would have a hundred follow up questions Eliza had no desire to answer. Quickly, she hopped to her feet, swaying a little under the influence of five sake bombs and a martini.
Porter offered his arm for balance, and she took it. “Hey. Hi.”
Smooth.
“Eliza,” he returned in his even, cultured voice. “Out for a few drinks, are we?”
“A few might be a slight under exaggeration.” She held her fingers up in the international symbol of just a pinch . “I had a long work week and figured I earned it.”
“I see.” His gaze swept her head to toe. “Pity you drank so much. I would have liked to continue what we started last week. Need you a touch more sober for that, I’m afraid.”
“I would have liked that too,” she responded, a little flustered over his bluntness. If she sounded less-than-convinced, it had to be the alcohol. “Soon, I hope.” After I finish my lessons with Manhattan’s most eligible bachelor, and I’m pawned off on you like a college student graduating into the work force.
The imagery hit her like an open-handed smack. Made her feel as if Oliver had already left her. Feeling the sudden need to prove she’d be fine once that happened, Eliza tossed her hair over her shoulder and gave Porter what she hoped was a seductive look. “I’m really looking forward to it.”
He swirled the amber liquid contained in the rocks glass he held, considering her with a discerning look. “Something is different about you.”
Eliza squashed the urge to tug her dress down. “Here’s hoping you find out what it is.”
He leaned in close, and she caught a whiff of his spicy, designer cologne. Good Lord, the man smelled like pleasure. It was almost criminal. “Whatever it is, I like it.” He grazed his stubbled cheek against hers, making goose bumps break out along her skin. “Soon, Eliza.”
She nodded once to let him know she’d heard him but didn’t trust herself to speak. Not because she was overwhelmingly turned on, even if she could admit to feeling a definite spark of heat in her stomach. No, she couldn’t speak because her chest felt compressed, like it did before a crying jag.
She actually felt…guilty. Almost as if she’d been doing something wrong by flirting with Porter. That simply, simply wouldn’t do. No more thinking about Oliver and how he didn’t merely produce a spark inside her, he set off a wealth of firecrackers. Every time she compared Porter to Oliver, she was setting herself up for a huge fall. This is good. This is a wake-up call .
Or she could just call it off. Right now. Tonight.
Refusing to explore the empty, gaping pit that notion opened in her stomach, Eliza turned on a heel and sat back down on the lounger. She ignore the curious looks both Jonah and Caroline gave her, accepting a fresh drink from the waitress. “So. Let’s talk color scheme.”
Chapter Eleven
Oliver wore a tux like a motherfucker.
Call him arrogant, call him whatever you like. At age eight, he’d been tapped to play ring bearer at his aunt’s wedding. He’d slipped the jacket on in front of the hotel’s full length mirror and felt like he’d finally become a man. Then he’d promptly called for his mother to help him fix the bow tie.
Tonight, he really needed the confidence provided by his favorite form of attire, because over the course of the week, he’d started to feel very un-Oliver. He’d passed two nights at the office, working overtime on the scholarship program in his mother’s name. The perfect applicant had even come across his desk. Francesca De Luca from Queens. Frankie for short. She lived in a two-bedroom house with her uncle and drove a cab for a living, attending night class at the local community college when she could, not the usual course of education for someone who’d scored sixteen hundred on their SATs. At age twenty-four, she’d only managed to accumulate one third of the credits she needed for a business degree.
He’d placed two calls to her
Porter offered his arm for balance, and she took it. “Hey. Hi.”
Smooth.
“Eliza,” he returned in his even, cultured voice. “Out for a few drinks, are we?”
“A few might be a slight under exaggeration.” She held her fingers up in the international symbol of just a pinch . “I had a long work week and figured I earned it.”
“I see.” His gaze swept her head to toe. “Pity you drank so much. I would have liked to continue what we started last week. Need you a touch more sober for that, I’m afraid.”
“I would have liked that too,” she responded, a little flustered over his bluntness. If she sounded less-than-convinced, it had to be the alcohol. “Soon, I hope.” After I finish my lessons with Manhattan’s most eligible bachelor, and I’m pawned off on you like a college student graduating into the work force.
The imagery hit her like an open-handed smack. Made her feel as if Oliver had already left her. Feeling the sudden need to prove she’d be fine once that happened, Eliza tossed her hair over her shoulder and gave Porter what she hoped was a seductive look. “I’m really looking forward to it.”
He swirled the amber liquid contained in the rocks glass he held, considering her with a discerning look. “Something is different about you.”
Eliza squashed the urge to tug her dress down. “Here’s hoping you find out what it is.”
He leaned in close, and she caught a whiff of his spicy, designer cologne. Good Lord, the man smelled like pleasure. It was almost criminal. “Whatever it is, I like it.” He grazed his stubbled cheek against hers, making goose bumps break out along her skin. “Soon, Eliza.”
She nodded once to let him know she’d heard him but didn’t trust herself to speak. Not because she was overwhelmingly turned on, even if she could admit to feeling a definite spark of heat in her stomach. No, she couldn’t speak because her chest felt compressed, like it did before a crying jag.
She actually felt…guilty. Almost as if she’d been doing something wrong by flirting with Porter. That simply, simply wouldn’t do. No more thinking about Oliver and how he didn’t merely produce a spark inside her, he set off a wealth of firecrackers. Every time she compared Porter to Oliver, she was setting herself up for a huge fall. This is good. This is a wake-up call .
Or she could just call it off. Right now. Tonight.
Refusing to explore the empty, gaping pit that notion opened in her stomach, Eliza turned on a heel and sat back down on the lounger. She ignore the curious looks both Jonah and Caroline gave her, accepting a fresh drink from the waitress. “So. Let’s talk color scheme.”
Chapter Eleven
Oliver wore a tux like a motherfucker.
Call him arrogant, call him whatever you like. At age eight, he’d been tapped to play ring bearer at his aunt’s wedding. He’d slipped the jacket on in front of the hotel’s full length mirror and felt like he’d finally become a man. Then he’d promptly called for his mother to help him fix the bow tie.
Tonight, he really needed the confidence provided by his favorite form of attire, because over the course of the week, he’d started to feel very un-Oliver. He’d passed two nights at the office, working overtime on the scholarship program in his mother’s name. The perfect applicant had even come across his desk. Francesca De Luca from Queens. Frankie for short. She lived in a two-bedroom house with her uncle and drove a cab for a living, attending night class at the local community college when she could, not the usual course of education for someone who’d scored sixteen hundred on their SATs. At age twenty-four, she’d only managed to accumulate one third of the credits she needed for a business degree.
He’d placed two calls to her
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