An Unintentional Affair (The Affair Series Book 1) Read online

  An

  Unintentional

  Affair

  Randi Ocean

  © 2015 Randi Ocean, LLC. All Rights Reserved

  “An Unintentional Affair” is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are completely fictitious. Any resemblance to actual places, events or persons, living or dead, is strictly coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 1

  The city sirens rattled me out of a deep sleep. Checking the clock, it had barely been an hour since I closed my eyes, but the sirens kicked my brain back into overdrive. The chaos of the entire week quickly filled my thoughts again.

  It was just after midnight. He was sleeping peacefully; his tight, rippling muscles glistened with sweat in the soft light. I felt as if I had known him forever. Trying not to wake him, I slid out from beneath the comforter and tiptoed to the bathroom to draw a bath. The steamy water and glass of wine began to melt my stress as I replayed the events of the past week in my mind. Six days. One hundred and forty-four life-changing hours. How had I had gotten caught up in such a tangled web? Flashing back to the exact moment when I was aware he was watching me, it was now obvious he’d been following me for a while. I’d seen him in my neighborhood bodega on a couple of occasions and on the subway on my way to work a few times. It was hard not to notice him. He was strikingly handsome. His biceps pushed the limits of his suit jacket, and his well-defined pecs filled his dress shirt in a way that was reminiscent of a chest plate on a gladiator.

  Until a week ago, I’d never imagined that he noticed me. I just assumed he lived in my neighborhood and our common ground was coincidental. It was unfathomable that a naïve twenty-six-year old like me could wind up in his arms and in the middle of a conspiracy that was straight out of a James Bond movie.

  It started on Wednesday night on my way home from the studio. I worked as a photo assistant for a still photographer. On days when we were shooting, I was up before the sun and heading home long after it had set particularly as the autumn days grew shorter. Those days were exhausting, and I admit, after the long hours, I didn’t pay much attention to my surroundings. All I wanted to do was get back to my little walk-up apartment, get into comfy clothes, and curl up with a glass of wine and a book. That Wednesday, though, I noticed that handsome man on the subway, and again as I stopped in my neighborhood grocery for a bottle of wine, and then again walking toward me on the block where I lived. He was always impeccably dressed. That night he wore an Armani suit, starched light gray shirt, pocket square, every detail considered. He approached me with his graceful stride, looking right at me. Our eyes met under a street light. An overwhelming flutter ignited in my stomach, and I could hardly breathe. I must have let out an audible gasp because he began to smile as he slowed to speak to me.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  Momentarily unable to form a word, I shook my head to clear my brain, laughing a little. “Yes….” I muttered. “I’m sorry. I’ve…I’ve just seen you around the neighborhood.”

  He nodded. “I’ve seen you around, too.”

  “You have?!” I said with more excitement and surprise in my voice than I should have. I was suddenly very conscious of my appearance. My typical shoot day “uniform” consisted of black jeans and a T-shirt, so I looked extremely casual, almost sloppy, with my hair still up in an unkempt ponytail. I tugged at the rubber band to let it fall loosely over my shoulders. He smiled, almost laughing as he sensed my nervousness. “Well, yes, this is my block so I am around a lot…. I mean, since I live here…”I said, stumbling over my words.

  He chuckled, cleared his throat, and held out his hand. “I’m Adam Comstock.”

  “Emily Ryan,” I said, relieved that he had interrupted my inarticulate rambling. His hand was enormous, very warm and velvety soft.

  “Pleased to meet you, Emily. Are you headed anywhere in particular? May I buy you a cup of coffee?” he asked.

  The flutter in my stomach ramped up a notch, and I could feel my face flush.

  When I hesitated, he started to say, “Maybe another t….” He was about to walk away.

  Cutting him off, I said, “It’s kinda late for coffee. The caffeine will keep me awake all night. Do you like wine? After work, all I really want is a glass of wine.” The butterflies in my stomach had my brain spinning and my mouth rambling again. I didn’t want him to leave or think I wasn’t interested.

  He laughed, his perfect smile glowing like a beacon under the street light. “Wine it is. Have you been to TJ’s Café? It’s only a few blocks from here.” He pointed down the block in the direction of the café.

  “I’ve walked by there but never been in. Let’s go.”

  He placed his hand on the small of my back to guide me down the street. His touch was electrifying. Had he really noticed me before, and could he really be attracted to me? Me, a simple girl from Virginia who’d had all of three boyfriends in her life. He talked as we walked, but I couldn’t focus on his words. I had admired him from afar, and now all I could think about was how intensely alluring he was up close, how sensual his supple lips were as he spoke. I wondered what it would be like to kiss him.

  **

  TJ’s Café was busy for a Wednesday night. The glow of the fireplace in the middle of the back room was inviting. As we walked through the bar toward the tables in the back, I couldn’t help but notice the female customers eyeing Adam. He exuded sensuality in every way. We found a corner table close enough to the fire to feel its warmth. My knees felt week from his touch as he guided me into a chair with his arm around my waist. He shrugged out of his jacket and pulled his chair close to mine. As he sat down, the dancing flames created an iridescent glow on his chiseled features. Good lord, he was stunning. I was trying not to stare at him and focus on the menu instead. It was futile.

  “Do you like red or white?” he asked.

  “I generally drink red.”

  “Wow, that’s a little unusual. Most of the women I’ve known prefer white.”

  Most of the women I’ve known…. I wondered how many lovers he’d had. He probably had his pick of any woman he wanted any day of the week.

  “Is a cabernet okay with you?” he asked, interrupting my thoughts.

  “That sounds great.” I tried to collect myself and not get distracted by the idea of him with other women. There was something to be said for the fact that he’d approached me.

  The waitress came by to take our order. She was obviously enthralled with his good looks, too, and stood closer to him than she needed to. He ordered a very nice bottle of Silver Oak cabernet. A bottle. Obviously he planned on talking for a while, spending some time with me. My mind drifted back to imagining him as a lover. I began fantasizing about his provocative hands touching my bare skin. He was affecting me even through my clothes. Bare skin was unimaginable. Just the thought of it aroused me even more.

  He broke my concentration again, shifting to the pleasantries of polite conversation. “What kind of work do you do?” His voice was soft but commanding.

  “I work as an assistant to a still photographer. He photographs high-end art for auction houses and galleries for their catalogues. It’s a great job for me because I love art and I have the opportunity to be around masterpieces all the time. I’ll probably never be able to own anything like the wor
k we shoot.” Ramble, ramble, ramble. Get a grip!

  He had a slight smirk on his face. Obviously, he could tell I was nervous. “Interesting,” he said. “How often do you shoot?”

  “It varies, but usually about three to four times a month. We just had a shoot today, actually.”

  “Really? What kind of art?” he asked.

  “Today it was mostly mid-twentieth-century oil paintings. Next week we’re shooting a collection of watercolors.”

  “That’s fascinating. Who’s the photographer?”

  “His name is Clint Sinclair. He’s been shooting art for a long time. I’ve only been working for him for about six months, but I’ve already learned so much.”

  “Does he have a big staff?”

  So many questions about my job! I want to know more about the mysterious Adam Comstock. “No, there are only three of us including Clint. His wife does the books, so I guess technically four. I tried shifting the conversation to him. “So what do you do?”

  “Oh, um, I sort of work in the art world, too. I consult with companies in search of art. They tell me what they are looking for, and I try to find it for them.”

  What a coincidence! I was about to ask him to tell me more when the waitress reappeared with the wine. She went through the ritual of popping the cork and letting Adam taste it. He closed his eyes and sniffed the wine. As he opened his mouth to take a sip, I fantasized about his delectable lips kissing my nipples the same way he was inviting the wine into his mouth. He nodded his approval, and the waitress poured. She set down the bottle, a small bowl of nuts, then winked at him, and left.

  Adam lifted his glass and said, “To new friends,” with a tender smile.

  “To new friends,” I repeated.

  We clinked glasses and sipped. It was luscious. A rush went through parts of my body that I hadn’t felt in some time. It wasn’t the wine.

  **

  We talked for a while over the fabulous cabernet. The conversation had shifted to our favorite wines and food. I loved that he was such a foodie.

  “Do you like honey?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I said with a question in my voice.

  The fire light twinkled in his riveting blue eyes. “I’d love to show you my favorite way to enjoy honey sometime,” he said with a sly smile.

  My mind wandered to another fantasy. “Good to know you’re comfortable in the kitchen,” I said, returning the sly smile and envisioning his tongue lapping up honey from my body.

  He looked at me quizzically and asked, “What’re you thinking about? You have the most peculiar look on your face.”

  I could feel my face flush again, although since I’d had a couple glasses of wine, I hoped he would attribute it to that. Trying to tone down my flirtation a bit, I said, sort of tongue-in-cheek, “I was just thinking how refreshing it is to meet a man who’s into food.”

  He squinted slightly and nodded, the sly smile returning to his face. He knew that I understood exactly what he’d been thinking about when it came to honey.

  “Are you seeing anyone?” he asked softly.

  The question caught me completely off guard. My heart pounded. “Um, well uh, no, I....” All the blood in my body filled my face. My mind was racing. Who is this dashing and charismatic man? I needed to know more about him.

  Before I could say another word, he said quietly, “I would like to see more of you,” then added, with that sly smile, “a lot more.”

  I had been fantasizing about him since our eyes met on the street a couple hours earlier, but when presented with this proposition, I was suddenly unsure. I knew so little about him.

  “Adam, I’m very flattered. I would like to spend more time with you too. I, um….” I was floundering. What could I say that wouldn’t totally put him off? This was all happening so fast.

  He took my hand and kissed my knuckles. “You are very beautiful, Emily Ryan.”

  The tenderness in his voice made my nervousness fall away. I was captivated by his gaze and completely tongue-tied. He kissed my hand again and lifted his wine glass for another toast.

  “To seeing more of you,” he said.

  I clinked and smiled, not repeating his words this time.

  Chapter 2

  TJ’s was almost empty, and they were beginning to close up. We took the last satisfying sips of wine and walked out into the cool night air. In the course of our conversation, I’d learned that Adam was temporarily living in a hotel a few blocks from me while his loft was being renovated. He insisted on walking me back to my apartment, even though it was a bit out of his way.

  “I would never forgive myself if something happened to you walking alone this late at night,” he said gallantly.

  The flutter in my stomach returned in a big way, and the wine made me feel a little lightheaded and giddy. I smiled at him. “Have it your way.”

  “I’d like that,” he said suggestively.

  The thought of him “having his way” with me suddenly sent images racing through my mind like a high-speed slide show. It had been a while since I was with a man, and the thought of his hard, toned body and velvety hands all over me was a tantalizing fantasy. He put his arm around me and pulled me close, his natural fragrance wafting in my direction. It was intoxicating.

  When we reached the street-level door of my apartment building, he slid his arm under my jacket and around my waist, drawing me close. I could feel his hardness pressing through the layers of clothes between us.

  I peered up at him as he held my cheek in his hand. “Thank you for a lovely evening, Ms. Ryan.” He kissed me gently. The power of his kiss shot through me like a lightning bolt. Oh, my God, I was putty in his arms. “Can I have the pleasure of your company for dinner Friday night?” he asked.

  “Dinner? Friday? I, uh…”

  He put his forefinger over my lips to stop me from talking. “Just say yes. I would love to hear more about your food fetishes.” He grinned and kissed me again, licking my lips and holding me a little tighter.

  His kiss dug deep into my soul, pulling my heart into my throat. “Yes, I‘d be happy to have dinner with you Friday, Mr. Comstock,” I said, returning to my flirtatious tone.

  He handed me a business card and pulled his phone from his breast pocket. “May I have your number?” I rattled off my cell number as he entered it in his. “I’ll pick you up here at seven.” He kissed my hand and said good night.

  Bolting up the stairs to my little apartment two steps at a time, I was beaming from ear to ear. When I got inside, I flopped down on the couch, trembling with desire for him. What the hell just happened? Where did this man come from? And what about that kiss! I stared at his business card. I knew nothing about this mysterious man who had just parachuted into my life. I grabbed my iPad and typed his name into the search box. There were hundreds of results, but none of them instantly jumped out at me as my Adam Comstock. My Adam Comstock. I liked the sound of that.

  It was getting late so I abandoned the search and headed for bed. Before I turned out the light, I had to text my best friend Bec. She was never going to believe this: Met the hot & gorgeous man of my dreams 2nite. Can’t wait 2 tell u.

  In the darkness, the anticipation of being with him Friday was almost more than I could bear. It was only Wednesday. It would be forty-three hours before I saw him again. The wait would be torture, but I had a feeling it would be worth every minute.

  **

  That electrifying kiss on my doorstep filled my dreams. I was so distracted by it before going to bed that I had forgotten to set my alarm, making me late for work. When I arrived at the studio, there was no one in the front area of the office. I called to Clint and Sam, the other full-time assistant, to see if either of them was around. Neither answered. As I walked over to my desk, I saw a bouquet of brightly colored wild-flowers and a bottle of wildflower honey with a ribbon around it. I couldn’t help but grin. The card read, “Looking forward to seeing your wild flowers bloom. I’m sure the honey from them will taste
very sweet.”

  Clint came out from the direction of the warehouse. I was blushing. “Is he the reason you’re late?” Clint asked.

  “Who?”

  “The guy who delivered the flowers. He certainly was not a messenger,” Clint said.

  “He was here?!”

  “Almost an hour ago. I didn’t hear him come in. I guess he was looking for you or someone to leave the flowers with, and he was almost in the back when I saw him. I had my hands full, so I told him to leave them on your desk. He was dressed in a very expensive suit, so I knew he wasn’t a messenger.”

  Wow! Adam Comstock had taken the time to buy me flowers and honey and bring them to the office. It was barely 10:30 in the morning.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” Clint said, breaking my train of thought. “Is he the reason you’re late?” He wasn’t mad exactly - he was almost teasing me.

  “Well, no, not really. I mean, I guess, sort of…indirectly.” We had been out late, but not that late. I was just absentminded after he left me quivering like jelly at my front door.

  Clint chimed in again, “Well, whatever, we’ve got to get some work done. All of the shots from yesterday have to be formatted and categorized ASAP. Oh, and Clay Orwell is sending a messenger to pick up this painting and drop off another one.” He leaned a small crate against the wall by my desk. Clay Orwell was an up-and-coming artist Clint was helping out by taking some shots of his work for his portfolio. I thought it was a little rude of Clay not to come by with the paintings himself and offer to help Clint shoot them. He had a day job and couldn’t break free to help, but it still seemed like an awfully big favor to ask, considering this was what Clint did for a living. I figured they must have had some “arrangement.”