New York Billionaires Series

“It is indeed.”

Her fingers tighten in my shirt. “You once told me you don’t need this anymore, not while we’re together. Is that still true?”

“Unequivocally,” I tell her. Through the thin fabric of her silk dress, my hand traces the outline of her hip. I love these handholds.

“Good. Then this is our last time here.”

I smile against her skin. “I won’t miss it.”

“We’re saying goodbye to it tonight,” she murmurs. “And I’m claiming you.”

I tip her head back to give me better access to her collarbones. I won’t go further than this, not with all these people looking… but there’s no denying a part of me longs to with the fall of her chest so close to my face. My teeth graze over the thin spaghetti strap.

“Claiming me?” I ask.

Freddie gives a single nod. “Yes. The last thing these men and women are going to see tonight is me, leading Tristan Conway out of the Gilded Room.”

I smile against her skin, this fierce, brave woman who went to a sex party she wasn’t invited to, who seduced a man who thought himself un-seducible, and who stood up to her boss when she accidentally emailed him with an insult. “You’ve come a far way, Strait-laced.”

Her hand slides up to grip my hair. A slight, unmistakable tug.

But my grin doesn’t falter. “You don’t hate that nickname anymore,” I challenge.

“No,” she admits, the hand softening. “I don’t.”

“Tell me when you want to lead me out of here, and I’ll follow you.”

Her smile turns crooked as she pulls my head down for a kiss. It quickly turns heated with her body beneath my hands. A tug and she’s pressed against me, those gorgeous breasts a delicious weight on my chest.

“Now,” she murmurs. Her hand slips down to grip mine as she turns, leading me with confident determination through the populated warehouse.

And people do watch us.

How could they not? Her, drop-dead gorgeous and on sky-high heels, a woman on a mission. And me, following her with my hand linked to hers. My conqueror is showing off, and yet I feel nothing but pride.

Let them see her take me off the market for good.Text © owned by NôvelDrama.Org.

We get our phones back from the attendant by the door and leave the party behind. Freddie steps into the elevator ahead of me without hesitation. I squeeze her hand in mine and she looks up, smiling. She rarely looks at the monitor counting the floors anymore.

She’s challenging her limits all the time, now. We’ve even been out on my balcony a few times.

“What?” she asks me, but she’s smiling.

I take her in my arms and tip her head back. “You did great in there.”

She licks her bottom lip. A clear invitation, and my body rises to it. The things I’ll do to her when we get back to her studio… I’ve learned to work with the size constraints.

Her mouth softens into a delighted smile. “You’re looking at me like that again.”

“Like what?” I brush her lips with mine once, twice. “Like I love you, sweetheart?”

Her breath hitches. “Yes. Like that.”

“Well,” I murmur, kissing the corner of her lips. “Perhaps that’s because I do.”

The sultry seductress before me transforms into my smiling girlfriend. “I love you too,” she murmurs, arms around my neck. “So much. I didn’t know when to tell you.”

“Well, is there ever a bad time?” I kiss her again. This must be the longest elevator ride in history, but I’m not complaining. She laughs in my arms, a sun exploding, and I’m the only one here to soak up the rays. “The first time you kissed me after the first night was in my elevator, when it stalled. Do you remember? Now the first time you tell me you love me is in an elevator. Are you trying to get rid of my fear by positive reinforcement?”

“Maybe. Is it working?”

“It might be.” She presses her lips to mine again, still half-smiling. “There’s just one thing we have left to do in one.”

My eyebrows rise. “Are you saying what I think you are?”

The elevator doors open to reveal the candlelit lobby of the old Brooklyn warehouse. Freddie laughs, pulls me toward the exit. “You do have a private elevator,” she says.

“You’re right, I do. It’s almost the same size as your studio.”

“Be nice,” she chides me, eyes glittering. “There’s something else I think we should do too.”

I push open the front door for her. “Tell me.”

“Well, remember the previous tenant in my apartment? Rebecca Hartford?”

“The one whose invitation to the Gilded Room you stole? I remember.”

“I didn’t steal it,” Freddie protests.

I bite my tongue to keep from smiling. “Of course not, Strait-laced.”

“Well, I was thinking we should send her flowers,” she says, her hand tightening on mine. “We owe her a lot, don’t we?”

I smile back at her. “We owe her everything.”

Epilogue

Six years later

The strong wind whips at my hair and pulls tendrils out of my tight braid. The New Mexican air is dry and hot, the glittering Rio Grande a thin snake of water more than five hundred feet beneath me. It’s the exact spot Tristan and his sister bungee-jumped from more than twenty years ago.

Tristan and Joshua had planned our trip here since he was ten, but it had taken time, because you had to be fourteen to be allowed to jump. Tristan had insisted on waiting one more year.

Sweat drips down my spine and I give the harness I’m in a tentative tug.

“It’ll hold,” Tristan says by my side. His calm, familiar voice steadies me. Of course it’ll hold.

Breathe in.