Sexy In NYC: How To Get Lucky Part 5

"It's still early." She glanced at his lips. She couldn't help it. He was very s.e.xy. That he knew it was no surprise, but she really wanted to resist his charms. On principle. But it was becoming increasingly difficult to do so. "Any suggestions?"

"Have you ever gone on one of those carriage rides?" he asked. "I kind of always wanted to do that, but I was sure I'd lose street cred. I need a girl to make me look like I'm just being romantic and indulgent versus looking like a weirdo."

There was an image, she had to admit. Marco riding around the park in a carriage, just chilling. "You're a rock star, you can do whatever you want."

"That's a lie we tell children," he said with a wink. "You'd be stunned at what I can't do."

They went back inside and to the elevator. They were tossed out into the gift shop, of course, but Allison resisted the lure of kitsch and settled for a coffee from the cafe. "Want anything?" she asked Marco.

"I'm fine."

She placed her order and fumbled with her purse to pay. When she turned back around, Marco was surrounded by a pack of Asian girls, clearing on some kind of group tour. They were smiling broadly, and all posing for a picture with him. Feeling bad for the one girl who wasn't in the picture, she went over to them. "Do you want me to take the picture?" she asked the girl, who was in her mid-teens. When it was clear the girl didn't speak English, she used hand gestures to show what she meant. The girl nodded in excitement and handed her phone to Allison.

Marco had been giving a generic pleasant smile but now, as he looked at her, his expression changed. One eyebrow rose and his smile became teasing, secretive. s.e.xy. Good Lord, these girls were going to pa.s.s out when they reviewed the picture. "Tone it down, Lucky," she told him. "They're, like, fifteen and you're looking a bit manwh.o.r.e right now."

He laughed. "Jesus, Allison."

She snapped him laughing. "Better." She handed the phone back to the eager girl, who instantly had her friends crowding around her.

Marco waved to them and then reached out for Allison's hand. "Where's your coffee?"

"I paid but then I got distracted. Let me grab it." Marco squeezed her hand, then let go, but he didn't stop touching her. He just moved his hand to rest above her waist. Allison felt the stabbing stare of six jealous teen girls on her back. She was afraid to turn around, so she didn't. She remembered what it was like to have a mad crush on a musician.

Frankly, she didn't ever want to feel the sting of unrealistic and unrequited love again. It was good to be reminded of how agonizing that was.

She wasn't in danger here at all. They were just spending time together. Having fun.

No big deal.

The walls she'd spent years firmly building were still solidly intact, with steel rebars reinforcing them. No worries.

Marco fetched her coffee and handed it to her with a panty-melting smile.

She was totally fine.

Not going to fall for him.

Marco should have taken the out Allison had given him to head home. This was not a good idea, this cozy hanging out together. It felt very couple-ish getting into a carriage outside of Central Park. He felt comfortable enough around her that he felt sort of couple-ish anyway, which was bizarre. He didn't even know her. But there was something easy about her, maybe because she was so straightforward. She gave as good as she got and she didn't let him get away with jack s.h.i.t. She called him out when he deserved to be called out, and he appreciated that. It lent an immediate intimacy to their interactions, because normally it took people a very long time to let their guard down around him.

He felt like he was already seeing the real Allison.

"This is the bomb," she said as the carriage jerked forward, the horses hooves clip-clopping.

"I love that you use words from 1999 half the time, and the other half bust out this highbrow vocabulary."

"I have many layers," she said with great dignity, before dissolving into a laugh that might actually qualify as a snort. "What can I say? I'm an idiot. But I'm cute." She winked at him.

"That you are." He leaned over and kissed her before she could stop him. He slipped his tongue into her mouth, enjoying the sweet taste of her, the way she opened readily for him. For her, he was willing to break his vow of celibacy. He just needed to convince her of the same thing.

He knew she was attracted to him. But she was clearly hesitant to go home with him. But he had hours to convince her otherwise, and he was going to get what he wanted. He always did. And he wanted Allison, naked, beneath him. This was what he had been waiting for-the simple act of enjoying being with someone.

Pulling away, he settled back against the seat, letting his legs fall apart. He needed some room in his jeans. The pump was already primed, and with barely any contact. "Is this what you were hoping for, baby?" he said loudly. "I know how much you've been wanting a carriage ride." That was for the driver's benefit. He raised his eyebrows up and down for Allison.

She rolled her eyes. But then she played along, her voice breathy and high-pitched. "OMG, baby, yes, thank you so much! You're so, so good to me. I promise I'll give you the best b.l.o.w.j.o.b of your life later."

d.a.m.n. He went hard again instantly. She had a way of turning things around on him every single time.

The carriage driver coughed into his hand. Poor guy. The older man had already given Allison an appreciative once-over when he'd helped her into the carriage.

"That's not necessary," he said. "But I won't turn it down either."

She shook her head at him. He knew she was biting her tongue. He wished she were biting him.

"Did you ever send that video to your boss?" he asked as they rolled down Central Park West. The ride was soothing, he had to admit. It was living up to his expectations.

"No. I should do that now." She popped open her ma.s.sive purse. "I can never find anything in here. Where is my phone? Oh my G.o.d, did I lose my phone?" She started shoving items from her purse into his lap as she frantically dug through the bag looking for her cell phone. "OMG, OMG, where is it?"

"Relax, I saw you put it in there. You couldn't have dropped it." A lipstick rolled between his legs, and he grabbed her wallet at the last minute before it slid off his jeans and right to the floor of the carriage. But he wasn't quick enough to prevent the pile of paper she'd deposited onto his thighs from flying up into the air and out of reach, sailing down the street behind them as the carriage plunged on. "Allison, your papers just went flying."

What was the gentleman protocol here? Did he halt the carriage and try to pick her stuff back up? He looked dubiously behind him. The papers were gone, tiny flecks in gutters and crushed under the ever-present onslaught of traffic. He hoped it was nothing important.

"They're just receipts from Whole Foods and a few, uh, other places I went shopping today."

She shopped like his first post-fame girlfriend, given how many slips had gone sailing. But he figured she'd earned the right. "Okay, as long as you don't need to return anything."

But she no longer seemed to care, because she pulled her phone from the bottom of her purse. "Yes!" She waved it triumphantly in the air. "There you are. My precious." She kissed her phone.

"I told you you had it. And FYI, did you know your cell phone contains more germs on it than a toilet seat? I'm not sure I want to kiss you any more tonight."

Allison scoffed. "Please. Give me a huge freaking break. I shudder to think where your lips have been. I don't think a peck with my screen has contaminated me."

Well, she might have a point there. "Are you accusing me of promiscuity?"

"I'm not accusing you of anything. What you do with your lips and your d.i.c.k is your business, and let's be honest, I'm guessing the last ten years have been like a never-ending all-you-can-eat s.e.xual buffet, because, you know, rock star. But that similarly eliminates your right to go germophobe on me."

"I hate when you're right."

"My percentage runs about ninety-five percent, so get used to it."

He laughed. She really was outrageous. "So how many guys have you kissed?"

"I don't know. What is this, tenth grade? I don't have a list. More than two. Less than a hundred. How's that? All other questions must be submitted in writing."

"Yeah?" She thought she was clever. And she was. But he could play the game. Marco pulled out his phone and started typing a text to her. He hit send.

Her phone buzzed in her hand. She glanced at the screen and read. "Gee, a text from Marco. What a shocker. What is your favorite s.e.xual position? That's easy enough. All of them."

"You can't pick all of them. That's one, impossible. Two, a cop-out."

"Why is it impossible?"

"The probability of you liking each and every s.e.xual position identically is virtually impossible. I stand by that. So let's put it this way. If you had a gun to your head and you had to choose, and a machine knows if you're lying or not, and if you do lie, you'll be shot, what position would you pick?"

"In what f.u.c.king circ.u.mstance would that ever happen?" she asked, looking bewildered. "That's not going to happen."

"Well, of course it's not actually going to happen. But what if it did? What would you choose?"

"Except I know it will never happen, therefore I can't get into the mindset of having to choose under exactly those circ.u.mstances, so I don't think my answer can be truly accurate."

It was his turn to roll his eyes. "You're a pain in the a.s.s," he said mildly. "You're just trying to be difficult."

"I am not! I made a fair point. Hey, better to be a pain in the a.s.s than a piece of a.s.s."

"Word." He nodded sagely. "And see, you're not the only one who can dust off ancient slang."

"I approve. So for that reason, I will tell you that my favorite s.e.xual position is doggy style. I like my hair pulled."

f.u.c.k. He was not expecting her to say that. Now there was an image he just couldn't shake. Allison, her long, dark hair spilling over her pale, smooth shoulders. Her back would be long, waist narrow. Her a.s.s would be high, because she had long legs and he would be able to see his c.o.c.k fully disappearing into her...

"Thank you for giving me a useless hard-on," he told her, shifting again on the seat.

She shrugged. "You asked. Don't blame me."

"This is another one of those ninety-five percent times, isn't it?"

"Looks that way." She did something on her phone, then tucked it back into her purse. "Video sent. My boss is going to s.h.i.t. Or h.e.l.l, maybe she won't care. It's not like she loves me or anything." She reached over and started digging between his legs for her various possessions.

Marco stopped her, placing his hand over hers and firmly holding her still. "Stop. I'll get it." He couldn't have her slim fingers sliding all over his junk. It had been far too long for him. Self-control could only restrain so much.

"Huh?" She glanced over at him blankly, then immediately understood. A grin split her face. "Well, well, well... you really do have a b.o.n.e.r, don't you? I thought you were joking."

"I don't joke about my d.i.c.k."

"Duly noted." Then she stared straight down at his crotch and bit her bottom lip, like she was either curious or trying to torture him. "That's a big boy you've got there. Is that where you got the last name Lucky from?"

Marco swallowed hard. He shifted her hand back to her own lap. "No." He handed her the wallet and the lipstick. "And don't tease. It's cruel."

"Poor baby," she cooed. "How long has it been? Twelve hours?"

"Twelve months," he told her flatly, because he didn't see any reason to pretend otherwise. He was on the edge, and not to be trifled with, or she might find herself down a dark alley getting the best f.u.c.k of her life. He'd make sure of that.

"What?" Her mouth fell. "Oh, come on. There is no way. Do I look like an idiot?"

"No. Which is why I'm telling you the truth." The breeze was tossing her ponytail, and he touched the ends of her hair. He'd bet money that dark chocolate color was natural. "I decided to abstain for personal reasons."

She glanced at his lap again, like she thought he suffered from erectile disfunction or something. "Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"So apparently I misunderstood then... because I could have sworn you were hitting on me."

"I was. I am."

"I thought you wanted s.e.x," she said baldly.

"I do want s.e.x." He did. Very, very much so. With her, and only her. She was the first woman to genuinely pique his interest in a long time. "But I also want to get to know you, too."

Allison studied him. She looked contemplative. "Huh. It seems I'm not the only one with layers. I guess I owe you an apology for making a.s.sumptions when I don't know you."

That meant more to him than it really should, but it made his throat tighten. He put his arm around her, drawing her in close to him. "It's okay. But just watch where your hands go or we're going to end up at home without rounding the bases, and to tell you the truth, I'm looking forward to getting there one base at a time."

He was. That surprised him more than it should have. Wasn't that what he'd been waiting for? Not for the right woman to bang, but the right woman to get to know, and slide into intimacy with her, one step at a time?

"Is that a baseball metaphor?" Her arms slipped around his waist.

Marco felt a very base male satisfaction in holding her, sharing his body heat with her. "Yes."

"That would be why I have no idea what you just said."

He laughed. But then he looked down at her, serious, the thought of s.e.x with Allison making his body tight, his jaw set. "It means I want to be very well acquainted with your body before I enter it."

That may be a line, but she was willing to read it. d.a.m.n. The man was hotter than h.e.l.l. Hotter than her first apartment when the A/C went out in August.

Part of her was still suspicious, cautious, wondering if it was all part of the standard seduction technique of Marco Lucky, the rock star. But she knew he wouldn't need seduction techniques. He probably had women littering the hallways of his hotels and crowding backstage after every show. He didn't have to work to get laid.

Besides, given her natural cynicism, she was pretty d.a.m.n good at reading when someone was bulls.h.i.tting her, and she'd looked into his eyes and had actually believed him when he'd said he hadn't had s.e.x in a year. He'd sounded too clipped, too s.e.xually frustrated, for it not to be true. Whatever those personal reasons were, she found it incredibly flattering and rea.s.suring that he hadn't been with a revolving door of women recently. She didn't need to be special to him. Just not a nothing.

"Is this where I act coy?" she asked. "Where I giggle and pretend I don't know what you mean?"

"Not unless you want to morph into another person entirely."

That made her laugh. "Good call. Coy isn't really my thing."

"You don't have to say anything. Just enjoy the carriage ride. That's the whole point."

Holy c.r.a.p, he was right. That was the whole point. Enjoy the ride.

How many times had she heard that and known what it meant, but had never truly been able to live the concept on a daily basis?

It seemed she could stand to learn a thing or two about letting go and being in the moment.

"What is your percentage of being right?" she asked. "Because this qualifies as one of those times."

"I think I run about fifty-fifty."

"What's your biggest 'So Wrong' moment? Not regrets or anything like that. Just like wow, that was a miscalculation."

"Dying my hair blond in high school. I looked like Eminem. Which is what I was going for."