‘You’re kidding,’ he murmured. ‘It’s like dawn. And we were up past midnight.’
‘I know, and it was the most spectacular night of my life,’ she said, still grinning like a loon.
After they had spent Saturday morning in bed yesterday, catching up on missed sleep and then a lot of missed sex, a stylist had arrived with a selection of designer gowns for her to choose from for a ‘special surprise’ that evening. She’d wanted to object to Alex buying a gown for her, but when she’d seen the stunning display—from a range of designers she had heard of but never thought she would have the chance to actually wear—she’d decided it would be churlish and small-minded not to accept his very generous offer. He’d given in when she’d demanded the chance to work, had even got sweetly overprotective about making sure she got home safely by picking her up on Friday night from the bar. So it would be unappreciative not to allow him to buy the spectacular off-the-shoulder emerald velvet creation. Surely?
The surprise night had turned out to be even more stunning than the gown. She’d felt like a queen on Alex’s arm, taking her seat in a private box at the Winter Garden, a heritage theatre on Broadway—which had been converted from a horse exchange, of all things, in 1911—for the opening night of a brand-new musical. The singing and dancing had been stirring and exciting, but not as stirring as the smouldering glances from the man by her side, resplendent in a black tux perfectly tailored to his muscular frame, nor as exciting as the incendiary kiss on her bare shoulder as she’d shed a tear, completely engrossed in the show’s romantic climax.
They’d ended up at an exclusive after-party in a rooftop bar overlooking the Rockefeller Center’s ice rink. The rink’s eighty-foot Christmas tree had taken her breath away, as she’d absorbed the blaze of a thousand flickering gold lights glittering in the night just for them, it seemed. She’d shared champagne cocktails, cordon-bleu canapés and small talk with an array of famous people she’d only ever seen before on TV. She’d chatted with an ex-President and his First Lady about the Highlands, a rock icon about her latest album and had congratulated the A-list Hollywood star of the show for his bring-the-house-down performance. All the while, Alex’s large hand had rested on the small of her back, possessive and protective, as he’d whispered in her ear about what he’d planned to do to her later... Even more exciting was arriving back at the penthouse to have him strip off her designer gown as soon as they got out of the elevator and make mad, passionate love on the floor of the entrance hall... Because they’d both been too desperate to wait. They’d remedied that oversight later in the en suite shower and then in his bed. Twice.
Heat hit her cheeks at the memory of his thick girth sliding into her from behind as the hot spray from the shower rained down on both of them, his callused palms clasping her breasts to anchor her for the ruthless internal stroking as he rode them both to another epic orgasm.
Bethany had been right. This Christmas was going to be the most amazing adventure she had ever had, and she planned to experience every single second to the full and stay resolutely in the moment. She and Alex didn’t have a future or a past, but they had a sizzling, kinetic connection right now, which she intended to explore out of bed today.
While she couldn’t possibly match the glitz and glamour of what Alex could afford, she had ideas of her own on how to experience a New York Christmas. She’d interrogated Mel and her co-workers at The Circle Bar for ideas that were not only within her budget, but which she doubted Alex had ever experienced either. Because he’d told her yesterday on the way to the theatre he didn’t ‘do Christmas’ as a rule.
Whatever that meant, it needed to be remedied.
Christmas was a season that had always seemed pregnant with so many possibilities during the quiet Christmases she’d spent on Moira. She’d always enjoyed the day itself, one of the few her parents hadn’t worked non-stop. They’d decorate a plastic tree her father set up in the parlour each year, cook a turkey shipped over from the mainland—and which they would all be thoroughly sick of by the time the leftovers were finished in January—and exchange home-made gifts. But the season had been literally one day, the farm work taking precedence and any snowfall quickly becoming a burden because it meant bringing all the sheep in from far-flung parts of the smallholding. Since Ross and Susan MacGregor had been gone, she’d celebrated Christmas at the pub, while daydreaming about what it would be like to be somewhere where you could anticipate every moment in the run-up to the day itself.
It was already December fifth. They only had twenty days left to make the most of the festive bling New York was famous for, and only two more weekends—with no guarantee she wouldn’t have to work. All of which meant, however much she loved spooning with Alex on a Sunday morning while he lazily stroked her to orgasm, they had to get a move on.
Marching over to the room’s control panel, she keyed in the code to lift the shades on the glass wall.
Alex swore and covered his eyes. ‘What is it with your sadistic use of daylight to wake me up?’
She chuckled. He really was adorable when he was all rugged and rumpled and sleep deprived. And naked. She slapped down the shot of lust and threw a pillow at him.
‘Hurry up and take a shower while I fix breakfast,’ she said, skipping away from him as she made a dash for the door. ‘We need to get to the first stop on Ellie MacGregor’s Budget Christmas Tour of Manhattanearlybecause I have it on very good authority it gets super-crowded.’
‘Hey, how about we do Alex Costa’s Budget Christmas Tour of Eleanor MacGregor’s Clitoris instead?’ he shouted after her. ‘Think of all the money we’d save!’
She was still laughing—and trying to control the all-over body-blush at the memory of the in-depth tour of her clitoris he’d taken in the early hours of the morning—as she headed to the penthouse’s kitchen.
As she set out the ingredients she’d sourced at a gourmet grocery store, she suspected Alex was going to be complaining even more when he discovered he was getting Scottish porridge for breakfast.
He’d thank her later, she decided. She couldn’t think of a better way to keep their stamina up during the day she had planned—highlights of which included ice-skating in Bryant Park, window-shopping along Fifth Avenue, feasting on take-out hot pastrami and rye sandwiches and then heading home through Central Park in the winter twilight.
Once they arrived back at the penthouse, maybe they could get to Alex’s alternative tour suggestion. She poured the milk and steel-cut oats into a saucepan as the blush went haywire.
CHAPTER TEN
‘HEY,YOU’REFREEZING. Let’s head back to the apartment,’ Alex murmured into the spray of chestnut curls peeping out from under Eleanor’s beanie.
He breathed in a lungful of her scent—sweet, spicey and addictive.
‘Can we just watch the sunset?’ she asked, relaxing into his arms. She pointed across the park from their vantage point on Bow Bridge.
The bow-shaped Victorian arch that connected Cherry Hill to the Rambles in Central Park had been featured in a ton of romantic movies—none of which he’d watched.
He probably should have been more wary when she’d asked about the bridge, but he was too damn exhausted and content to be cautious and so here they were snuggled up like a couple of loved-up newly-weds—watching a sunset, of all things.
‘I can see your penthouse from here,’ she said, with the exhilaration that hadn’t dimmed since too-early o’clock this morning when she’d woken him up.
She’d lapped up every experience today—checking out the window displays in Bergdorf Goodman’s on Fifth with exactly the same artless excitement as she’d had when meeting a former US President and his First Lady at last night’s party.
He’d found it charming and cute and hot as hell. Watching her tear up during the climax of last night’s show had floored him, the sheen in her eyes when he’d kissed her bare shoulder blade—which had been driving him nuts all evening—turning the pale blue of her irises into a rich sapphire. How could she be so open, so connected, so easily stirred by something that wasn’t even real? And why the heck did he find it so captivating?
All he’d wanted to do after that was take her back to the apartment and re-establish the only connection between them thatwasreal. But he’d forced himself to take her to the after-show party, knowing she’d get a kick out of meeting the cast and the VIP guests. And needing to prove to himself he didn’t have to jump her at every opportunity. To prove he wasn’tsoaddicted to the endorphin rush, he couldn’t control it for a few more hours. But by the time they’d finally got back to his place, he’d been so desperate to hold her, to bury himself inside her, he’d torn the dress he’d paid a fortune for just to get to her soft flesh, to drive into her body and hear those staggered sobs in his ear as she shattered. And then he hadn’t been able to stop touching her, stop needing her for hours afterwards.