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

I took a moment to text Adam and thank him for the flowers: Mr. C. U r funny. So u think I’m wild? ;) We’ll c. C u 2morrow.

  Clint passed by my desk again and was getting irritated. “Do you just want to take the whole day off and go play with Mr. Wonderful?”

  SEND! The “thank you” was safely in cyberspace.

  “No, sir,” I said, and quickly got to work.

  **

  The hard drive containing all the shots of the oils was spinning. My job was to make sure the color representation was as accurate as possible, crop the photos, add the metadata, and format them for the catalogues. It was a luxury for me to be able to see these paintings up close while we photographed them and have this time to study them in detail while I cleaned them up for the catalogues. One by one, I reveled in the works of the masters as I prepped each photo to beckon potential buyers.

  After about half an hour, the messenger arrived with Clay’s new work. Peter, the messenger, was a stocky fireplug of a guy, strong as an ox, and always decked out in his bicycle messenger regalia with tattoos visible on every inch of bare skin. He was so serious all the time. One day when he was making a delivery, I tried to lighten him up a little by striking up a conversation, but all I gleaned from that was his name. He quickly swapped the two crates by my desk and loaded up the enormous satchel he carried on his back. The paintings weren’t very large, but they were bulky to be carrying on his back on a bicycle. As he looked up to leave, he spotted the Gauguin on my monitor. He gazed at it for a moment, smiled ever so slightly, and said, “Sweet.” That was the most emotion I had ever seen in him. I tried to ask him about his interest in the painting, but he was out the door and on the elevator in a flash. Really odd guy, that Peter.

  I buzzed Sam on the intercom and let him know the painting was there. He was another odd one. I actually had a crush on him when I first started working for Clint. Sam was very fit, with olive skin, soft brown eyes, and thick, wavy black hair. He seemed a little aloof when I first got there. I realized after a few weeks he was just painfully shy, but he was attracted to me. He gradually got up the nerve to ask me out, and I was very excited about the date. It didn’t go well, though. He was extremely awkward and difficult to talk with. After that evening, I suggested that perhaps it would be best if we remained friends based on our work relationship. At the time he seemed almost relieved, but since then he’d been chilly toward me. Apparently I had bruised his ego when I bowed out of any kind of potential romantic interlude.

  Sam emerged from the warehouse, grabbed the painting, and started to head back. The warehouse was his domain. He tinkered in there for hours, repairing and maintaining all the photo equipment so it would be ready to go at a moment’s notice. He was visibly uncomfortable when anyone went in there, which was why I called him to come and get the painting rather than taking it to him. I didn’t want to go in there as much as he didn’t want me there. “So, Emily, I see you have a new boyfriend,” Sam said with some annoyance in his voice.

  “He’s not my boyfriend. I just met him last night,” I responded, trying to get back to my work.

  “Uh-huh. He seemed awfully disappointed that you weren’t here when he brought the flowers this morning. And what’s with the honey?” he asked.

  I was sure I was blushing from head to toe. “Oh, the honey was something we talked about last night. I had never tried this kind before, and he thought I might enjoy it,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant about it.

  “Uh-huh.” He wasn’t buying the story. “So are you going to see him again?”

  “Maybe…probably. What difference does it make?” Now I was getting annoyed.

  “None, absolutely none!” Sam shouted, then marched back to the warehouse and slammed the door.

  His outburst surprised me. I had no idea Sam had any feelings for me other than as a co-worker. We were barely even friends, since he kept so much to himself. There was too much work to do to worry about it. I’d deal with him later.

  Around four-thirty I finished up the photos from the Wednesday shoot. I felt bad that I had gotten annoyed with Sam prodding me about Adam. I didn’t dislike him after our first date. There just wasn’t any spark between us. It was never going to be a fit, so I put things back on neutral ground before anything got uncomfortable. It had never occurred to me that he might still be interested in seeing me socially.

  I poked my head in the warehouse and called to him. “Sam?”

  “Yeah, what’s up?” he asked as he moved toward the door, protecting his lair.

  “I just wanted to apologize for being short with you earlier when you asked me about Adam. I’ve only seen him once, and it was a chance meeting. I don’t even know what to think about it myself.”

  “Uh-huh,” he said, seeming annoyed that I was trying to apologize for my life.

  “Well, I didn’t want you to think it was some big romance or anything…I mean….” I was reaching for words, trying to get back on some sort of even turf with Sam.

  “You don’t have to explain anything to me,” he said tersely. “You’ve made it pretty clear you don’t want to have anything to do with me unless it has to do with this damn job.”

  “That’s not it at all. I just didn’t think we were necessarily romantically suited for each other. I like you a lot and consider you a friend.” It was a stretch, but I had to say something to try to patch things up. I had to work with him, and if he was going to hold a grudge, it wasn’t going to be fun or easy.

  “You do?” He was genuinely surprised.

  “Of course I do. I know we don’t spend much time together outside work, but I’ve always enjoyed your company and think you’re very smart.” I was reaching again, but it seemed to be helping his mood.

  “Really? You never told me that before,” he said, again with surprise in his voice.

  “There’s never really been an opportunity to tell you. Whenever we’re in the thick of shooting, it isn’t the right time. There haven’t been too many opportunities to have anything but a work-related conversation.”

  He was obviously calming down. “Okay, that’s cool,” he said with more confidence in his voice than I had heard before. He paused for a moment, then added, “If you do see that guy again and he ever gives you a hard time, you call me, okay?” His tone had shifted and was now almost cocky.

  “You bet I will. Thank you, Sam. I appreciate you looking out for me,” I said, patting him on the shoulder.

  “Yeah, sure.” A little smile was creeping on his face. In that moment I realized I hadn’t ever really seen Sam smile.

  **

  My mood Friday was unmistakably elevated. I was on a high thinking about seeing Adam again. Of course, after my conversation with Clint Thursday morning, he knew why I was so giddy. Around lunchtime, he said, “You really are taken with that guy, aren’t you?”

  I just gave him a Cheshire Cat grin and said, “He’s okay.”

  I kept checking the clock. It felt like time was standing still and seven o’clock would never arrive. Myra, Clint’s wife, was in paying bills. Early that afternoon, I heard Clint and Myra arguing. He realized I could hear them yelling at each other, so he slammed his office door shut. I wondered if they were having marital problems; they seemed at odds with each other a lot lately, and Clint was generally on edge about everything. All I heard Myra say before Clint shut the door was, “It has to stop!”

  By mid-afternoon it was painfully quiet around the studio. The anticipation of my date with Adam was killing me. I was beyond distracted. Clint owed me a few hours of comp time, so I asked him if I could use it and take off early. He laughed. He knew “Mr. Wonderful” was on my mind and in my future for the evening. After a few minutes of my begging, he finally said okay. He kindly let me have the time without giving me the third degree about my plans.

  Sam saw me packing up early and came over to my desk. “Are you going out with him tonight?” he asked, more hurt than angry.

  “Yeah, I am,” I said, not offering any more d
etail.

  “Well, I hope he’s good to you. There was something about him when I saw him yesterday that I just didn’t trust. Just be careful, okay? And remember, you can always call me…anytime.”

  “Thank you, Sam. I really appreciate that. You have a good weekend, too.” With that I was out the door.

  A few years earlier, I dated a guy who worked in high finance, and we often went to parties that were “cocktail attire” or even black tie. There were several dresses I rotated wearing to all of those soirees, but I had completely worn them out during that era. My current wardrobe options for a date with the stylish Adam Comstock were nonexistent, but I knew exactly where to find the perfect dress. Forever 21. A little black dress had occupied a window there for weeks that had my name on it. I just hoped they had my size.

  Floating into the shop on cloud nine, I perused the racks to see if there was anything else that might be more appropriate. I came across the dress that hung in the window. It really was perfect, and there was one size six left. I ducked into the dressing room to try it on. It fit perfectly. Cut just low enough to be enticing but not too revealing to scream “please fuck me.” The lines of the dress hugged my curves in just the right places, but the hemline was soft and flowing providing just the right amount of effervescence. I flipped my hair back and forth over my shoulder a few times and practiced some facial expressions in the mirror. I imagined most of the women Adam had been with were sultry and sophisticated, and I desperately wanted him to see me that way, too. I envisioned his velvety-soft hands gently caressing my back above the plunging backline and his warm fingers unzipping the dress, allowing the soft fabric to fall gently to the floor. The thought sent a shiver up my spine, and that unmistakable flutter returned to my stomach. I knew it was going to be a night I would never forget.

  Chapter 3

  On the subway ride back to my apartment, I got another text from Bec. She and I had been conversing by text for two days. I worked days at the studio, and she worked nights as a bartender, so our opposite schedules made it hard to talk. I was dying to tell her about the amazing Adam Comstock, but after tonight, there would be a lot more to tell. Her text read: have fun & be good…really good ;). It made me smile. She knew it had been a long time since I dated anyone, so this was really important to me.

  When I got home, the first order of business was a shower. I hung my new dress on the bathroom door so the steam could help smooth out the slight crinkle it had developed in the bag. As the suds cascaded off my body, I imagined Adam’s sleek fingers touching me in places that hadn’t been touched by a man in way too long. My heart beat quickened and my thoughts were racing. My mind flashed back to the kiss on my doorstep two nights earlier. He had to have felt the same connection I did.

  I dried my hair and took a curling iron to it to give it a soft wave and just the right amount of bounce. When searching for something to wear over the last couple of days, I’d come across a hidden treasure still wrapped in tissue paper– a black lace Lise Charmel ensemble, including black lace panties, matching bra, garter belt, and silk stockings. They had never seen the light of day because my high-finance boyfriend had dumped me before I had an opportunity to show them off. I had also almost forgotten about the four-inch Blahniks that the same boyfriend had given me when we had to attend a black tie dinner with all of his bosses. Nothing I owned at the time would have been impressive enough for his crowd, so he made sure I had what I needed to show me off. Those Blahniks were a pair of “fuck-me” heels if I had ever seen one. The Blahniks with the Charmel ensemble were the perfect finishing touches for my new little black dress. I tried to imagine Adam’s eyes at the moment he discovered the Charmel collection. That thought made me flush, arousing a hint of wetness between my legs.

  It was a few minutes before seven, when my buzzer rang. Damn, he was early. Calling down on the intercom “3B,” I buzzed the downstairs door open. I left the apartment door cracked so he could come in while I touched up my makeup. I was putting on my favorite Tempting-Red lipstick when I heard his voice.

  “WWWooowww!” he said, startling me. He was standing in the doorway of my bathroom, exploring every inch of me with his intense blue eyes, twirling a red rose between his fingertips. He looked incredibly sexy in a crisp pair of jeans, starched white shirt, sport jacket, and cowboy boots. He stepped back and twirled his finger, suggesting he wanted me to turn around so he could take in the full view. I obeyed, doing a full pirouette. His stare captivated me as if he was fondling me with his eyes. “You are stunning,” he breathed.

  “Thank you,” I said with a slight curtsy, and added as I looked down, “Love the boots.” The bathroom suddenly felt claustrophobic. His presence, even just in the doorway, filled the room. He closed the short distance between us, put the rose down, and put both hands on my hips, taking control of my mouth with his. His kiss was wet and warm, his tongue lapping at mine graceful and filled with hunger. I put my arms around his neck and combed my fingers through his silky hair. My heart skipped a beat as his hands slid up my torso, thumbs lightly tickling my nipples through the soft fabric. I couldn’t control the soft moan of desire that escaped reacting to his touch.

  He looked down at me, his mouth curling in a sly smile and asked, “Are you ready?” He was taunting me, on one hand asking if I was ready to go to dinner but really meaning, was I ready for him, for every hard inch of his eager body. I was totally ready for him, all of him. I ached to feel his long, velvety fingers gliding through my silky wetness. It was going to take every ounce of self-discipline to maintain composure through dinner.

  He entwined my fingers with his and led me into the living room. I ducked into the kitchen and filled a bud vase with water for the rose. “Thank you for the rose. It’s very beautiful.”

  “Just like you,” he added.

  I gave him a peck on the cheek and went to grab my wrap. He took it from me as if he was going to drape it over my shoulders, but instead, he pulled on both ends, drawing me close. He kissed me hard, an “I want to fuck you now” kind of kiss. His breathing quickened. He inched back and perched on a bar stool at my kitchen counter so we were eye to eye, mouth to mouth. I threw my arms around his neck and got totally lost in his seductive kiss as he nipped at my lips and teased my tongue with his. He dropped the wrap and put both of his enormous hands on my ass, pulling me into him. I could feel his hardness pushing back and swelling as we kissed. He reached down and stroked my inner thigh with his forefinger. My clit was throbbing, aching to be touched as his hand slid closer. His eyes lit up when his finger met the clip of the garter at the top of my silk stocking. He froze for a second, with a cunning smile, and then he kissed me hard, engulfing my mouth with his.

  He stopped abruptly and held me at arm’s length. “Emily Ryan, you take my breath away. I want to take my time with you, taste every inch of you, and make you come like you’ve never come in your life.”

  Holy shit! No one had ever spoken to me like that, been so open about sex or what he wanted. His arousal and this proposition sent shivers through every nerve ending in my body. I wanted him badly. “You paint a very erotic picture, Mr. Comstock,” I said in the most seductive, cunning voice I could muster. “And I would like to ride you until you can’t stand it a moment longer.” I raised an eyebrow and smiled at him. I couldn’t believe these words were coming from my mouth. I’d never been so bold with a man before.

  He seemed genuinely surprised at my response, and obviously turned on by it. His eyes widened, and he took a deep breath. “Well, then, I guess we should get some sustenance.”

  He picked my wrap up off the floor, circled behind me, and gently lifted the soft curls as he draped it over my shoulders. He embraced me from behind, and placed his warm hand, fingers splayed, on my belly, and pulled me against his rock-hard erection, kissing my neck. I went limp in his arms, my heart pounding, and overwhelmed by how my body was reacting to his touch. “Shall we?” he whispered in my ear as he nipped at it.

  Alfredo
’s was half a dozen blocks from my apartment, so we walked in the cool night air. It felt good against my skin, which was still steaming from our foreplay. As we walked, Adam slid his hand under my wrap and up my back, grazing the bare skin between my shoulder blades. My back arched in an uncontrollable reflex to his luscious fingers and seductive touch. Adam told me that Alfredo’s had become his new favorite neighborhood place. The decor was elegant without being pretentious. The space was filled with soft pools of light, giving the whole room a warm glow. The high backs of the plush booths absorbed the defined words of conversations, leaving only a murmur. Occasional laughter wafted through, conveying a festive mood while melodic Italian music filled the air. Our table wasn’t quite ready, so we took a seat at the bar. The female bartender noticed Adam instantly and headed in our direction.

  “Hi, Adam,” she said with what I felt was a little too much familiarity in her voice. Her cat-like green eyes locked onto his.

  “Hi, Sandy. How’re you this evening?”

  “Better now that you’re in the house,” she cooed at him.

  I cleared my throat and introduced myself. “I’m Emily Ryan.” I held out my hand to shake hers. She looked at me, a little annoyed that I had broken the trance she had going with Adam.

  “Nice to meet you, Emily. Sandy Nelson,” she forced out. Sandy returned her attention to Adam. “We got a new shipment in of that micro-brew you like so much. Can I pour you one?” She knew what kind of beer he liked! How much time does he spend here? How well does he know Sandy Nelson? Now I understood why this was his “new favorite neighborhood place.”

  “No, I’ll save the beer for another time.” He turned to me and asked, “Do you like champagne?” I tried to break my train of thought away from his relationship with Sandy and concentrate on him. I nodded, and he ordered two glasses of Veuvé Clicquot. Sandy raised an eyebrow and looked at me, as if to say, Aren’t you a lucky bitch?