Page 26 of The Billionaire & the Virgin Chef
“You’ve lost someone.” Dylan says it as astatement.
“More like everyone,” I admit, and regret saying it the second the words hit theair.
I see the hint of pity in his eyes and face forward again, eyes on that multi-million-dollarview.
“When you sayeveryone…”
“My grandparents, my mother. I didn’t have a father in the picture to speak of. There weren’t any cousins or aunts and uncles, not that I knew about. And my baby sister, although she might still be outthere.”
“That’s… I’m sorry for yourloss.”
“Thanks.” I do my best to smile. “But let’s not commiserate. It was a long timeago.”
“Allright.”
We fall into a comfortable silence for some time. It’s strange that I’m not nervous. Not at all. Not even after telling him about my family. The sullen moment eventually passes. His phone starts buzzing somewhere nearby and he excuses himself to put it on silent. While he’s gone, nearby speakers send easy jazz beats wafting through the air. I don’t know the performer, but the sound is rhythmic and enjoyable without compelling me to get up and dance. He returns with the bottle of Cristal in one hand and Jack in theother.
“Care for arefill?”
I nod and hold out my glass for him to pour. “Thanks.”
“Are you into this kind ofmusic?”
As he sets down the bottle on the coffee table and takes a seat beside me this time, he’s a lot closer. His thigh brushes against mine. That heat between our bodies hit me again, stealing my breath, causing my heart to race. Maybe he felt it too, because he glances over atme.
“You’regood?”
I grip the stem of the flute and down the contents in a few long gulps. “Fine.”
“Anotherdrink?”
“Probably not.” Two glasses of Cristal are my limit. They do their job of tamping down my inhibitions. I’m not inebriated, but I’m liking the way my body has come around to the idea of having Dylan thisclose.
Close enough totouch.
Close enough tokiss.
Close enough to submit to all the lust that hangs thickly around us, filling me with need, flipping on that switch again. The one he turned on when he first kissed me. The one that wants to find out what happens if he takes thingsfurther.
If we go there, I’ll have to tell him I’m avirgin.
Being twenty-three and inexperienced isn’t a big deal to me, but this is Manhattan. It may as well be called the second city of sin. I’ve got friends of friends at college who used their innocence as a commodity, catering to wealthy men, old and young, and boy did they ever profit from it. There’s an allure, a mystery, a prize in one’s virginity, and some men would stop at nothing to have theirprizes.
I’m no one’s plaything. That’s not me. I spent too much time obsessing over whether that path was Joy’s eventual demise, or prostitution, drug abuse, homelessness, or worse. I start to wish I hadn’t downed my champagne so quickly or mentioned Joy’s existence. Or admitted that I had no clue about my father’s whereabouts, let alone whether he’s alive or long gone too. More wine, more champagne, that would do the trick, except I’m not at home. I’d have to leave the catering van parked here and take a cab if I have any morealcohol.
Maybe if I stretch my legs around this massive condounit.
“I think I can handle another,” I announce for Dylan to hear. Getting up, I reach for the bottle and pour myself a refill. To the brim this time. I’ll walk it off. Burn it off somehow before heading out. Flute in hand, I walk over to the glass sliding dooragain.
“It’s pretty cool and windy out there,” he says from a couple of feet behindme.
Or a couple ofinches.
“Is it?” The wall of heat behind me has to be him. My body sways backward as though searching for more or it. More ofhim.
He doesn’t move right away. Maybe minutes pass, then his large smooth hands run from the tops of my shoulders down to my elbows. “It must be. You’reshivering.”
He turns me to face him, and I meet those eyesagain.
