Chapter Four

Allison was suddenly afraid. Like the champagne buzz was gone and she was flat-out terrified, because she wanted to believe Marco. She wanted to trust that he had no agenda, that he was lonely, and bored, just like her. That they were two people who maybe had lost their way just a little, and wanted to find it again. That they could talk and laugh and part ways.

Yet she didn’t trust that. Him. She couldn’t. And that terrified her. She didn’t want to be that person, beaten down and jaded by the city. She wanted to have faith in humanity. In herself.

She swallowed hard, not sure what to say. She couldn’t be a smartass right now. She’d despise herself if she was. So she opened her mouth and forced herself to say one of the most honest things she’d uttered in months.

“Me too. Thanks for coming with me, I appreciate it.”

“Mr. Lucky, the elevator is ready for you.”

Allison whirled to see a security guard had opened the roping creating the queue and was expecting Marco, and presumably her, to step through.

“Are we line cutting?” she asked, feeling bad for everyone ahead of them.

But then again, she was very aware Marco’s presence was causing a stir.

There had been nudging friends and selfie taking, though so far no one had approached him. Maybe the people in charge considered it a security risk if teen girls decided to lose their cool and start mobbing him.

“No, I called ahead.” He held his arm out. “After you.”

“Sure. Great.” Tempted to turn and wave and give an apology speech to everyone else in line, she restrained herself, afraid she’d just look like a show-off. As it was, she was curious what the back of her butt looked like on everyone’s phone screen right now as they tried to capture pictures of Marco. Hopefully they were zooming and leaving her out of their shots.

God, she hadn’t thought this much about the presentation of her ass since the first time she’d had sex doggy style. This was just as awkward.

When they got into the elevator, the guard and the elevator man smiled at her. “How are you this evening?” Elevator Operator asked.

“Great, thanks. How about yourself?”

“Can’t complain.”

See, that was what was wrong with her. She would find plenty to complain about being stuck in a box going up and down all night long. She

was pretty sure the usual ride, with people pressed up against him, was hot and oppressive and not really one of those jobs that anyone would covet.

Yet he looked cheerful, his smile genuine.

She sucked. That was the lesson here.

“Why are you frowning?” Marco asked. “Are you claustrophobic?”

“No.” She shook her head. She wasn’t going to complain that she was a complainer. How ironic and heinous would that be? Her stomach felt tight, and she couldn’t believe that she was actually feeling melancholy on the night when she’d won the lottery. Who did that? Who stood on an elevator with a rock star and thought that she might actually cry? “My stomach feels weird. Maybe I drank too much champagne.”

“We’re almost there,” Elevator Operator told her, his voice sympathetic.

“Hang tight. Three seconds.”

The security guard also looked like he understood where she was coming from, though she noticed he did shift away from her, presumably to save his shoes. Marco, however, reached out and took her hand, pulling her in closer to him.

“Hey, you’re okay. Just focus on one spot on the wall.”

“How about this zipper on your jacket instead?” she asked, a wave of dizziness accompanying the newly grown pit in her gut.

Marco laughed. “I don’t think it matters what you focus on. Whatever works for you.”

She homed in on his zipper, one hand squeezing his tightly, the only gripping the front of the leather jacket. She felt like she’d left her guts on the ground floor. Given that she’d never been afraid of heights or elevators, it was disconcerting. It was the booze. It had to be. Though honestly she hadn’t drunk that much. Her three glasses was amateur night compared to what she’d been putting away back in college.

It wasn’t the alcohol. She knew it wasn’t. It was everything. Life. The lottery. Marco. What did she do next? She was out of excuses for why she failed.

“We’re here,” the elevator operator said, and yanked the gates open.

Wherever here was.

Trying to shake out the weird vibe she was experiencing, Allison strode across the few feet to the ramp leading them outside. The minute she stepped out onto the observation deck, her unexpected worries disappeared.

It was beautiful. She hadn’t even reached the edge and all she could see was

twinkling lights as New York encircled them, like a sparkling quilt. It was eerily quiet, nothing but the wind whistling past the railings, and when she spoke, she automatically dropped her voice to a low tone, murmuring, “It’s beautiful, Marco.”

“It is, isn’t it?” He sounded as stunned as she felt. Making his way to the edge, he looped his fingers through the chain link fencing. “It’s endless.

Nothing but lights and buildings everywhere. Can you believe there are people down there?”

“It seems impossible, doesn’t it?” She moved in next to him, scanning, trying to get her bearings. “That’s the Brooklyn Bridge.” She pointed through the fence, which somehow made her feel like she was going to pitch right through the tiny hole. She instinctively jerked her hand back then laughed. “That was weird. I felt like I was falling forward.”

“Perspective is off up here, isn’t it?” Marco put his hands at his sides and rested his forehead on the fence. “Let go and see how it feels.”

“Uh, no.” She’d been dizzy enough on the elevator, she’d pass, thanks.

She wasn’t normally so tender, but she was going to respect that her nerves were strung tight tonight, and between the excitement and the champagne she seemed lightheaded. So be it. “I’m good standing up straight. Besides,”

she told him when he turned to her, “now you have grill marks on your head.”

It made her laugh. The rock star with the dents on his skin was amusing.

She reached out and rubbed them, hard, making his head rock back and forth.

“I don’t think that’s going to make them go away.”

“Maybe I just want to shove you around,” she teased.

“Now that I believe.” Marco pulled her hand down and pretended to bite her fingers. “Come here, let’s see what’s on the other side.”

“Shut your face, look, it’s the Flatiron Building.” Allison didn’t bother to remove her hand from Marco’s, and he didn’t bother to let go.

They cruised around the whole observation deck, the night air making her nose go cold, the wind pulling hairs out of her ponytail. It made her feel alive, being up this high, just the two of them, yet knowing there were eight million people down below. The security guard was hovering discreetly in the doorway that returned to the elevator bank, and Allison fully appreciated what Marco had done. She tried to picture this with a hundred people, everyone jostling for fence space, taking camera shots, shoving

each other accidentally and sometimes intentionally. Her view would be obscured, at the very least, and it would be loud. This way, she got to fully appreciate the silence, something that happened so rarely in the city.

That had been the hardest adjustment when she’d arrived in New York, and she’d been in a fairly quiet neighborhood, comparatively speaking. But the constant sensory input, the sense that everyone and everything was coming at her, had been overwhelming. Sirens, cars, cabs, people. It had been hard to learn that the solitude she wanted would have to just be internal, because it didn’t exist anywhere else.

Except for now. It was transcendent being up there.

“The air smells clean,” she said. “No exhaust fumes, no fried foods.”

“It smells like the night.” Marco closed his eyes and breathed deeply.

“And wind.”

“I’ve never thought of those as having a scent, but I think you’re right.”

His eyes popped open. “Did you just admit I’m right? Wow, I think we’re making progress.” He squeezed her hand. “Maybe even becoming friends.”

It was instinct to roll her eyes. But she resisted the urge. This wasn’t the time or the place to have walls up, to hide behind sarcasm. “You’re not so bad, Marco Lucky. Thank you for buying this out. It wouldn’t be the same with a ton of people crowding us.”

The look he gave her made her want things she couldn’t have. He looked at her with naked desire, and maybe something akin to admiration.

But she was done with wanting. She’d spent a decade moaning and lamenting and craving. Now she just wanted to live. So she slipped her hand from his, cupped his rough cheeks with her palms, and gave him a soft kiss. It was meant to be tender, appreciative. Not sexual. She wasn’t sure how long they had at the top, and as much as she wanted to make out with him, she wanted to savor the view more. Making out could happen anywhere, anytime.

When she stepped back, away from him, his smile was enigmatic, puzzled.

But then he turned and went back to the edge. “What happens if someone drops something, like their phone, by accident? Would it kill someone on the street?”

“Probably. But would it fall straight? It might land on one of these ledges.” She gripped the fencing with both hands and stood on tiptoes,

trying to see straight down. “Just don’t drop your phone. I don’t want to be responsible for calamity.”

“Calamity? Someone got herself a fancy degree.” Marco put his boot up on the fence. “What did you study in school?”

“Don’t laugh.” She hated this question.

“Why would I laugh?”

“I studied fashion design. And now I work at a boutique store for ten bucks an hour. That was money well spent. Not.”

“Why didn’t you go work at a fashion house?”

“Because you don’t just go work at a fashion house. And I screwed up my one shot at an internship and didn’t get the job. Now I’m just too old.

Nobody hires someone my age.” She could have hustled more in the first few months after school, but she’d been so sure it would all just land in her lap. It was the naiveté bred from nothing much ever going wrong in her life up to that point. She hadn’t understood how the odds were stacked against her, and how creative and vehement and sometimes aggressive to the point of stabbing people in the back she would have had to be to get ahead.

“What are you, eighty-three?” Marco gave her a skeptical look.

“Twenty-seven. Which is eighty-three in fashion.” She shrugged. “I guess it doesn’t matter. I guess every girl who comes to Manhattan wants to make it big, but there just aren’t enough spots at the top. And oh my God, why are we being gloomy? This is supposed to be my time to celebrate.”

She honestly didn’t know what the hell was wrong with her. This was like the ninth time in two hours she’d gotten weird. She was on top of the world.

Literally. So why was she suddenly running through every mistake and missed opportunity she’d made in her life?

“Race you to the binoculars,” he suggested.

That she could do. She might not know what she was doing tomorrow, but this she could handle. Childish competition was her forte. “Okay. One, two, three, go.”

They both took off, and Allison realized she’d miscalculated what she could do in high-heel boots. Look sexy? Check. Walk ten blocks? Sure.

Sprinting at breakneck speed was not all that easy, and Marco beat her by at least four feet.

“Ha,” he said. “I dusted you.”

“It’s not easy running in these,” she said. “I also feel like I may have sprained my ankle.”

His triumphant look turned to concern. He stepped toward her as she slowed to a limp. “Are you okay?”

She bolted past him and stuck her face up to the binoculars. “Sucker.”

“You’re evil, Allison.”

He didn’t sound angry, though. As she peered through the binoculars, not really sure what she was looking at, or rather, looking for, Marco crowded her personal space from behind. If it was designed to make her uncomfortable and turned on, it was working. His arms came around either side of hers, and his legs did the same. He shifted her ponytail and nuzzled his lips into the back of her neck.

They’d reached neck nuzzling? Interesting. She wasn’t sure when either of them had established what exactly they were doing, but what was becoming more and more bizarre and apparent was that it was like they’d skipped sex. They had just glossed right over it and were acting like the morning after, with no night before. It was odd. But kind of nice. Cuddling without commitment. Or cunnilingus. Though come to think of it, she wouldn’t mind a little bit of them crossing the flesh-hold. What was a little oral sex between friends?

She couldn’t exactly even remember the last time she’d had sex, and that was just ridiculous. But she was supposed to be resisting Marco so as to not be a notch on his headboard, though that conviction was melting away.

“You’re missing the view,” she murmured, fighting the urge to sigh. His lips were warm on her skin and his body felt big, hard, behind her.

“You’re hogging the binoculars.”

“There are other pairs.”

“But then I couldn’t be with you.”

She couldn’t argue with that logic. “Okay, your turn. Since technically you did win.”

He stepped aside to let her by and then did his own scan through the binoculars. “It’s like New York in a snow globe. Minus the fake snow.”

Allison laughed. “Oh my God, no snow yet, please. Though I have to say, there is nothing quite as beautiful as the city at Christmas. That’s when I fall in love with New York all over again every year. Then by March the honeymoon is over. But then May rolls around and I think yeah, I’m in this relationship to stay, you know?”

Marco looked back at her. “I get that. I mostly live in LA. I do like that it’s always the same weather-wise. It gives me a sense of stability when I

get back home between all my traveling and touring.” He nodded to the door. “We should probably go. The line needs to start moving again, I’m sure.”

“Yeah, of course.” She spun around slowly, taking in one last long look.

“It was wonderful while it lasted—thanks, Marco Lucky.”

“You’re welcome, Allison… what is your last name?”

“Parker.”

“Miss Parker.” He smiled at her in a way that was so very, very dangerous. “Thank you for the pleasure of your company.”

“Is this where we part ways?”

His body crowded hers. She stood her ground.

“Not unless you want to.”

“It’s still early.” She glanced at his lips. She couldn’t help it. He was very sexy. That he knew it was no surprise, but she really wanted to resist his charms. On principle. But it was becoming increasingly difficult to do so. “Any suggestions?”

“Have you ever gone on one of those carriage rides?” he asked. “I kind of always wanted to do that, but I was sure I’d lose street cred. I need a girl to make me look like I’m just being romantic and indulgent versus looking like a weirdo.”

There was an image, she had to admit. Marco riding around the park in a carriage, just chilling. “You’re a rock star, you can do whatever you want.”

“That’s a lie we tell children,” he said with a wink. “You’d be stunned at what I can’t do.”

They went back inside and to the elevator. They were tossed out into the gift shop, of course, but Allison resisted the lure of kitsch and settled for a coffee from the cafe. “Want anything?” she asked Marco.

“I’m fine.”

She placed her order and fumbled with her purse to pay. When she turned back around, Marco was surrounded by a pack of Asian girls, clearing on some kind of group tour. They were smiling broadly, and all posing for a picture with him. Feeling bad for the one girl who wasn’t in the picture, she went over to them. “Do you want me to take the picture?” she asked the girl, who was in her mid-teens. When it was clear the girl didn’t speak English, she used hand gestures to show what she meant. The girl nodded in excitement and handed her phone to Allison.

Marco had been giving a generic pleasant smile but now, as he looked at her, his expression changed. One eyebrow rose and his smile became teasing, secretive. Sexy. Good Lord, these girls were going to pass out when they reviewed the picture. “Tone it down, Lucky,” she told him. “They’re, like, fifteen and you’re looking a bit manwhore right now.”

He laughed. “Jesus, Allison.”

She snapped him laughing. “Better.” She handed the phone back to the eager girl, who instantly had her friends crowding around her.

Marco waved to them and then reached out for Allison’s hand. “Where’s your coffee?”

“I paid but then I got distracted. Let me grab it.” Marco squeezed her hand, then let go, but he didn’t stop touching her. He just moved his hand to rest above her waist. Allison felt the stabbing stare of six jealous teen girls on her back. She was afraid to turn around, so she didn’t. She remembered what it was like to have a mad crush on a musician.

Frankly, she didn’t ever want to feel the sting of unrealistic and unrequited love again. It was good to be reminded of how agonizing that was.

She wasn’t in danger here at all. They were just spending time together.

Having fun.

No big deal.

The walls she’d spent years firmly building were still solidly intact, with steel rebars reinforcing them. No worries.

Marco fetched her coffee and handed it to her with a panty-melting smile.

She was totally fine.

Not going to fall for him.

Marco should have taken the out Allison had given him to head home.

This was not a good idea, this cozy hanging out together. It felt very couple-ish getting into a carriage outside of Central Park. He felt comfortable enough around her that he felt sort of couple-ish anyway, which was bizarre. He didn’t even know her. But there was something easy about her, maybe because she was so straightforward. She gave as good as she got and she didn’t let him get away with jack shit. She called him out when he deserved to be called out, and he appreciated that. It lent an immediate

intimacy to their interactions, because normally it took people a very long time to let their guard down around him.

He felt like he was already seeing the real Allison.

“This is the bomb,” she said as the carriage jerked forward, the horses hooves clip-clopping.

“I love that you use words from 1999 half the time, and the other half bust out this highbrow vocabulary.”

“I have many layers,” she said with great dignity, before dissolving into a laugh that might actually qualify as a snort. “What can I say? I’m an idiot.

But I’m cute.” She winked at him.

“That you are.” He leaned over and kissed her before she could stop him. He slipped his tongue into her mouth, enjoying the sweet taste of her, the way she opened readily for him. For her, he was willing to break his vow of celibacy. He just needed to convince her of the same thing.

He knew she was attracted to him. But she was clearly hesitant to go home with him. But he had hours to convince her otherwise, and he was going to get what he wanted. He always did. And he wanted Allison, naked, beneath him. This was what he had been waiting for—the simple act of enjoying being with someone.

Pulling away, he settled back against the seat, letting his legs fall apart.

He needed some room in his jeans. The pump was already primed, and with barely any contact. “Is this what you were hoping for, baby?” he said loudly. “I know how much you’ve been wanting a carriage ride.” That was for the driver’s benefit. He raised his eyebrows up and down for Allison.

She rolled her eyes. But then she played along, her voice breathy and high-pitched. “OMG, baby, yes, thank you so much! You’re so, so good to me. I promise I’ll give you the best blowjob of your life later.”

Damn. He went hard again instantly. She had a way of turning things around on him every single time.

The carriage driver coughed into his hand. Poor guy. The older man had already given Allison an appreciative once-over when he’d helped her into the carriage.

“That’s not necessary,” he said. “But I won’t turn it down either.”

She shook her head at him. He knew she was biting her tongue. He wished she were biting him.

“Did you ever send that video to your boss?” he asked as they rolled down Central Park West. The ride was soothing, he had to admit. It was

living up to his expectations.

“No. I should do that now.” She popped open her massive purse. “I can never find anything in here. Where is my phone? Oh my God, did I lose my phone?” She started shoving items from her purse into his lap as she frantically dug through the bag looking for her cell phone. “OMG, OMG, where is it?”

“Relax, I saw you put it in there. You couldn’t have dropped it.” A lipstick rolled between his legs, and he grabbed her wallet at the last minute before it slid off his jeans and right to the floor of the carriage. But he wasn’t quick enough to prevent the pile of paper she’d deposited onto his thighs from flying up into the air and out of reach, sailing down the street behind them as the carriage plunged on. “Allison, your papers just went flying.”

What was the gentleman protocol here? Did he halt the carriage and try to pick her stuff back up? He looked dubiously behind him. The papers were gone, tiny flecks in gutters and crushed under the ever-present onslaught of traffic. He hoped it was nothing important.

“They’re just receipts from Whole Foods and a few, uh, other places I went shopping today.”

She shopped like his first post-fame girlfriend, given how many slips had gone sailing. But he figured she’d earned the right. “Okay, as long as you don’t need to return anything.”

But she no longer seemed to care, because she pulled her phone from the bottom of her purse. “Yes!” She waved it triumphantly in the air. “There you are. My precious.” She kissed her phone.

“I told you you had it. And FYI, did you know your cell phone contains more germs on it than a toilet seat? I’m not sure I want to kiss you any more tonight.”

Allison scoffed. “Please. Give me a huge freaking break. I shudder to think where your lips have been. I don’t think a peck with my screen has contaminated me.”

Well, she might have a point there. “Are you accusing me of promiscuity?”

“I’m not accusing you of anything. What you do with your lips and your dick is your business, and let’s be honest, I’m guessing the last ten years have been like a never-ending all-you-can-eat sexual buffet, because, you

know, rock star. But that similarly eliminates your right to go germophobe on me.”

“I hate when you’re right.”

“My percentage runs about ninety-five percent, so get used to it.”

He laughed. She really was outrageous. “So how many guys have you kissed?”

“I don’t know. What is this, tenth grade? I don’t have a list. More than two. Less than a hundred. How’s that? All other questions must be submitted in writing.”

“Yeah?” She thought she was clever. And she was. But he could play the game. Marco pulled out his phone and started typing a text to her. He hit send.

Her phone buzzed in her hand. She glanced at the screen and read. “Gee, a text from Marco. What a shocker. What is your favorite sexual position?

That’s easy enough. All of them.”

“You can’t pick all of them. That’s one, impossible. Two, a cop-out.”

“Why is it impossible?”

“The probability of you liking each and every sexual position identically is virtually impossible. I stand by that. So let’s put it this way. If you had a gun to your head and you had to choose, and a machine knows if you’re lying or not, and if you do lie, you’ll be shot, what position would you pick?”

“In what fucking circumstance would that ever happen?” she asked, looking bewildered. “That’s not going to happen.”

“Well, of course it’s not actually going to happen. But what if it did?

What would you choose?”

“Except I know it will never happen, therefore I can’t get into the mindset of having to choose under exactly those circumstances, so I don’t think my answer can be truly accurate.”

It was his turn to roll his eyes. “You’re a pain in the ass,” he said mildly.

“You’re just trying to be difficult.”

“I am not! I made a fair point. Hey, better to be a pain in the ass than a piece of ass.”

“Word.” He nodded sagely. “And see, you’re not the only one who can dust off ancient slang.”

“I approve. So for that reason, I will tell you that my favorite sexual position is doggy style. I like my hair pulled.”

Fuck. He was not expecting her to say that. Now there was an image he just couldn’t shake. Allison, her long, dark hair spilling over her pale, smooth shoulders. Her back would be long, waist narrow. Her ass would be high, because she had long legs and he would be able to see his cock fully disappearing into her…

“Thank you for giving me a useless hard-on,” he told her, shifting again on the seat.

She shrugged. “You asked. Don’t blame me.”

“This is another one of those ninety-five percent times, isn’t it?”

“Looks that way.” She did something on her phone, then tucked it back into her purse. “Video sent. My boss is going to shit. Or hell, maybe she won’t care. It’s not like she loves me or anything.” She reached over and started digging between his legs for her various possessions.

Marco stopped her, placing his hand over hers and firmly holding her still. “Stop. I’ll get it.” He couldn’t have her slim fingers sliding all over his junk. It had been far too long for him. Self-control could only restrain so much.

“Huh?” She glanced over at him blankly, then immediately understood.

A grin split her face. “Well, well, well… you really do have a boner, don’t you? I thought you were joking.”

“I don’t joke about my dick.”

“Duly noted.” Then she stared straight down at his crotch and bit her bottom lip, like she was either curious or trying to torture him. “That’s a big boy you’ve got there. Is that where you got the last name Lucky from?”

Marco swallowed hard. He shifted her hand back to her own lap. “No.”

He handed her the wallet and the lipstick. “And don’t tease. It’s cruel.”

“Poor baby,” she cooed. “How long has it been? Twelve hours?”

“Twelve months,” he told her flatly, because he didn’t see any reason to pretend otherwise. He was on the edge, and not to be trifled with, or she might find herself down a dark alley getting the best fuck of her life. He’d make sure of that.

“What?” Her mouth fell. “Oh, come on. There is no way. Do I look like an idiot?”

“No. Which is why I’m telling you the truth.” The breeze was tossing her ponytail, and he touched the ends of her hair. He’d bet money that dark chocolate color was natural. “I decided to abstain for personal reasons.”

She glanced at his lap again, like she thought he suffered from erectile disfunction or something. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“So apparently I misunderstood then… because I could have sworn you were hitting on me.”

“I was. I am.”

“I thought you wanted sex,” she said baldly.

“I do want sex.” He did. Very, very much so. With her, and only her. She was the first woman to genuinely pique his interest in a long time. “But I also want to get to know you, too.”

Allison studied him. She looked contemplative. “Huh. It seems I’m not the only one with layers. I guess I owe you an apology for making assumptions when I don’t know you.”

That meant more to him than it really should, but it made his throat tighten. He put his arm around her, drawing her in close to him. “It’s okay.

But just watch where your hands go or we’re going to end up at home without rounding the bases, and to tell you the truth, I’m looking forward to getting there one base at a time.”

He was. That surprised him more than it should have. Wasn’t that what he’d been waiting for? Not for the right woman to bang, but the right woman to get to know, and slide into intimacy with her, one step at a time?

“Is that a baseball metaphor?” Her arms slipped around his waist.

Marco felt a very base male satisfaction in holding her, sharing his body heat with her. “Yes.”

“That would be why I have no idea what you just said.”

He laughed. But then he looked down at her, serious, the thought of sex with Allison making his body tight, his jaw set. “It means I want to be very well acquainted with your body before I enter it.”

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