I watch as it inches over olive-toned skin, and Christ, she's not wearing a bra. The magnificence on display derails all my thoughts of being a gentleman.
They derail all thoughts, period.
She laughs as I bend my head and suck one of her nipples into my mouth, worrying it hard between my teeth. We slip effortlessly into an intimacy deeper than any we shared the first night at the Gilded Room, a repeat of Boston without the urgency or the hesitancy.
Freddie explodes before I do, clinging to my shoulders and moaning against my ear. I give in, burying myself deep and shaking from the pleasure-pain of my release.
I rest against her until the thundering of my heart has quieted, until I can see straight again. It's somewhat reluctantly I lift myself off and shift beside her, wrapping my arm around her waist. "I know we shouldn't," I say, "but I can't imagine ever tiring of this."
Freddie's smile is heavy with pleasure. "Me neither."
I glance around the tiny apartment. Last time I'd been in here, I hadn't given it much thought, focused as I'd been on her. She'd been trembling from the stalled elevator.
Now she's relaxed and languid beside me, and the trembling this time hadn't been from fear. "So this is your kingdom," I note.
She chuckles. "Yes, if a kingdom can be considered less than two hundred square feet. Sorry about the chill in here, by the way. The heating system isn't great."
"Hadn't noticed." I lean over and press a kiss to her shoulder. "You kept me warm."
Her smile widens. "What a line, Mr. Conway."
"Does it give me bonus points?"
"Half of one, perhaps."
"You'll have to show me the heater later. We forgot that last time." I nod to her dresser, the framed photographs standing there. "Who are they?"
She settles into the crook of my arm. "My parents and my grandfather."
"From Philadelphia."
"Yes. Well, my grandfather was technically from Palermo."
"Italy?"
"Yes. He came here after the war. Had nothing, really, but his studies as a technician and a few English phrases. Learned to speak the language within months."
"That's impressive," I say, and I mean it.
Her voice warms. "He started working in a small clothing store, and within a few years, he became the manager. Opened his own store a few years later."
I curve my hand over her hip. "And his granddaughter got an MBA?"
"Yes. He passed a few years ago, but we used to talk a lot about business. He liked to give me the name of a company, and a week later, he'd ask me why I thought they were successful. I'd have to give him my analysis. He'd listen, nodding every now and then, eyes thoughtful behind his glasses. And then he'd tell me what I'd missed and correct any Italian grammar I'd messed up."
The warmth in the picture she paints is enough to make me smile. "He sounds brilliant," I say. "You speak Italian?"
"Yes, but anyone can tell I'm American from my accent."
"That's still more Italian than I speak." My fingers trail across her bare ribs, her skin like silk. "How do you become more interesting every time I talk to you?"
She raises an eyebrow, the smile on her face glorious. "I'm multi-faceted like that."
"You most definitely are, Strait-laced. So, tell me. What's your own great business idea?"
"I'm not telling you, you venture capitalist. You'll just steal it."
I press a hand to my chest. "You wound me."
Laughing, Freddie turns over on her stomach and rests her chin in her hand. Dark, silken hair slips over her shoulder and tickles my bare chest.
"That was my snarky way of saying I don't have one, at least not yet. Perhaps my thing is helping already existing companies rather than starting my own."
"Now that sounds like a venture capitalist in the making," I point out.
She grins. "I want to work at a Fortune 500 company someday. I'd love to live in Italy for a few years and work at a company there. Perhaps somewhere in Asia, too. Singapore?"
"It's lovely there," I comment.
"Of course you've been."
I make my voice lofty. "Many, many times."
Her grin widens. I reach up and trace the smattering of faint freckles across her nose. Long, bare eyelashes flutter over her cheeks. "I won't be able to stay away," I tell her. "Not when I know you want me too."
Freddie's eyes soften. "I don't want you to stay away."
My thumb slides down to her lips, tracing the outline. "Outside the office, then."
"When it's just you and me," I murmur.
"Just us," she agrees, her lips brushing mine with promise.
My cards are terrible. Two sevens and a five, not to mention a two, and there's not a unified suit amongst them. The only possible strategy is to bluff, but looking around the table, I doubt any of my business partners at Acture Capital will buy it. We've played too many times.
Carter reaches for his glass of whiskey, smiling a bit too widely to himself.
I narrow my eyes at him. "You're the worst at bluffing."
"Or the best," he counters.
"He's certainly the least consistent," Victor says dryly. "You change your tactics every few months."
"I have to keep you sharp," Carter says, raising his glass to us. "You're welcome."
Anthony says nothing, just shakes his head at our youngest partner. Carter burns with the same kind of energy I had at twenty-eight.
Victor looks at me over his cards. "How are things in the consulting world? Tired of being for sale?"