His Secret Love by Ava Ryan

3

Skye

“Last call for risotto,”Jake says, balancing the empty plates and the bowl as he pauses at the French doors leading back into his apartment from the balcony. He’s minus the jacket and in his shirt sleeves now, the perfect host on this lovely evening. The kind of guy who not only owns several giant candles in blown glass jars but also thinks to light them and create a wildly romantic atmosphere for his guest. As promised, he knows what he’s doing with the wine selections and cracked open a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc at my request. “Speak now or forever hold your peace.”

“I’ve eaten my body weight in risotto tonight,” I say, getting up from the table to stretch my legs and enjoy the twilight view of the park far below. “I think I’m done.”

“Never let it be said I allowed you to get hangry.”

“You have gone above and beyond the call of duty.”

“Good to know. Dessert?”

We grabbed some gelato from a shop we passed on the way here.

“Not just yet. Thanks.”

“Suit yourself. Be right back,” he says, chuckling as he disappears inside.

Leaving me to think about my life and the direction I want it to take—or not take—for the rest of the evening. Because I am tempted.

God Almighty, am I tempted.

And that’s a scenario I didn’t see coming when I swiped right on his profile a few days ago. Back then, I just thought that he was a handsome guy with a compelling profile. Little did I know.

Jake Q., 32, Upper West Side, it said.

Easygoing science guy. Firmly anti-bullshit. Future world traveler. Starting with Australia. Greatest ambition: climbing Mount Everest, but will settle for rock climbing and hiking when necessary. Second biggest fear: heights. Biggest fear: being controlled by my fears. I have yet to find anything sexier than a confident woman with a great smile and a wicked sense of humor. Come grab a glass of white wine and have some casual fun with me. I’ll do my best to make you laugh. With me, not at me.

His photo was a shot of him sitting on rocks on a beach somewhere, the light hitting his close-cropped blond hair and blue eyes just right. Sunny and casual with a white shirt and a hint of a dimpled smile. Super sexy. And at this point in my online dating career, I’m tempted to try to match with any man who’s creative enough not to post a topless selfie of some sort. Bathroom, gym, pool or beach. Naked man titty with bulging arms. That’s all you get for your swiping pleasure these days, ladies. All flexing muscles, all the time. Seriously, guys, we get it. You work out. You’re proud of your body and you want us to see what manly men you are. But why not occasionally throw a dog, cat or book into the shot just for variety? Are you even trying, single men of America?

So you can understand why I was drawn to Jake and his profile. To his humor and his looks. And you’ll trust me when I tell you that the three-dimensional Jake is sensational. He makes his online version look like a knuckle-dragging troll living under a bridge in the woods.

This Jake? He’s taller than me, and I’m a heel-loving five feet nine. His fit body fills out his suit the way Tom Ford intended, with broad shoulders, long legs and a stellar ass. He smells like sandalwood and fresh summer air, a killer combination that’s got me on the ropes. But what am I supposed to do? Hold my breath and try not to smell him? Click my nose off until he leaves my presence?

His voice sounds deep and mellow, the kind of sound born to make naughty suggestions from the other side of the bed first thing in the morning. And I don’t know what he’s doing with his eyes. I really don’t. It’s way more than standard blue irises. He’s got so much star power beaming out at me that I doubt it’s street legal. I can imagine him walking down the sidewalk and causing pedestrians to stumble and cars to crash as they catch a glimpse of his sparkle.

So, yeah, I didn’t plan on hooking up with anyone tonight. If anything, I thought that I would stealthily scope him out of the bookstore and either ghost him if I didn’t like the looks of him or, best-case scenario, have drinks with him.

I never pictured this. Him.

And he’s clearly rich on top of everything else. I’m no real estate guru, and I haven’t seen much of the inside of his apartment yet, but I know how much I paid for my former rinky-dink apartment per month, and it wasn’t cheap. This place? On the top floor of the building with a spectacular and unobstructed view of the park that probably adds four zeros to the monthly rent? If this apartment didn’t run someone at least ten million dollars then my name is Lady Gaga. I mean, come on. Look at this massive balcony. It’s decked out like the entire outdoor furniture section from Pottery Barn, with lounge chairs, seating areas, overflowing flower boxes and God knows what else. He’s got potted trees out here. Full-grown trees.

My friends and me? We’ve got folding chairs and several dead houseplants among us. We spend our weekends together trolling the city for thrift stores, trying new restaurants and hitting the occasional drag show.

This is not my day-to-day world. Trust me.

Never have I ever swiped right and wound up going home with a handsome, sophisticated and wealthy man like Jake.

Honestly, I have no idea how I wound up here tonight.

Am I in a sexual drought? Well, yeah. That’s what drove me to this latest round of online dating. Such is my life. After spending the entire first semester of law school developing what I thought was a solid relationship with one of my classmates, I discovered that his idea of exclusivity meant that I didn’t see anyone else while he got to spend his free time fucking some med school student he met at a bar near campus. After that, a couple of my other classmates tried to slide between my sheets, but I wasn’t in the head space for shenanigans.

Now? Jake can shenanigan me all he wants.

Actually, no. He can’t. I need to keep my head here and do the smart thing. I’ve hooked up with a couple of guys from dating apps before, and it’s always a mistake. Not because I envision some grand romance developing between us. Or maybe I do. I don’t expect sex to lead to marriage, but it should mean something, right? Otherwise, why bother? But the bigger issue is that first-time sex tends to be awkward. Especially for the woman, whose orgasm is rarely (okay, never) guaranteed like it is for the man.

Besides, I need to focus on the forecast for my financial future, which is currently grim. I’ve got law school loans, but I’m not going to be a lawyer. So there’s that. I need to focus on getting an alternate career going and saving for an apartment I can afford without a couple of my classmates as roommates. The thing I need to do is go home and focus on getting a good night’s sleep before starting my new temporary job tomorrow—

“I’m back,” he says, returning with a fresh bottle of wine and a corkscrew. “Is it getting too chilly for you out here? Do you want to go inside?”

“No.” I stretch out on the nearest oversized padded lounge chair, enjoying the breeze. “It’s too nice out here.”

“You like my view?”

“I love your view,” I say, watching him deftly uncork the bottle and refill our glasses. “Do you ever see the stars?”

“I wish. Too bright with all the city lights.”

“I knew it.” I make a dismissive sound. “This place is a dump.”

He laughs, setting off a spiraling wave of longing inside me that I do my best to ignore.

“Have you been here long?” I ask.

“About three months.”

He comes over, passes me my glass and settles on the other seat attached to my lounge chair. Not exactly climbing into bed naked beside me, but it kind of feels like that. His big body brings warmth and latent power with it. A sexual force field that hums through him like electricity through overhead power lines. No part of him touches me—not even his sleeve—and it doesn’t matter. The effect on my body is profound. My heart pounds out a hard rhythm, probably to compensate for the blood currently being diverted to my lips, nipples and parts down below. Even the hair follicles at the nape of my neck feel more wired and alive with him this close.

“Your sister seems great,” he says.

Any mention of Jasmine always makes me smile. “She is great.” I hesitate, then decide to open up. Just a bit. Which is not something I normally do on first dates, but there’s something about him that compels me to share. “She’s not technically my sister. We’re not family at all. I don’t have a family.”

“I don’t understand,” he says, looking concerned.

“She’s really my, ah, best friend. Since we were in kindergarten. When I was in first grade, my mother was killed in a car accident. My father was never in the picture, and there was no other close family besides my grandmother. So she raised me until she died of cancer when I was a junior in high school. Jasmine’s parents took me in and raised me the rest of the way. So we always call each other sisters.”

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “And I’m glad you have Jasmine. Sounds like you are family.”

I nod, not wanting to get choked up or point out that they took me in because they are kind and decent people who felt sorry for me and didn’t want me to be alone. It’s not that I’m not grateful to have them in my life. It’s just that I don’t delude myself about my place with them.

I’m an outsider. I don’t quite belong with them. Or at law school.

Or anywhere I’ve yet discovered, for that matter.

“Thanks for telling me he says.

“Not sure why I did,” I say with a shaky laugh.

“I’m glad you did. Aren’t we supposed to be getting to know each other?”

“That’s the plan, yes. And that’s enough about me,” I say. “So. Everest, eh?”

He was about to take a sip, but he laughs instead. “Too cheesy?”

“Too dangerous.”

“You’re right about that,” he mutters. “And I’ve still got my issue with heights. I may have to settle for trekking up to Base Camp, then Photoshopping my face onto some other climber’s picture at the summit.”

“That’s highly unethical,” I say with a startled laugh. “And what about your fear of being ruled by your fears?”

“Oh, that was complete bullshit.”

“You said you were anti-bullshit!”

“Ah, but I never specified whether I’m anti-spreading bullshit or receiving bullshit.” He keeps a straight face as he taps his temple, nodding wisely. “It’s all in the phrasing.”

“So basically your entire profile was a complete lie,” I say, still laughing.

“Except for my name and wanting to travel, starting with Australia. And the part about doing my best to make you laugh,” he says, cracking a grin.

“I guess, but you didn’t mean you wanted to make me laugh,” I grumble. “You were just talking about any generic woman who swiped right on your profile.”

“Maybe,” he says, sobering as his gaze flickers between my eyes and my mouth. “But now it feels important to make you laugh.”

There’s a delicious pause.

“At you?” I say, setting my wine on the arm of my lounge chair, tucking my legs up and shifting to face him.

“With me,” he says, mirroring my movements.

We’re face to face now, a development that leaves me more than a little breathless with anticipation. So much for any hesitance I had about hooking up with a guy I just met. On that lounge chair, it’s just him, me and my buzzing hormones. No room for inhibitions or regrets. Especially when I know the only thing that I’d regret tomorrow morning is not seizing the opportunity to be with him on this magical night.

So I raise my hand and take my time getting closer and reaching for his face so I can trace the plump curve of his lower lip with my thumb.

“I’m not sure I would’ve picked you if I’d known the parts about Everest and bullshit were bullshit,” I say quietly.

The light from the flickering candles highlights the sensual gleam in his eyes.

“It’s all true.” His voice acquires a husky note. “Especially the part about fear. Because I’ll really regret it tomorrow if I don’t do this.”

“What?”

“This,”he says, reaching for me.

How do you describe perfection? Where do you even start? I could tell you that the Mona Lisa is the perfect painting, but how would I convey her smile to you if you’ve never seen it? Quirky? Enigmatic? Unfathomable? Does any of that really cover it?

No. I don’t think it does.

It’s the same with me trying to describe Jake as a lover.

He cups the sides of my head, sifting his fingers through my hair and then massaging my scalp as his mouth covers mine. His touch is firm. Strong. Assured. He tastes tart from the wine. His lips feel lush and endlessly persuasive as they map all the ways that we fit together. All the ways to nip, suck and tease. To inflame. The voluptuous sweep of his tongue, when it finally comes, makes me groan with glorious relief.

This. Yes. Finally.

As though he’s made me wait a thousand years rather than the two hours since we first met. As though I couldn’t have survived another thirty seconds without him taking me exactly like this.

His restless hands never stop moving. While I’m busy savoring the warmth and feel of all those hard muscles beneath the fine cotton of his shirt, he’s caressing his way down my back. Gripping my hips and pulling me closer. Clamping his hands on my ass and massaging the two halves together with a rhythmic stroke that has me teetering on the edge of ecstasy. Pulling me beneath him as he grinds the hard and heavy length of his dick against my sweet spot. Slipping his fingers underneath the filmy hem of my dress and stroking his way up my thighs, stopping just short of my panties when he should know by my enthusiastic response that I need him inside me, and I need it now.

I’d love to say that I played a little hard to get, but why lie? I can’t spread my legs fast enough for him. By the time he settles in the cradle between my legs and tapers his kisses down to sweetly lingering nuzzles, I’m a goner. But part of me feels like I was already a goner, and this moment was inevitable from the second I saw that picture of him on the beach.

He levers up on his elbows and seems to be waiting, so I crank my eyes open with difficulty and focus on his arresting face, which is full of contradictions. The dewy tenderness of his lips versus the unmistakable tension of desire in his jaw line. The relentless focus in his blazing eyes versus the hitch of need in his breath.

“I don’t want to stop,” he says in a black velvet voice.

I’d laugh if I could get my mouth to work normally in this overheated moment.

“If you stop now, I’ll never forgive you.”

A hint of a smile softens all the harsh lines of his face. “It’s okay out here, beauty,” he murmurs, helping himself to my panties and slowly easing them down my thighs. “No one will see.”

I know that already. We’re in the tallest building, the balcony overlooking the park. Yeah, I noticed earlier and filed the information away in case I got lucky. And in the entire world, I don’t think there’s a luckier woman out there than me right now. I suppose a drone or helicopter could fly overhead at an inopportune moment and get the surprise of a lifetime, but that’s a risk I’m willing to take.

“I know,” I say, trying to smile. Trying to catch my breath. Trying to brace myself for what I know is going to be a fucking for the books. Certainly one to make up for my long drought. “I can’t say I care anyway at this particular moment.”

Magic words.

Galvanized, he eases up to kneeling long enough to undo his pants and belt and get his dark boxer briefs shoved down and out of the way. He produces a condom from somewhere—don’t know; don’t care—and rolls it on. Then he’s back in position between my thighs, licking his way into my mouth again as he eases inside my wet and waiting body. The last thing I see before my heavy lids drift closed is his triumphant expression.

I’m feeling pretty triumphant myself, to tell you the truth.

“Oh my God,” I whisper helplessly as he stretches and fills me, all my tiny hidden muscles clenching and unclenching to receive him. Ecstasy shimmers on my horizon, approaching fast.“Oh, God.”

I wrap my legs around him, whispering nonsense as I savor his unyielding weight, his taste, the light breeze on my bare limbs and every freaking thing about this illicit moment out of time. He picks up a driving rhythm, answering me with indistinct rumbles and groans, and I laugh as I think about his invisible neighbors.

They won’t see us. That’s true. But they’re damn sure about to hear us, poor things.