His Pawn (The Manhattan Tales Book 1) Page 3

  “You’re different,” he commented simply as the car pulled away from the curb.

  I laughed lightly. “It would be very sad if, after five years, I remained the same dorky teenager. But look, I still have the same glasses.” I pointed at the Chanel frames and flashed him a huge grin.

  He chuckled, and this time it was not condescending. He leaned back against the leather. “I’m glad you liked them as much.”

  “Well, I’m not blindly walking into walls anymore, so that’s a huge plus.”

  “Indeed, it is.” he grinned, and I enjoyed the ring of his British accent in how he said that simple comment.

  It reminded me of better times. I was quickly feeling much better about staying at his place until I could figure out what the hell I was going to do.

  I smiled up at him as I straightened my glasses on my face, and I felt myself relax beside him. We sat in silence for several minutes, which was fine by me. I never felt the need to fill silence with needless jabber.

  “You’ll have to forgive me. I’ve had two glasses of Bollinger Blanc De Noirs and not much to eat this evening,” He interrupted the silence.

  “Oh it’s alright,” I replied. “I love wine, too, but why would you drink without eating?”

  Mason laughed. This wasn’t a chuckle. It was a laugh. “Bollinger Blanc De Noirs Vieilles Vignes Francaises is a very expensive champagne. I had to take some Japanese clients to dinner this evening and my father insisted on sushi.”

  I scrunched my face, remembering how much he loathed sushi. “You’ll have to forgive me, too. I’m not classy and sophisticated like the women you’re used to. I thought you were talking about wine. I’ve never had champagne-”

  “I know exactly who you are, Jillian Pryor,” Mason interjected.

  “Oh… okay,” I responded. I wasn’t sure how I should interpret that random comment. Was it a cold reminder that I was the sister of his ex-best friend? Was it supposed to be a compliment? Who knows. The comment could have been a result from the two glasses of champagne he’d had on an empty stomach.

  “You must be really hungry, then,” I added.

  “Yes, starving. Are you hungry?” He asked, his gaze on me was intense. What the hell. Two seconds ago, he was laughing and reminiscing. If I hadn’t spent many teenage years in his presence, I would have been freaked out. He definitely needed some food in him.

  “Rick, stop and pick us up some chicken shawarma wraps. You know where to go,” Mason leaned over and spoke to the driver.

  Then, he leaned back against the leather looking very relaxed and content. I suddenly realized how hungry I still was, the sandwich earlier had really only dulled the hunger pangs. I turned to him and smiled. It was so good to have him back in my life again, and I hoped it wasn’t temporary.

  ****

  Mason’s driver pulled smoothly to the front of the most beautiful stone building with ornate sculptures of lions carved into the sides of the structure. It was a huge hotel in scale and I looked up to see a lit sign etched in gold: The Darling. The driver had by now stepped out and opened the door first for me, then for Mason. I took a step to retrieve my bag from the trunk, but Mason took my wrist and held me back.

  “Rick will bring your bag up,” he said smoothly. His grip lingered on my wrist. It was very firm, but he didn’t hurt me. Instead, I felt a delicious sensation from his touch, and I didn’t know how to describe it at the time. My heart fluttered but he quickly retracted his hand and it left me feeling empty.

  “You’re staying at a hotel?” I asked, trying to distract myself from these strange, new and confusing feelings. His cologne must have drugged my brain.

  “I own this building, but my penthouse is on the top floor,” Mason responded simply.

  He owns this hotel? I nearly squeaked, but kept quiet. I’d overheard the Sloanes rave about this hotel to their dinner party guests a few times.

  “Oh.” It was the most intelligent reply I could muster as he paused outside the thick glass doors and waited for me. Once I’d caught up to him, he placed his hand on the small of my back and ushered me through the marble lobby. I’d never been in anything so grand before, not even when I worked for the Sloanes. It was all too rich for my blood. I looked around, and must have been walking at a snail’s pace, because I remembered Mason guiding me by the elbow towards the elevator.

  “Ah, good evening, Mr. Woodward.” The bellboy chimed as he pushed the button for the top floor without Mason’s demand.

  “Good evening, Gus. How is your sister doing?” Mason asked as the elevator smoothly ascended.

  “She’s doing much better. Thank you for the flowers. They cheered her up in the hospital,” Gus answered.

  “Glad to hear it,” Mason answered as the doors closed. Soon, the elevator’s ding signaled that we’d reached the top floor. The doors opened into the most exquisite floor plan I’d ever witnessed. I simply balked, standing inside the elevator. Again, Mason had to lead me by the hand into his penthouse.

  “This is… wow,” I commented stupidly, looking around.

  This place made the Sloanes’ apartment look like a shed. Mason must be doing much better than I had ever thought.

  Mason’s hotel penthouse was unlike anything I’d ever experienced before. It was all masculine decor with rich leather furniture spread strategically. Smooth, dark wood greeted my feet, with expensive rugs neatly situated appropriately.

  The walls were a perfect red brick and the design was deliberate, to add to the masculine quality that his interior designer obviously implemented. I removed my pink coat and left it on the arm of a leather chair as I peeked into the entertainment room and sucked in a deep breath at the gorgeous views of Manhattan.

  I felt as though I was hovering over the sparkling city lights. It was purely magical. Mason hardly seemed to pay attention to my deep breathing, or the spectacular view that waited for him every night. The layout was open and spacious, and despite the homey feel of the entertainment room, the rest of the penthouse seemed sterile. There were paintings mounted on the walls, but absolutely no photographs to be seen anywhere. He kept my hand as he guided me toward the kitchen. He didn’t seem to have any patience for my response to his posh lifestyle.

  “Care for a drink?” He asked, not dwelling on my girlish comment earlier.

  He walked across the beautifully polished dark wood floors and entered the kitchen, which was updated with all the newest features and appliances anybody could desire. The countertops were a polished black marble with all stainless steel appliances. My brain felt so overstimulated that I could not focus on any one thing, so instead I leaned against the brick of the kitchen wall, where he was already uncorking a bottle of some kind of wine.

  “You must be very impressive with the ladies,” I teased, although I had to admit to myself that I was digging for information.

  I’d seen his picture a few times over the years plastered in the business and entertainment sections of the newspaper. He seemed to always have a beautiful woman at his side during galas and benefits.

  Mason cleared his throat lightly as he poured two glasses of white wine.

  “I don’t bring women here. I never have-” His hazel eyes glanced up at me for a second. “... until tonight.”

  “Oh,” I breathed as my heart picked up speed.

  I must have sounded like a silly girl because Mason chuckled as he handed me the wine glass. I felt his eyes on my form, especially now that I was free of my coat. Or, perhaps that was just wishful thinking.

  I looked up at him as I took the wine glass. He’d removed his suit jacket and loosened his tie. He was just as tall as I’d remembered, at least a foot taller than my frame.

  His olive skin and dark hair gave hint to his Indian heritage, though his features had a sharpness to them that came from his English father. His smoldering, light brown eyes bore into me. Mason’s eyes have always struck me with admiration and awe. They are intense, and his gaze on me was both confident and domineeri
ng. My face flamed and I had to look away as I took the glass from him.

  I took a long, healthy sip from my glass and swallowed. I tried to process what he just said, and what it meant that he would bring me here. It means nothing. You’re just Jilly Bean. You could never be his type, the unwelcomed yet practical thought invaded my mind

  “I have another apartment in the Upper West Side,” Mason answered, as though he could read my thoughts. “It’s… better equipped. I don’t have to worry about disturbing my hotel guests over there.” He smiled at me darkly.

  Better equipped? How many women does he take over there?

  A sudden pang of disappointment and intrigue hit me.

  “So you go there a lot?” I asked, trying to sound casual, but I knew I failed miserably.

  I took another deep gulp of wine as I looked up at him.

  There was an energy radiating from this man that I’d never experienced before. The way his mere presence commanded my attention was alarming. Perhaps I was just too young to have felt it before. Perhaps I was just not open-minded enough back then, but everything about this man was just… too much. His large body towered over my small frame. It was overwhelming… especially when he took two long strides toward me.

  “Why do you ask, Jilly Bean? I think I heard a tinge of jealousy in that tone,” Mason smirked.

  My heart jumped out of my chest when he called me by my old nickname, and then he stood directly in front of me. His voice was smooth like silk as he whispered to me.

  Yes. “No, I am not jealous.” I retorted and I felt my nose scrunch up.

  I was acting overly defensive. I could literally feel the heat from his body. I sucked in a sharp breath, suddenly feeling like a mindless bimbo, but I didn’t care in that moment.

  He chuckled and smoothed a stray lock of my wild dark auburn hair behind my ear. I felt my face flame at such an intimate touch and my stomach fluttered. What was happening? I was still bewildered, but I liked this attention from him.

  “Perhaps you want a turn to see my other apartment? Do you want to feel what I would do to you there?” He asked with a grin.

  Heated tingles suddenly shot from my core and settled down in the private area in my panties. I couldn’t tell if he was mocking me or if he was serious. I felt the heat on my face, realizing he couldn’t be serious.

  “Don’t patronize me.” the words fell out of my mouth before I knew what I was saying, and I stepped away.

  “Patronize you? Why would I patronize you?” He asked. His eyes suddenly narrowed. The intensity was returning two-fold.

  How could he not think he’s patronizing me? I thought this to myself as I balked up at him. Me, of all women? I just couldn’t wrap my head around the idea of Mason following through with his sexual suggestions.

  Sex with Mason. Oh, God. There’s no way he would follow through with those suggestions, not with me.

  “I’ve seen who you dated before and the classy, sophisticated socialites and models you take to galas and charities. Never in a million years would you even consider-”

  He suddenly pressed his body against mine and leaned down, pressing his mouth against my ear. It interrupted my negative thought process and caused my breathing to hitch. I nearly spilled my wine onto his perfect kitchen floor. The scent of him enveloped me and I could see the contours of his perfect biceps through the silk of his button-down.

  Oh. My. God.

  “Never bring up my past dates. Is that clear?” His voice was so low, yet dominating. It was intimidating.

  “Yes,” I responded in a hushed whisper.

  “I can’t hear you, Jilly Bean,” He coaxed in a deeper voice.

  I was beginning to resent the way he referred to me by my nickname. It almost sounded mocking.

  “Yes,” I answered audibly this time.

  “Good,” he seemed satisfied, although his lips were still nearly grazing my ear. “And for the record, I was not patronizing you...”

  There seemed to be more that he wanted to say, but he stopped at that. He still lingered in the position hovering over me. I could feel his hot breath on my neck and I nearly melted into a puddle of goo. His face moved closer to mine, and I thought he might actually kiss me. My heart fluttered like a hummingbird in my chest for those few seconds. I only had to move forward a few millimeters, and our lips would have touched.

  “Okay,” I answered softly, remaining stiff and rigid from the contact. I didn’t know what I should do.

  He suddenly straightened and stepped back, assessing me quietly. I didn’t know what he was thinking, but wished he hadn’t moved.

  4. Mason Woodward

  I could not lose my resolve, but I felt it slipping. As I sat in my Chicago building, at a long mahogany table surrounded by men and women in expensive suits, I thought back to the previous night.

  Initially, I pictured the same eighteen year old with wild hair and glasses. I pictured the spunky but shy little sister of the man who betrayed me. Then she appeared from the Starbucks coffee shop and I found myself doing a double take. She was beautiful. There was a natural beauty about her and I couldn’t take my eyes off her. I watched as her ponytail bounced while she pranced toward the car.

  She was very nervous in her movements. I could use that to my advantage. I couldn’t hide a smirk when she knocked her head on the side of my town car as she ducked into the back seat. Some things never change...

  Then, she wrapped her arms around me and I felt stiff. I was not expecting that. I’d forgotten that she and her mum were huggers. I myself was not an affectionate person; I never did allow anyone in… but while this embrace was unexpected, it was not unwelcome.

  The gentle scent of her lavender shampoo wafted to my nose and I found myself embracing her more as I breathed in the scent of her hair. There was something unusually comforting about Jillian. It was instant, and I cursed myself silently for having such an impulsive feeling. It was a feeling that I had never associated with another human being, not in many years at least. I certainly never felt such familiarity with my own family. During the ride to my penthouse, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her.

  She sat quietly, stiff and straight, while her hands fidgeted with her faded pink coat. It was most likely a pick from the local thrift store. I would have to change that.

  I rested my chin between my thumb and forefinger and pretended to stare out the window, although I kept my sideways glance on her. I was trying to imagine how and why I felt so drawn to her. We had history together… but that was not all of it. And I could not deny that she was attractive.

  She had a delicate round face, large dark eyes and plump pink lips that I wanted to bite… and don’t get me started on that little body. Even beneath the ugly faded coat, I could see that she’d developed a luscious hour-glass figure. The things I could do to that body- I shook the wolfish thoughts from my head. The plan was to lure her in with patience, not scare the poor girl away. Patience would be my greatest struggle.

  ****

  And now, I could not focus for shit. I’d flown from LaGuardia to O’Hare just so I could sit and daydream about some college girl? I snarled at myself for such foolishness. I did not build an entire enterprise and help my father manage his own company by doodling hearts and flowers on the side of a notebook.

  “... Your thoughts, Mr. Woodward?”

  That caused me to snap to attention. I lifted my fingers from my chin and looked up as the presentation was finished. The balding man at the front stood before a backdrop of graphs and percentages. It was no doubt a good pitch and I thoroughly enjoyed his previous ideas. They’d proven to be very beneficial to the growth and expansion of my hotel chain.

  “Nicely done, Joe. I want a copy of the proposal on my desk before I fly back to New York,” I answered. I honestly hadn’t listened to a damn word he’d said at the front. What was happening to me?

  “Yes, yes of course, Mr. Woodward,” the man answered, adjusting his tie, clearly unsatisfied with my answer. />
  I always had a much more hands-on approach to project development, and I could feel all eyes on me, wondering what the fuck was wrong with me. Overnight, I’d become like a foolish school boy.

  I needed to get back to New York to get this plan underway. The sooner, the better. I’d use her every which way, and then send her back to her brother with a clear message: You had your fun, and I had mine.

  Originally, I’d planned to hit up one of my favorite strip clubs and bring one of the girls back to my hotel, or call up one of my Chicago favorites and have her ready and waiting for me, but I was now itching to get back to New York. I dismissed the meeting and fetched for the proposal before taking a private flight back to LaGuardia.

  5. Jilly Bean

  After our brief moment last night, he showed me to my room. Perhaps it was the wine, or fatigue, but I could have sworn he seemed conflicted about something. I assumed it was that he’d let me back into his life after he’d sworn off my brother and my family.

  “You caught me just in time. I have to be in Chicago tomorrow morning.” He was leaning on the door frame to my temporary bedroom.

  “Oh,” I blurted. I didn’t mean to sound so disappointed.

  “It’s only a day or so,” he responded. “I’ll have Amy take you shopping tomorrow to pass the time.”

  He gave me a grin. Who’s Amy?

  “Shopping? Why? I have everything I need,” I pointed to my bright pink duffel bag.

  I wasn’t trying to seem ungrateful, but Mason was already doing more than enough by opening his home to me. It had been five years since I’d seen him and I was not about to let him spend money on me. Plus, I had more pressing matters to think about than a new wardrobe.

  He stared at me blankly, perplexed. Finally, he spoke.

  “So long as you stay here, you represent me, Jillian. I cannot allow you to walk around in…” His eyes scrutinized my faded purple sweater, worn sneakers, and jeans that I’d gotten on sale three years ago at Kohls.