While he poured his coffee, she found the guest bathroom and slipped inside. Her heart was racing quite a bit, just because she was there with him. Well, not just because of him, for heaven's sake! She was in a penthouse apartment overlooking Central Park, standing in a glitzy bathroom that probably cost more to decorate than her entire apartment. It was about the same size too. The hand towels were neatly aligned and no gunk jammed the soap dispenser.
This was the last place she'd expected to end up when she set out that evening. Then he went and put his hands on her—on her waist, her shoulders, her arm.
You're coming home with me.
Bossy. Gave her goosebumps. Made her panties moist.
But it wasn't as if she was a clueless, slack-jawed, virginal co-ed who had never seen a pecker before and had no idea why she was there. This was real life and the only shades of grey were in his dull, fucking decor. So why was she perspiring under her dress and standing in his bathroom trying to catch her breath? Sheer lunacy.
Stop it, Bryony Mulligan. Get a hold of yourself. You are a new woman now. At least have the presence of mind to act as if this apartment isn't on another planet, or you just rode there with the Beverly Hillbillies in their jalopy.
Having cooled off for a moment and completed what she went there to do, Bry checked her face in the big mirror over the sink. Chanel Rouge Allure lipstick was still in place. Good. Mascara not yet melting. Looking good, Mulligan. It must be a special, flattering mirror. How much did one like that cost, she wondered.
Ready. Fully charged.
He wouldn't know what hit him.
As she closed her purse, her gaze drifted downward to the marble counter space beside the sink. A straightening iron perched there in a professional holder. Her heart skipped a beat.
Petruska certainly didn't use that.
She took it out of the holder and found one long blonde hair stuck to the cold heating plate.
Maybe he kept that in his guest bathroom for the use of any random woman who stayed the night? It was an amusing thought for ten seconds, but she knew even he wasn't that much of a ladies man. If he was he would have slipped into a smoking jacket by now and lit up a pipe, while pressing a button that turned his couches into a big circular bed under a mirrored ceiling.
So there was a regular female in his life. Somewhere.
A blonde.
That certainly calmed things down, didn't it? For a moment anyway.
The slow, steady thump of expectation still passed up and down her body on a determined march toward misbehavior. There didn't seem to be anything she could do about it, but since there was a woman in the picture she was safe from forming any deeper feelings, right? She knew what she was getting into. Nothing more could come of this. Nothing.
This what exactly?
One night stand. Overdue.
And a really, really stupid idea.
But if she didn't take this chance now, she may never have another. It was part of the cleansing, she assured herself, all part of making the new Bryony. Seizing life by the balls. By the...numbnuts.
She washed her hands, dried them on his neat towels, and opened the door.
"What were you doing in there?"
He was right in front of her, shoulder propped against the door frame, espresso cup in one hand.
"What do you think I was doing in there?" She swept grandly by. "If I wasn't allowed to use the facilities you should have told me."
"You just took a long time. That's all." He followed her. "Something to eat? I can order."
"It's ten o'clock at night," she reminded him.
"So?" He grinned. "We could have a midnight feast. In bed."
She dropped onto his couch, but then immediately got up again. Where's your girlfriend? she wanted to ask so badly. But she banked it. Didn't want to seem interested. Or remotely disappointed. And Blondie couldn't be that permanent since her hot iron was kept in the guest bedroom, not the master suite. Thus she justified not asking.
Icy rain slanted against the wall of windows overlooking the park, reminding her to be grateful that she was inside a warm building and not alone. On a night like this it was good to have company. Suddenly her purse danced. She jumped, opened it and dug for her phone.
"Hello?"
It was Helena. "Where did you disappear?"
No way could she let her cousin know where she was. She could imagine Helena yelling at her to get out of there now, drop everything and run. Suddenly she felt sixteen again, as if her father wanted to know why she hadn't made curfew. "I...went home. I wasn't feeling good." She knew Ben was looking at her. His gaze was intense, burning through her with a smoldering heat. "I tried to find you to say goodbye."
Bed? Bed? Had he just said something to her about bed? Yes, he had. She'd tried to cancel it out by ignoring it happened. But now she couldn't concentrate on anything else.