Innocent in New York (3 page)

Sophia cleared her throat, her skin warming more and more. "I'm not hot for you," she said, her voice whispery. She sounded drugged. His other hand stroked down her arm until they touched her fingers. He leaned near until his lips brushed her cheek. "You're shivering. Obvious lie, Sophia." God, her name sounded sinful coming from his lips. She wasn't shivery because of her blatant lie, and the dark glint in his eyes told her he knew. This game had her all riled up inside and the intent was clear. Dizziness shook her and James's arm tightened around her at once and stopped her swaying.

Stupid legs. Her head buzzed, hand clutching his shirt in effort to find stability. He tipped her head up, and Sophia had to focus to see him clearly.
Jesus
.

"You're definitely not fine," he chuckled, helping her keep her balance by drawing her close to his body.

Whoever thought that a tilting floor in a club was a good idea needed their head examined. Sophia huffed. "I'm very extremely fine."

His eyes narrowed, arms steadying her. "So it seems."

Sarcasm! Definite sarcasm detected. She pressed a finger to his lips. "Naughty."

"You're going home like this?" His grip on her waist tightened. Though the world started to blur, he still looked too damn sexy — like a sexy, undistinguishable floating cloud. She lifted her hands and cupped his jaw, and next she drew him near and kissed him. The small jolt in him spoke of surprise, but then he leaned into the kiss, into her. This was what she had wanted ever since she saw him. She looped her arms around his neck, sighing when his grip on her tightened, drawing her closer and up on her toes.

He cursed beneath his breath when he ended the kiss, looking like he wanted to continue but kept from it.

Didn't he know she wanted him?

"I'm taking you home."

"Okie-dokie." She grinned, and let him drape an arm around her waist.

"Oh, God." Sophia touched her head, feeling a pounding headache imitating the beat from the club's music last night. She waited for it to ebb away, leaving her with just dizziness.
What the heck happened
? She rubbed her face and then cracked open an eye. Nope, this was not her bed. It was too big and placed in some cool-toned grand bedroom, which was bigger than her and Agnes's entire apartment. Was this heaven? A lamp in the corner shed some light for her.

A movement next to her made her turn her head. On her other side, James lay sleeping, bed sheet draping his bottom half, leaving a very toned torso open for inspection. Sophia sunk her fingertips into her disheveled hair. Despite the luxurious feel of the huge bed cradling her, she felt like utter crap and it was solely from drinking too much. She recalled her abandoned reluctance, her approach, her
kissing
him. Groaning, she placed a hand over her face. The bed dipped beside her and next an arm looped around her midriff and drew her smack against his body.

"Oh," she breathed, feeling his rock-hard abs and chest crush against her and she became acutely aware of his warmth consuming her, of the muscled thigh easing between her legs. Suddenly, she couldn't remember how breathing worked.

"James?" she tried, finally, in a whisper. His hand moved to her waist, dimpling her flesh and restraining her. She groaned softly, mind hazy from waking up, wondering
if
she truly was awake. Was it a dream? She pinched herself, only realizing too late that she pinched the wrong person.
Woops.

He made a gruff sound before lifting his head and acknowledged her. "Good morning," he said, his gaze flickering across her face. There was light to his eyes, as if he was happy to see her. His eyes lowered to where their bodies met, skin to skin, and before she could second-guess what happened last night, he said, "We didn't have sex."

"I know," she said, still watching him reluctantly, shifting slightly underneath him and making her brush against his thigh. She inhaled sharply, and his gaze snapped to her face, but he didn't move, keeping up that pressure on her that made her mind spin, that made her want to press against him harder.

"You nearly passed the fuck out on the way here. What the hell were you thinking?"

She pushed the heels of her hands to her eyes. "I wasn't thinking." She recalled a weird mix of drinks and shots, and she wished she could go back in time.

"That's an understatement," he huffed and his eyes narrowed. He sat up, freeing her, and she lost her cover and warmth. James's gaze swept over her lingerie-clad body once, with a slight burn to his eyes, before he was out of bed and it vanished.

She scooped up the sheet and pressed it close to her skin. She worried she'd said something stupid to him; like her plan to get rid of her stupid virginity. "I didn't say something that sounded crazy or weird, did I?"

James deadpan stare gave her nothing. "You were talking to Ronald McDonald, Sophia."

"What?" She ran her fingers through her tousled hair.

"There was a sculpture outside one of the restaurants we passed."

"Oh no."

He nodded. "I was afraid you'd stay up all night talking to your door. I brought you back here instead; I wanted to make sure you kept breathing and woke up all right."

Was there a ledge anywhere close by she could jump from? "I am
so
sorry. What you saw last night wasn't me. I don't ever drink that heavily, and I never talk to inanimate clowns because they freak me the hell out. Real ones do too."

One of the corners of his mouth lifted, creating a small fracture in his serious manner before it flattened again.

She had to get back to her original plan again, to try save herself and make him forget about clowns. "I'm sorry if I was difficult toward the end of the night. Perhaps, I mean if you'd feel like it, we could give it another try?"

He turned and stretched his body. Sophia watched as the muscles of his back curled and stretched, and dammit, she wanted to touch him. Blinking out of her stupor, she moved toward the edge where she let her legs down.

"I never planned to sleep with you." He cast a swift glance her way.

She swallowed her disappointment. "Why?" She hated the frail sound of her voice.

"I enjoyed your company, don't get me wrong. You were a breath of fresh air inside the club, and I might've been carried away. I assume you haven't forgotten Eric's warning of me?"

"The spanking thing," she answered after a moment, the memory popping up. "You want a submissive." The last word sounded dry on her lips. "You're — you're a dominant." Dominant in business — dominant in bed.

"Which is out of your comfort zone," he gave a short smile, "and I truly respect that. You should find someone you're comfortable with."

Sophia gulped. She never found someone she felt comfortable with. The fact she was a twenty-five year old virgin was a constant reminder. She knew the root of the problem was her. She needed something new; she needed someone on the other side of the spectrum and James was just that in everything he did. It could be a means to an end for her situation. This didn't have to be difficult.

"We kissed last night," she said, her voice soft.

One of his brows quirked. "Yes, we did."

"Meaning you can't find me completely hopeless. What if…" she paused.

"Sophia," her name was a warning on his lips.

"What if I try to meet your…demands?"

Dark brown eyes looked directly at her while his jaw tightened. The shift in him startled her. He walked over to her, parted her thighs, and stepped between them. Sophia's heart hammered impossibly fast, completely caught off guard.

"Imagine me sitting in your spot, with your body over my lap. Imagine my palm against your ass, hot from spanking you, and your skin so sensitive you'd be buckling from the gentlest touch, struggling to keep from coming because I have told you to wait."

Her eyes were wide, unmoving and unable to blink. She couldn't breathe. He didn't wait for a response, sinking his hand into her hair and tugged, inclining her head. "And when I tell you to take my cock into your mouth," he reached up and touched his thumb to her lips, causing her cheeks to flush warm, "will you part those pretty lips for me?"

Sophia's mouth went dry. No one had spoken to her like that — not even close. Moments passed where she couldn't get herself to respond, her heart in her throat, her fingers digging into the sheets on either side of her.

Then, he let go and stepped back. "Silly girl." He turned away from her and cursed under his breath as he went to fetch a shirt from his wardrobe.

"Did I do something wrong?" she asked once she figured out how to make her voice work again. Her mind was not working. She hadn't given him a hint of a reaction.

"You're all kinds of wrong."

Ouch
.

"Wrong for
me
that is," he added, an afterthought to his jab. He slipped on a shirt while giving Sophia a glimpse of stretching, taut muscles in the process. "You can't handle it."

"Give me a chance." She slipped off the bed only to find her legs shaky after what he told her a minute ago. He was right, but she didn't want him to be.

"It's about
wanting
to be submissive in bed, of being turned the hell on by it, and loving every second of me owning every inch of you. I'm not sure if you even know what you enjoy, and I don't want to mess with your pretty head."

She had
no
clue what she enjoyed but she knew as much that the way he made her feel by just a look made any other flirt in the span of her existence pale in comparison.

"Perhaps I should experiment more."

"Perhaps you should find a nice guy and work from there," he suggested.

"No, I don't want that," she said, her voice breaking. "I want you."

He didn't respond, instead moving over to a chair. He picked up her dress and brought it to her. She started loosening the sheet she'd wrapped around herself, and James turned his back to her.

"I'm done," she spoke, a little irritated. She struggled with the zipper, but her glare didn't waver from his face. "You didn't seem uninterested last night at Irony. You could have gotten anyone you wanted in that club, they would have all lined up for you, yet you stayed with me. I'd like to believe there was a reason."

His gaze narrowed and he walked up to her. "You're offering to submit to me?" he questioned, reaching behind her where she struggled with her zipper and brushed her fumbling hands aside. He placed one hand onto the small of her back, his fingertips brushing her backside, while the other began to drag the zipper upward. Her gaze met his, and she drowned in his dark eyes and her breathing stopped. With an excruciating calm, he zipped her up, and it was the single most erotic thing she'd experienced. Instead of stripping her clothes off, he was putting them on…something wasn't right. This was all very backwards.

"You're still not sober, and here you are promising things you shouldn't." His fingers brushed the nape of her neck, and her entire body tingled and arched, soaking up what he offered. He distanced, leaving her breathing harder.

She still felt the fog of alcohol, yes, but not enough to alter her mind.

He picked up his phone on a small table next to the door and typed something. "I've arranged for a car to drive you home. Your friend's been worried, and I promised to get you to her safely," he said, opening the door for her. "I'd take you there myself, but I can still feel last night."

Sophia nodded in understanding. They walked into a spacious hallway, lit with soft spotlights. Close to the stairs was an open space on the right, a living room set with granite floors and lush sofas. The large window panels were clad by blinds. She wondered how high up they were. She wondered
where
they were. At her faltering pace, he walked nearer and paused by her side. He placed a hand on her back.

"We're still in New York," he said, reading her distress, and Sophia's head swiveled to look at him. "We're on Park Avenue, a short drive from Irony." They moved toward the stairs. Each step protruded from the wall with nothing else keeping them afloat. Sophia marveled at the grace of everything; the play of geometry, the play of dark and light.

Reaching the first floor, Sophia snuck a glance through a set of black French doors inside a huge living room, spotless and set with a sharp, elegant design of granite, black, and white. She had never caught a glimpse of a place so smooth, and it reminded her of the light, fluent Scandinavian design style she had seen in magazines.

She'd like to see more of his home, perhaps the view behind the black shutters denying daylight, but right now she just wanted to head home for a shower and hope James forgot what a mess she looked like. Feeling shivery from the amount of alcohol last night, she had to focus in effort to put her heels on. He caught her coat hanging on a hook on the wall and helped her into it. Using his time, his fingertips brushed down her front while buttoning her coat. At last, he tied the belt around her waist, and their eyes locked. He smoothed the coat over her hips and her breath caught.

He distanced himself, face taut with an unreadable expression. Lust? Hate? She followed him into a hall that led to an elevator.

"Thank you." Sophia turned to him. "For keeping me safe last night. I never wanted to bother you like that."

"You never bothered me," he spoke softly, narrowing the space between them. His gaze fleeted across her face before he leaned in and kissed her cheek. That simple gesture alone was enough to make her skin tingle. When the elevator foolishly arrived, and the doors slid open, he parted. He dug his hand into his pocket and passed her a business card. "After you have thought this through and if you still want to see me, you have my number."

Sophia met his gaze. "Okay," she stepped into the elevator, "you'll most definitely hear from me."

---

Problem still not solved; there she was, leaving the hottest man she'd ever met, the first to make her near lose her mind, and she was still a virgin. Maybe there was no hope for her after all.