I still don’t comment.

  Prompted by my silence, he tips his gaze up.

  “You think it’s stupid?”

  “I think James is not the man you want to start a fight with.”

  He gestures faintly, yet dismissively.

  “I don’t care.”

  “Because you are very much like him.”

  His gaze swings at me.

  “How exactly?”

  “Tough. Stubborn. Have a mind of your own.”

  I curl my lips into a slow smile.

  “Irresistible,” I say teasingly.

  He laughs.

  “You’re getting better at flattering me. And you also give yourself away.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “You do have a soft spot for him. That’s why you didn’t want to tell Rain about me. That’s why you looked at me so mesmerized when you said that I reminded you of someone.”

  His eyes stay on my face as I struggle to find my words.

  “That’s not entirely true.”

  “But some of it is.”

  “I never looked at James that way. He was always the man who meant everything to Rain. And you looking so much like him was puzzling and scary. And me being so attracted to you, frightened me. I couldn’t possibly explain it to myself, let alone admit it to her. She offered to pay for my escort experience. There was no way I could confess to her that the man I’d paid to see and get in bed with was a carbon copy of her husband. For sure, I couldn't tell him.”

  I pause for a moment as I ponder.

  “When it comes to having a soft spot for him, it was a mutual thing, but not in the way you think. I was flattered that he considered me his friend, and he felt he owed me his protection. We met in rather unusual circumstances. Back in the day, when we were high-school seniors, Rain and I trespassed one of his properties. They caught us that night––”

  “They?”

  “Him and his business partners, Edward Preston and Lex Harrington. Have you met them?”

  “No.”

  I search his eyes for a moment.

  “We weren’t in a rush to enter each other’s worlds,” he comments.

  “Why do you think that was?”

  He shrugs.

  “He didn’t care for my personal drama, and I had no interest in his posh life. I was happy I was finally on my own. I wanted to get away from my family. Frankly, I didn’t expect to have a brother. Not to say, someone of that caliber. When I heard his name I knew exactly who he was. I’ve heard about Sexton International. Who hasn’t? And I knew there were two other men involved, but I never learned about their lives. But even knowing all that, didn’t make me eager to become his close friend. Especially considering the circumstances. I was in a bit of a situation, and my mother asked him for his help. That’s how I found out about him. I was grateful for what he did for me, but I didn’t feel secure enough to push things further.”

  “Do you feel secure now?”

  For a few moments, he keeps his eyes rooted to mine before he moves his gaze away from me.

  “I feel better now, but still, I can’t possibly be in his world. The man is a legend. And I’m not anywhere close to where he is.”

  “You’re not him.”

  “You just said that I am like him.”

  “He had a different start in life. You have time to get where you want.”

  “You think so?”

  He gives me a charming smile.

  “I know so,” I say, my cheeks flushed.

  A few more moments pass by before I remove my gaze from him and try to imagine what would happen if our connection were official.

  “What is it, Eve?”

  I lift my gaze to him.

  “I guess it’s better that our thing wasn’t out in the open. Better for us, I mean.”

  He locks my eyes for a few seconds.

  “Yes... Perhaps.”

  A few more moments of silence tick by.

  “We should keep it that way for a while,” I say.

  He tosses me a questioning look.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Mmm-hmm. I think you need to figure out your relationship with him, and me being stuck in the middle wouldn’t do us any good.”

  “It’s really up to you. I have no problem telling him.”

  “Yes, I know. But now it’s not the moment. Besides...”

  He flicks his hand up.

  “I know. We’re taking it slowly,” he says, looking down this time.

  Feeling somewhat disheartened.

  “It doesn’t have to do with how I feel for you. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t feel a lot for you, but you... Tiago Diego Rossi,” I say, enunciating every word and watching his eyes brightening. “I want to know you. Really know you. And I want to be as closed to you as we were before.”

  “Okay,” he says, lifting his gaze.

  A moment of silence pulls away from us before he ticks his chin in my direction, pointing to my plate.

  “Is there anything else you’d like to eat?” he asks.

  “No.”

  He signals for the check.

  Minutes later, we leave the diner, our hands locked. He laces his fingers through mine before he slides our hands into his pocket, warming them up.

  Within seconds, we find a cab and tuck ourselves on the back bench before he gives instructions to the driver.

  For a moment, I feel like a college freshman again. Eating in diners, taking cabs in the middle of the night.

  My heart harboring hope for anything and everything. Love, life, and my future.

  “Why are you smiling?”

  I swing my gaze at him, a small grin tugging at my lips.

  “I just realized that adult life sucks.”

  He looks at me, a soft grin creasing his lips.

  “What makes you say that?”

  “What makes you smile as if you know what I am talking about.”

  “I know more than you’re giving me credit for.”

  “So why do you ask me then?”

  He stares at me, biting his lip.

  “What made you come up with this conclusion?”

  “I don’t know. Talking to you, perhaps?”

  “Me?”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  Smiling, he drinks in my curved lips.

  I grin stupidly as I look at him mesmerized. He curls his arm around my shoulders and pulls me close to him.

  I set my head on his shoulder, inhaling his so familiar scent of aftershave.

  “You know what happens with grown-ups?” he asks as I cuddle against his chest.

  “No.”

  “They forget how to live,” he says thoughtfully.

  My smile falls from my lips.

  “It’s true,” he continues. “As you become an adult, things take over your life, and you get lost in them. I saw it as I was growing up. It happened to my parents. I’m not sure if that’s what made them split, but it played a major role. My mom focused on her art gallery and me. My father put all his effort into his business. Our diners went from talking about living in Portugal to paying bills and meeting the payroll. Soon it became about traveling and business dinners and staying in the hotels. That was my dad. He made a few poor choices, and my mother pulled away from him even faster. They were both tense and irritable and could easily whip up a fight and stir trouble from nothing. They were no longer fun to each other, let alone to me. They did their best to have a normal relationship with me, and it worked–– as I said before, as long as we weren’t all in the same room. Some of that must’ve happened to you too. Maybe not with your parents, but other stuff. Personal stuff.”

  I mull over his words for a moment.

  “Maybe.”

  He nods softly.

  “I think it did. I saw it in your pictures.”

  “What did you see?” I ask, intrigued.

  “I saw a difference between the woman I took pictures of in Central Park and the woman in the office. I also got a glimpse of something else in the nostalgic woman I had with me in that bar. When you were watching out the window, daydreaming about something. The life that you wanted, perhaps?”

  “You can’t possibly know all these things just by looking at my pictures,” I say, puzzled.

  “You’re right. It wasn’t only that...”

  He prolongs the suspense, staying quiet for a few seconds.

  “I had you naked in my arms... I entered you,” he says with a smooth, low voice that sends tingles down my spine. “I tasted that hunger in you. It wasn’t only for sex or for me. It was beaming in you. That’s how it usually is. It’s a visceral need and desire to live life at the fullest. To dive deep into someone else. To become one with them. To share with them. To explode with possibilities. To never regret it. To never have to hold anything back. To never try to pretend you’re someone else and feel the need to explain yourself. To grapple with the idea that you’re not enough. And all of that because you feel guilt more than you feel love, and shame more than you feel affection, and embarrassment more than you feel protection. It’s a natural love for life and it’s ingrained in you. In us. In all of us, perhaps.”

  By the time he finishes, tears rush to my eyes.

  “Am I right?” he asks.

  I set my cheek against his shoulder and nod softly, unable to say a word.

  His skin is warm, the top hugging his chest is soft, and his muscles underneath are hard.

  Absently he slides his fingers into my hair, playing with my locks.

  “How is your place?” I ask after a few moments of silence just as the car crosses the Brooklyn Bridge.

  Cold lights flicker in the distance, their reflection smudged by the dark waters.

  “Do you want to see it?”

  I straighten and look at him.

  “Now?”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “I need to go to work in the morning.”

  “Who said anything about spending the night with me?” he asks amused.

  I laugh quietly.

  “Okay.”

  He gives the driver a new set of instructions while I fall back against his chest, my eyes trained on the lights outside.

  He rests his hand in my hair while I fill my nostrils with his scent, and it quickly dawns on me that I haven’t felt so good since I was with him last time.

  17

  EVE

  His place is located in a building with doorman, a marble-paved lobby, and sleek elevators. One of them takes us several floors up to his apartment. It’s a stylish, modernly decorated space with large windows and a beautiful view.

  Minimalist furniture, a large cream rug in the middle of the living room, wooden floors, and a set of armchairs and a couch that lean against the wall, sprawl in front of us.

  A few framed drawings hung on the walls, arresting my attention.

  “Who is this?” I ask as I near one of them, the hair and profile looking incredibly familiar.

  The woman is portrayed in a seductive position. Naked she lies on her stomach, her face sunk into a pillow, a sheet covering her legs up to her rear.

  My eyes trail the curvature of her back, the waves of her hair, and the round shape of her side breast.

  She looks like me.

  It is me, I realize, as I noticed his signature tucked in the low corner of the drawing.

  I spin around and look at him.

  “When did you draw this?”

  He sets a couple of drinks on the glass tabletop and sinks into the couch.

  “A few weeks back, when I saw you sleeping back at your apartment.”

  “Did you do it then?”

  “Mmm-hmm,” he says, smiling. “I sketched it that night and finished it when I got home.”

  “What about the others?”

  I take a few steps around the room and check the other drawings.

  One is a sketch drawn after the picture he took that first night when we went out, and I drank hot cocoa while he had mulled wine, and the others seem to be inspired by the pictures he took at the ice rink in Manhattan.

  He confirms it to me.

  They are beautifully drawn, every bit of them highlighting my best features.

  “You have a good eye. And hand,” I add.

  “Thank you.”

  “Are these all?” I ask as I spin around to face him.

  “I have a few more,” he says softly as he pushes off the sofa and walks to a four-drawer sofa table where he scoops out more drawings.

  He walks back while I join him on the couch.

  He pulls the lid off a storage box and takes out the first one.

  A smile sprouts on my lips.

  “No way,” I murmur.

  He laughs softly.

  “Is that how I look?” I ask.

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  The first nude is a mirror of the photo he took in the limo.

  Dumbstruck, I look at the soft curves that encase my body, the swell of my chest and the lines of my collarbones.

  The smooth contour of my calves and knees and legs, my flat stomach and the spot at the apex of my thighs.

  Artistically, he caught my expression as well, my lids heavy and my smile clinging to my lips as I was enjoying the last pulsations of my orgasm.

  He pulls out a couple more.

  Me riding him–– legs spread, nipples hard, my hands on his muscular thighs.

  I look at him.

  Grinning, he keeps his eyes on the drawing, avoiding my stare.

  “How could you catch me so accurately?”

  “I have a good visual memory,” he mutters as he fishes out another one.

  Tingles swirl down my legs as I move my gaze to the next one. Whether he drew it from memory or got inspired by the picture I took of us, this one is hot.

  Caught beneath him, I have my legs spread, my back sunk into the pillow, his muscular body on top of mine, his arms holding his weight while he’s buried deep between my thighs.

  My heart’s pumping fast as I take in the details–– his hard torso, round backside, sculpted legs, and bulging biceps.

  He looks sexy on top of me, and my body looks hot under him, and a rush surges through me now.

  “It looks good,” I say with a faint voice.

  With trembling fingers, I peel my wool scarf away from my neck, attempting to cool off my skin.

  For the past few weeks, I tried to forget how hot things were between us was.

  How good he was at playing my body to perfection. Making me feel everything with intensity. Feeding that hunger in me.

  Quietly, he sweeps the drawings off the table and sets them back into the box.

  He slides it to the side and hands me my drink before he takes his glass and lifts it in the air.

  “I’m happy to see you back,” he says as we clink our glasses, our eyes locked.

  I take a swig of wine and instantly feel more warmth, my long sleeved top capturing that heat, making my body bask in it.

  “What is it?” he asks.

  Smiling, he turns most of the ceiling lights off.

  A red golden glow comes from the fire in the fireplace, another soft light from the reading lamp tucked next to the window.

  A mix of light and shadows drapes over the room.

  “I’m really hot,” I say.

  Grinning sheepishly, I put my glass back.

  “It was so cold outside, and now it’s so warm in here.”

  “Do you want me to turn the heat off?”

  “No. It’s okay.”

  There’s no way he can turn off my heat.

  He slides closer to me, runs his hand along my shoulder, sweeps my hair over the other side, and starts blowing on my skin.

  Goosebumps grow on my neck and my shoulder as he tugs my neckline down and keeps doing it to cool off my skin.

  I feel a little colder but only for a moment before I feel his lips on the crook of my neck. And then the touch of his tongue as he parts his lips and the graze of his teeth as he trails my skin.

  The echo of his touch travels fast through my nerve endings, vibrating across my skin, echoing between my thighs.

  Grabbing the edge of the couch, I tense and slightly arch my back.

  “Is it better?” he asks, a grin buried in his smoky voice.

  “Mmm-hmm,” I mutter, pretending that I don’t know that this is no longer about cooling me off but warming me up.

  That I don’t feel the heat growing in my body from his touch.

  That I don’t have the slightest idea what he’s doing, and my nipples are not so hard that they begin to hurt, and my hand is not sliding to his jean-clad thigh on its own accord.

  “Keep doing it,” I murmur, tilting my head back and arching my spine a little more, closing my eyes at the same time as I enjoy his caressing fully.

  He slinks one hand beneath my top, and traces my spine, spurring more goosebumps on my back. His lips pressing on my skin with increasing intensity, his free hand sliding from my flank to my stomach and then up to where it cups my breasts, one at a time.

  I draw my thighs together as I feel the edge of his teeth sinking into my neck again and then his hand running up and down my torso, stroking my chest through my top before slipping smoothly between my legs, making me part my thighs.

  This is getting harder and harder to resist. Not that I oppose it much.

  “How is it?” he murmurs teasingly against my skin while my hand makes a side motion, and an upward move, seeking his fly.

  A quiet moan falls from my lips as I cup the bulge between his legs, his hard length pressed against his jeans.

  He swirls his tongue along my neck, making my skin vibrate with pleasure before he cups my breasts a little harder, prompting me to clench my thighs again.

  I stroke him through the fabric of his pants while he runs his hand between my legs, making me spread them again.

  He rubs me through my jeans, and just when I tilt my hips to meet his touch, he slides his palm up to my chest and sinks his teeth into my neck, harsh.

  I shudder, but I don’t yelp, relishing the mix of pain and pleasure.

  Shifting my head to the side, I want his lips on mine.

  He tips his face down and leaves open mouth kisses on my neck as he trails his fingers up my torso and cups my left breast through my top.

  “Tiago...”

  Without a word, he rides the hemline up and pulls my top over my head before he tosses it to the side.