Read Online Charity's Warrior by Maya James - Free Book Online
Authors: Maya James
Tags: Romance, Contemporary, Contemporary Romance, romantic suspense, Erotic Romance, warrior, erotic suspense, suspenseful romance
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in the city. And you've already seen a model," he joked.
"Are you shitting me?" I asked as the elevator doors opened and we crossed the large lobby.
"No," he said, “I’m dead serious. The manager has been telling all the tenets, asking if they knew anyone interested before they advertise it."
I shrugged. "Might not be such a great idea being in the same building, we could wind up being enemies. We could end up stuck having to face each other and regretting it."
"It's possible, I can't deny that, but I really can't think of a scenario where we would end up enemies, and this is a pretty big building. Chances are we would rarely see each other if we weren't friends. There are people in the building that I've never seen before." Justin stopped for a moment to hail a cab. "You're call," he said as the taxi came to a stop in front of us, "I'm just suggesting you consider it and compare the price."
It is a great building, and it is in lower Manhattan, where I'll be working. I'd be an ass not to at least think about it.
"I'll consider it," I said, dropping into the back seat and sliding over for him to get in.
He smiled and took out his phone. "127 Mulberry, Casa Bella," he ordered the driver.
He punched his phone a bit with his thumbs and my text notification went off. "That's the building management office," he said. "They'll be in Monday. I'll call them for you since you might be busy on your first day. I can get you some numbers and let them know not to advertise just yet—otherwise you'll miss it. This apartment is gone as soon as people find out about it.
"Thank you," I said, "for saving me again."
"It's just been good timing. You were looking for work when my friend was looking to hire, and you need an apartment when my building has an opening. Good timing," he insisted.
"And at the bar, what about that?" I asked, smiling.
"Compulsion to do the right thing," he answered, refusing to admit conversational defeat. "Women should never be treated like that, especially not blazing hot warriors."
"Well," I said, "you threw a compliment in there, so I guess I can't argue."
His laughter fills the cab, and I love hearing it. It makes me laugh, with him—hard. Too hard . And of course, out came my hideous little snort. I cringe and wait for him to comment on it, but he doesn't, doesn't even seem to notice it. We made jokes and conversation all the way to the restaurant.
Casa Bella was my first trip into Little Italy. The moment I'd heard him say Mulberry Street to the taxi driver, I was excited, my mouth watering. It did not disappoint with its stucco walls and wooden chairs, Italian paintings hanging everywhere. We finished off a bottle of vino and are well into our second. The breads were amazing, barely outdone by the muscles and pasta we had devoured before Justin insisted on their layer cake for dessert.
The way he smiled at me all night was lifting me so high I was nervous about coming down. This was why there is a long wake of devastated girls behind him, and I'm honestly not sure how aware of it he is. I feel special with him. I keep wondering if maybe he has never looked at anyone like this, that this is for me only, and I know not to let that happen. There was coffee in front of me, but also the last gulp of wine in my glass. Justin made me laugh again, and I got lost in his eyes—I gulped the wine.
Little Italy was everything I'd dreamed an Italian meal in New York could be, and I prepared myself, since I was becoming a New Yorker, that eventually I might be so jaded that it would not seem so spectacular, but for now it was wonderful.
We hop into another cab and have the driver aimed at my hotel. I am secretly a little disappointed, not wanting the night to end, but as we sit next to each other, I realize our night isn't ending, hardly. Earlier we had been impatient, our lust exploding from the pressure. We had quenched our thirst, but we hadn't extinguished our desire, not in the least.
Our legs are
"Are you shitting me?" I asked as the elevator doors opened and we crossed the large lobby.
"No," he said, “I’m dead serious. The manager has been telling all the tenets, asking if they knew anyone interested before they advertise it."
I shrugged. "Might not be such a great idea being in the same building, we could wind up being enemies. We could end up stuck having to face each other and regretting it."
"It's possible, I can't deny that, but I really can't think of a scenario where we would end up enemies, and this is a pretty big building. Chances are we would rarely see each other if we weren't friends. There are people in the building that I've never seen before." Justin stopped for a moment to hail a cab. "You're call," he said as the taxi came to a stop in front of us, "I'm just suggesting you consider it and compare the price."
It is a great building, and it is in lower Manhattan, where I'll be working. I'd be an ass not to at least think about it.
"I'll consider it," I said, dropping into the back seat and sliding over for him to get in.
He smiled and took out his phone. "127 Mulberry, Casa Bella," he ordered the driver.
He punched his phone a bit with his thumbs and my text notification went off. "That's the building management office," he said. "They'll be in Monday. I'll call them for you since you might be busy on your first day. I can get you some numbers and let them know not to advertise just yet—otherwise you'll miss it. This apartment is gone as soon as people find out about it.
"Thank you," I said, "for saving me again."
"It's just been good timing. You were looking for work when my friend was looking to hire, and you need an apartment when my building has an opening. Good timing," he insisted.
"And at the bar, what about that?" I asked, smiling.
"Compulsion to do the right thing," he answered, refusing to admit conversational defeat. "Women should never be treated like that, especially not blazing hot warriors."
"Well," I said, "you threw a compliment in there, so I guess I can't argue."
His laughter fills the cab, and I love hearing it. It makes me laugh, with him—hard. Too hard . And of course, out came my hideous little snort. I cringe and wait for him to comment on it, but he doesn't, doesn't even seem to notice it. We made jokes and conversation all the way to the restaurant.
Casa Bella was my first trip into Little Italy. The moment I'd heard him say Mulberry Street to the taxi driver, I was excited, my mouth watering. It did not disappoint with its stucco walls and wooden chairs, Italian paintings hanging everywhere. We finished off a bottle of vino and are well into our second. The breads were amazing, barely outdone by the muscles and pasta we had devoured before Justin insisted on their layer cake for dessert.
The way he smiled at me all night was lifting me so high I was nervous about coming down. This was why there is a long wake of devastated girls behind him, and I'm honestly not sure how aware of it he is. I feel special with him. I keep wondering if maybe he has never looked at anyone like this, that this is for me only, and I know not to let that happen. There was coffee in front of me, but also the last gulp of wine in my glass. Justin made me laugh again, and I got lost in his eyes—I gulped the wine.
Little Italy was everything I'd dreamed an Italian meal in New York could be, and I prepared myself, since I was becoming a New Yorker, that eventually I might be so jaded that it would not seem so spectacular, but for now it was wonderful.
We hop into another cab and have the driver aimed at my hotel. I am secretly a little disappointed, not wanting the night to end, but as we sit next to each other, I realize our night isn't ending, hardly. Earlier we had been impatient, our lust exploding from the pressure. We had quenched our thirst, but we hadn't extinguished our desire, not in the least.
Our legs are
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