, like the best. Times Square, the Brooklyn Bridge, the way you looked at me like I wasn’t a complete idiot in that bar.
I don’t want it to end with me introducing you to my mom in her reindeer pajamas. It’s kind of a mood killer.”
That earns a faint laugh. She steps toward me. Close enough I can smell her perfume, something soft and floral. Her fingers find the lapels of my coat, curling around the fabric.
“This is probably a bad idea,” she says, her voice low as her eyes drift half-lidded.
“Absolutely,” I murmur. “Worst idea ever.”
We kiss anyway.
It’s different this time, slower, deeper.
Her hands find my neck, mine her waist. The stairwell fades, the concrete, the cold, the awkward beginning.
All of it dissolves under the weight of this sudden, overwhelming need to know her.
Not just her body. Her heartbeat. Her laugh. The way she breathes my name.
When we finally pull apart, we’re both out of breath. Her forehead rests against mine.
“I don’t usually do this,” she whispers. “Casual. One-night things. It’s not really me.”
A rush of guilt. I can’t say the same. I’ve had one-night stands before. Lots of them. “Let’s not call it anything,” I say, the line rehearsed, spoken before, but I don’t like using it on Helen. Something about it feels different when I say it to her. More bitter in my mouth.
Her eyes search mine. “What about tomorrow?”
My stomach twists. I should say something reassuring. I should promise what I can’t guarantee, but I refuse to be that man. Not with her.
Instead, I brush a thumb over her cheek and say the only thing I know for sure. “Tonight, I’m all yours.”
She stares over my shoulder, her gaze distant like she’s thinking about that, and I worry that she might walk away. After a long minute I get a brief nod, like she’s made her decision.
Another glance through the window and I tell her, “The coast is clear. Let’s go before Mom comes back for snacks.”
Helen laughs under her breath and lets me lead her.
We creep out of the stairwell like fugitives and tiptoe the last few feet to my room.
The second the door shuts behind us, something shifts.
Like we both realize, together, there’s no one else here to stop us.
There’s only this quiet room. Warmth from the heater over our heads.
Dim lamplight and a wild thing sparking between us.
Helen turns in a slow circle, taking in the luxury suite Caleb booked for me.
Everyone in my family got one. Full kitchen, two bedrooms, living room complete with a grand piano and Central Park views.
Turns out having a billionaire celebrity brother-in-law has its perks.
“Wow,” she breathes out. “This is way better than the stairwell.”
“I aim to impress,” I say, locking the door. “Would you prefer turn-down service or—”
She’s in my arms before I finish, kissing me like she wants to erase the space between us. My hands find her shoulders, then her lower back, then her hips, memorizing every curve. She pushes off my jacket and runs her hands up my chest, fingertips burning through the fabric.
“You sure?” I ask, even though I already know.
Helen looks up at me, lips swollen, pupils wide. “Stop talking.”
I grin. “As you wish.”
We stumble toward the bed, mouths crashing, laughter slipping between kisses. It’s frantic, chaotic. Shoes get kicked off in different directions, her dress bunches halfway up her thighs, my shirt gets stuck over my head. Somehow, all the imperfect parts make it better. More real.
We collapse onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and laughter, her hair spilling out like silk. I kiss her again, slower this time, savoring the taste of wine on her tongue, the way she sighs into my mouth like she’s been waiting all night for this. Maybe longer.
My hand trails down her side, and she arches into me, her skin warm and soft beneath my touch. Every breath, every shift, makes my body hum. It’s like we’re learning each other with fingertips and mouths instead of words.
Helen’s eyes flutter open, and, for a beat, neither of us moves. She brushes her thumb across my cheek, and it’s the gentlest thing I’ve ever felt. “You’re not like I thought you’d be.”
I swallow. “That a good thing?”
She doesn’t answer right away. Just leans up and kisses me again, her tongue on mine, stroking against my tongue piercing. “It’s a dangerous thing.”
I trail my lips down the curve of her neck, across her collarbone, and lower, until she’s trembling under me.
When I take her breast into my mouth, Helen moans my name.
She threads her fingers into my hair, her nails gently scraping over my scalp.
I want to take her right then but remind myself to go slow.
To ease into it. I want this to be good. A night she never forgets.
I stimulate her with my hand, timing the movement to the stroke of my tongue on her breast, and she undulates beneath me, quickly catching onto the pace I set.
Once she’s gasping, I gently ease a finger into her and swirl it around.
She mumbles incoherently, little phrases of praise and pleasure spilling past her lips.
I curl my finger just right, and when she gasps, whispering, “That feels good, right there,” I grin against her skin, drunk on the sound of her.
All breathy and sensual, far removed from the logical, analytical woman I’ve caught glimpses of throughout the evening.
“Hang on.” I tear open a condom I grab from my wallet, my hands quick but my eyes still glued to her body.
She’s gorgeous, almost too pretty to be real.
Tan skin against white sheets, glossy dark hair fanned across the pillow.
Her small breasts fit perfectly in my palms, and her long neck tapers to the delicate point of her chin.
Condom on, I kiss her softly before settling between her thighs. I’m about to ask again if this is what she wants, but Helen doesn’t give me the chance. Her hands are on me, guiding, urging, her touch leaving no room for doubt.
I push in slowly, every muscle in me taut with restraint, and then I’m lost. She’s warm and tight, wrapping around me so perfectly I can hardly breathe.
I sink all the way in and pause, needing a beat just to feel her, to take in the way she arches beneath me, the way she’s holding her breath like there’s a spell being cast around us and she doesn’t want to break it.
I raise my head and find her mouth, and she kisses me back hungry, certain.
Once I’ve kissed her breathless, I finally let myself move.
Bracing on my elbows, I rock into her, slow at first, savoring every inch of the way she grips me.
Her soft moans spur me on, and soon I find a rhythm, deeper, stronger, until every thrust has her clinging tighter.
I slide my hand between us, circling where I know she aches for me.
Helen cries out, her body trembling, so close I can feel the way she flutters around me.
“Come for me, Helen,” I murmur against her ear, not a command but a plea. She breaks apart with a cry, nails digging into my back as dawn breaks, the light spilling across the room, catching her flushed skin, her beautiful face. The sight nearly undoes me.
God, I love this. Love the way she feels, the way she tastes, the way her brilliant mind works.
I pull out, still hard and hungry for her. “Turn over, Hellcat,” I rasp, kissing the curve of her shoulder as she shifts for me. “I’m not close to being done with you.”
She moves sluggishly, pliant, trusting, and when I slide back inside from this new position, the pleasure of it nearly wrecks me.
I grit my teeth, determined to make this last as long as I can, because this night won’t be enough.
Not when it’s like this. Tomorrow, after I’ve given her all the pleasure I have in me, I’ll talk to her.
Tell her how I feel. Even though she’s too good for me, I’m going to ask, heck beg, her to date me once we get back to California because I have a feeling about her.
That she’s different. Special. Someone I should hold onto for more than one night.