up like a marquee every time she saw someone famous. The ideal fan, in truth. No squealing or flailing or “Oh, my Gods.” Just that inner light, the spark in her eyes, the coy and charming way she bit her lower lip when it got to be too much.
He breathed her in, glad the perfumes of the night hadn’t swallowed her whole. Another surprise came when he noticed he’d been petting her all during the drive home. Running his hand over her arm. By the time the car stopped, Bree was practically purring and from the look in her eyes, exhausted. Adrenaline drop, probably.
She sat up, looked at the building, then back at him. “So, this is good-night?”
Yes sat on the tip of his tongue. What he said was, “Only if you want it to be.”
Her eyebrows lifted, as did the corners of her mouth, but a second later she hesitated and concern took over. “You don’t have to. I mean, this was—”
“Do you have to work tomorrow?”
She nodded sadly.
He paused for a single beat. “Do you want to come up, anyway?”
BREE WONDERED IF SHE WAS reading the situation correctly. She inhaled sharply as she remembered his kiss, the way he’d touched her. If this were Ohio, she’d have known exactly what he wanted. In New York? She’d have to take a risk. “I would,” she said, hoping she sounded far more confident than she felt. She was going up to his apartment. To his bedroom! Maybe!
Charlie helped her out of the limo, and slid his arm around her shoulders as she thanked the driver. They both nodded at the doorman, but nothing was said as she and Charlie crossed the lobby, his arm draping across her back, his touch warm.
They were quiet during the ride up the elevator. She fit at his side, tucked in neatly. It felt amazing having his arm around her, warming her with gentle friction. She studied him in the mirrored cab, but only got as far as his eyes, staring at hers in return.
They got out on eighteen and the doors opened to a small atrium and the entrance to his home. He pushed open the door and stood aside to let Bree walk in first.
Even after reading Architectural Digest for years, watching rich people’s lives on reality television, she wasn’t prepared for the beauty and elegance of the room she entered. “This is …” she said, heading straight to the windows that made up most of the far wall. The view was spectacular, Central Park in its winter glory, the lights of the city sparkling.
Bree wanted to check out his furniture, the gorgeous art deco design work of the black-and-white floor, the magnificent marble fireplace and the sheer novelty of so much space. But she couldn’t stop staring at the city. Eighteen floors up, the breathtaking view covered too much territory to take in, not when there were so many other things to think about. She might or might not have another shot at it, though. What the hell, she could go to any high-rise in Manhattan to see a view, but Charlie was one time only.
Charlie spoke behind her. “Would you like something to drink?”
She turned to him, not sure of much, but she knew she was thirsty. “Tea? If you have any.”
His hesitation made her think her request wasn’t one he got often. “I think so,” he said. “Give me a minute. Make yourself comfortable.”
Charlie dropped his coat on the back of a chair before he disappeared into the kitchen. The tiny glimpse she’d gotten through the swinging door showed a lot of stainless steel and what might have been the edge of a teak cabinet. Strange how when she’d mentioned her love of art deco he hadn’t told her they shared the passion. Or maybe the apartment hadn’t been his design choice?
The weird thing about her mental tangent into decorating wasn’t the coincidence of their taste, but her reaction to Charlie. She was fascinated by him, beyond the obvious. Which begged the question: Would she have agreed to come up if he had been anyone else? Was she honestly as attracted to him as her hormones would have her believe, or was it the idea of Charlie Winslow that had her aching to strip him naked and do every naughty thing she could think of to him?
She opened her clutch and sneaked out Charlie’s trading card. After a quick check to make sure he wouldn’t catch her in the act, she turned the card to the back side.
* His favorite restaurant: Grand Central Oyster Bar
* Marry, Date or One-Night Stand: One Night is his max, but it’ll be a fabulous night!
* His secret passion: Down deep he’s old-fashioned. I know, surprise, huh?
* Watch out for: The idiot is obsessed with his work. He needs a break.
* The bottom line: Have fun! Just be yourself!
Bree grinned at the personalized responses Rebecca had inserted. This was one card that wasn’t going back into the pile, that was for sure. No, this was Rebecca’s gift to Bree, and Bree wasn’t going to let her insecurity get in the way of the rest of the magical night.
She flipped the card back to his photo. Objectively, he was a good-looking man. It was well documented, how good-looking Charlie was, in magazines, television and online. But she felt completely drawn to him in a way that wasn’t exclusively about looks.
She knew what that felt like. There had been times in college and here in New York that she’d liked a man’s looks and just gone for it. Those times had been okay in a hedonistic way, not something she did often. But she had to consider why she was staying, assuming it wasn’t just for tea. Was the quick beat of her heart a groupie thing or common, everyday lust or … Did it matter?
The answer was as instantaneous as it was physical. She wanted him in a way that was neither common nor everyday. She’d have wanted him even if he wasn’t the King of Manhattan. He’d been a surprise. Nice. Captivating. He’d purposefully shared insider nuggets so she would feel less like an impostor sneaking into the palace. He’d come looking for her, and he’d laughed at her jokes, and he’d kept her warm. That kiss had been …
Well, she’d need to be on her toes tonight, that’s all. If they did end up in bed, which was not a sure thing as there seemed to be a whole different world of signals and innuendos she wasn’t aware of in this rarefied air of his, but if they did, she’d have to be careful.
How Charlie made her feel, that could be dangerous. That was the difference. The other guys, both of them, had been fun in that risky sort of exciting manner when you’ve taken all the safety precautions so you’re not precisely scared, but he was new, and what if he was terrible in bed, or his penis was teeny tiny or he wanted to wear her underpants?
Charlie might have all of those issues, but that wasn’t dangerous. The real fear was that she could like him. The kind of like that meant nothing but trouble. Liking a guy was not part of the five-year plan. In fact, it was the antithesis of the five-year plan, the one thing that could turn even this unbelievable stroke of magnificent luck into a disaster of epic proportions.
After tucking the card back inside her slim wallet, Bree rested her butt on the arm of a gorgeous white leather couch. She continued to wait, wondering what was taking him so long. As her gaze wandered across the cityscape, she reminded herself about Susan. They’d been college roommates their freshmen year, and they’d hit it off from day one. Susan had decided to go into politics. She’d taken prelaw, had already picked out the three schools she would apply to; in fact, it was Susan who’d shown Bree the wisdom and power of the five-year plan. Susan had been brilliant. Formidable memory along with a quick mind and a powerful presence. It was easy to think of her as a potential senator or even president.
And then Nick had come along.
Susan had fallen slowly. Incrementally. But fallen she had, so hard that it had knocked the plan right out of her. She’d gone on to law school, yes, but at UCLA because of Nick. Yale and Harvard had both come calling, but she’d been in love. Bree had been a bridesmaid at her wedding, and the two of them kept in touch on Facebook, but Susan had a baby now, and she was a stay-at-home mom, which was fine. Of course