AllFreeNovel
Share Us
His lips curled into a smirk. “Hostile. Bad day?” He paused, his eyes darkening with something that made my pulse quicken. “I can oblige if fucking is what you want to do, and yes, I do have my limo out front.”
“I just want you to leave me alone,” I retorted, the words laced with a bitterness that I couldn’t quite shake.
“You know I can’t do that,” he said, his voice softer now, almost coaxing.
“You did it for nine years. Why did you come back to New York?” I demanded, crossing my arms defensively.
“We’re making a spectacle of ourselves,” Foster observed, his gaze flicking around the lobby. “Let’s sit in my limo.”
I glanced around, realizing with a sinking feeling that people were indeed staring at us. Foster was the kind of man who drew attention wherever he went—gorgeous, charismatic, impossible to ignore. I had to admit, we made a striking couple, though the thought only added to my frustration.
“Just to talk, and then I need to go home,” I insisted, trying to regain control of the situation.
“We’ll see,” he replied with a hint of amusement as he placed his hand on my back, guiding me toward the double glass front doors. He moved around me to hold them open, and once we were outside, his hand returned to its place on my back. The heat of his touch seeped through the thin fabric of my pink silk blouse, sending an unwelcome shiver down my spine.
His limo was waiting at the curb, sleek and black, a gentleman in a gray uniform, complete with a hat, stepping out to open the door for us. I slid into the cool interior, pressing myself into the far corner of the black leather bench seat, hoping Foster would keep his distance. But he didn’t. He settled beside me, close enough that our knees nearly touched.
“To answer your question,” he began, his voice low and serious. “I came back for you.”
I snorted, turning my head to look out the window. “Bullshit. How many women have you had since we were together? Hundreds?”
“Not many,” he replied, his tone maddeningly calm.
“How many?” I pressed, my fingers fidgeting with the hem of my short gray skirt, wishing it were longer and didn’t expose so much of my legs.
“Erika, I don’t know the exact number,” Foster said, his voice tinged with exasperation. “Does it matter?”
I glanced at him, trying to gauge his sincerity, but his expression remained infuriatingly passive. “I guess not,” I muttered, more to myself than to him.
“All I thought of was you,” he said, his voice softening, and for a moment, I almost believed him.
The car began to move, merging into the evening rush hour traffic. I turned back to the window, watching the city blur past. “I don’t believe you. Why wait until I’m involved with someone to come back?”
“I didn’t know what to say,” he admitted, his voice heavy with something that sounded like regret. “Most of the time we were together, you had me in knots.”
“I think it was the other way around,” I countered, my tone sharp. “I wasn’t as versed in the world as you were. You exploited my naïveté.”
Foster leaned closer, his breath warm against my ear. “You were anything but naïve, especially in bed.”
My cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “I wasn’t the world traveler like you were,” I mumbled, hating how vulnerable I sounded. “I had boyfriends, but none like you.”
“None like me what?” Foster asked, his hand suddenly cupping my chin, turning my face to his. His eyes were intense, searching mine for something I wasn’t willing to give. “None who could make you come so hard you screamed?”
I wrenched away from his grip, scooting over to the bench seat along the side of the limo, desperate to put some distance between us. But Foster wasn’t deterred. He followed me, and within seconds, I found myself trapped beneath him, his body hovering over mine, his gaze smoldering as he traced my lips with his index finger.
“Foster,” I breathed, my voice trembling with a mix of anger and something else—something I didn’t want to acknowledge.
He didn’t respond, just continued to trace the outline of my lips, his touch sending sparks of heat through me, reigniting memories I’d fought so hard to suppress. And as much as I wanted to push him away, to tell him to leave me alone, my body betrayed me, drawn to him in a way that felt inevitable, inescapable.
“These pretty lips,” Foster murmured, his voice low and smooth as he traced my mouth with his finger. “How I’ve longed to kiss them again.”
I shivered, resisting the urge to lean into his touch. “You already have,” I muttered, my voice edged with irritation. “What do you want from me, Foster?”
His eyes darkened, the intensity in them almost overwhelming. “You,” he said, his tone firm, leaving no room for doubt. “I want all of you. Forget Lincoln Elliott. I’m the one who can make your dreams come true.”
“Or shatter them,” I shot back, my heart pounding in my chest. The memory of our past was too raw, too painful.
“Never,” Foster insisted, his voice softening as he tried to reassure me. “I’ve changed. I would never hurt you.”
