Page 87 of Must Have Been Love

And isn’t that a turnaround for the books?

twenty-six

SKYLER

“You know, we could still change our minds and head back to the hotel,” Hudson says, as we drive toward the party which is being held in an achingly upscale restaurant in mid Manhattan. “I can call and cancel this.”

He slides his hand over my thigh. He can’t stop touching me, which I’m absolutely a fan of. I ended up wearing the dress I’d packed to have dinner with him this evening, back when I thought we would be staying right over the water from Liberty and not in the swanky hotel in New York City.

It’s white and long sleeved, with a plunging neckline and a skirt that skims my calves. Perfect for a provincial dinner but somehow out of place in New York. But he can’t seem to take his eyes off my cleavage and I’m here for that.

“By the way,” I say, leaning to whisper in his ear. “I have something for you.”

His eyes lock on mine. “Is it a million dollar ruby necklace you borrowed from a jeweler?” he asks and I laugh. He really is taking thisPretty Womanthing seriously.

“Not quite.” I take his hand, then put his gift into it. He opens it up and frowns, looking at the white scrap of lace on his palm.

“White lace panties,” he says. “I’m not sure they go with my look.”

I grin. “They didn’t go with mine either. And since you’ve already started your collection I thought you could add to it.”

His gaze dips to my dress. He gets the message, I’m bare beneath it. He slides the lace into his pocket.

“You know, the usual response to a gift is to give one back,” I point out.

“I thought you didn’t want me to Julia Roberts you,” he replies. He’s still distracted by my panties. I can tell that by the way he’s shifting in his seat.

“I don’t. I want your underwear.”

He grins. “Shut up.”

“I’m serious,” I tell him. “Quid pro quo. You have my thong, I want your boxers. I have space in my purse,” I point out, lifting my silver evening bag.

His gaze dips to my mouth. “Just when I think I understand you, you completely surprise me. What’s so sexy about men’s underwear?”

“Nothing. But what’s sexy is you submitting to me.”

“I’m not a submissive,” he murmurs. “Quite the opposite.”

“I know. That’s what makes it so sexy.” I’m kidding really. But there’s something so intense about the way I’m feeling about this man. It helps to try to keep it light.

Because in a few hours I’ll be in his bed. The one thing I said I wouldn’t do. And then I’m not sure who I’ll be anymore.

We arrive at the restaurant all too quickly. The sky is getting dark and all the cars and cabs on the road have their lights on. A few of them are honking their horns, reminding me just how loud normal life is compared to life on Liberty.

“Ouch,” I say, wrinkling my nose. “Can’t they take a chill pill?”

“I believe those are now legal in New York,” Hudson jokes, waving his driver off. I guess he’ll call when he wants us to be picked up.

“Does he stay nearby?” I ask.

“What?”

“The driver. Does he just drive around the corner and wait for your call?” I’ve always wondered about this when watching old movies with drivers in them. I want to know their story, see what they do, not the glamorous actresses sweeping through the city.

“Like a beck and call driver? No. He’ll probably go and get some dinner.” Hudson shrugs. “I use a service. They work out the logistics, I just look pretty in their car.”

He takes my hand and leads me through the restaurant door. As soon as we’re at the Maitre d’ station I start to feel a little wobbly. Nobody else in here is wearing white. Everybody’s in dark colors and I stand out like a sore thumb. Maybe I should have taken Hudson’s offer of a dress after all.

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