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Taylor

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Princess moment, did I say? If it happened, it passed in a heartbeat.

He doesn’t say another word or even look at me for the rest of the concert. I expect him to at least walk me back to the driver who brought me, maybe say goodbye, even if I have no clue what I’ve done wrong.

But just like when he led me to the restroom, he places his hand on my back, helps me into the car, and then settles in beside me.

The silence lasts another ten minutes.

“I could’ve taken an Uber,” I finally say, on the verge of asking the driver to stop and let me out. “It’s not exactly safe where I live at this hour.”

Sure, Uber would’ve wrecked my budget, but who cares? Anything beats sitting next to someone whose mind is clearly somewhere else.

“Do you want to go home?” he asks.

I turn to look at him, trying to understand what’s behind the question.

And I grasp it quickly.

He’s inviting me to go back to his place—but in such a casual, indifferent way, like it makes no difference to him.

I used to be a champion daydreamer, but a long time ago, I had to plant both feet on the ground. Ever since my dad got sick, I became the adult in the house—yet, paradoxically, I’ve never stopped believing in fairy tales. One thing has nothing to do with the other. It’s not because I don’t allow myself to dream constantly that I don’t want, in the future, a good career, a family, lots of kids.

I grew up with just my father. My mom died when I was really young, so I barely remember her. All I have are a few pictures of the three of us and his promise that she loved me very much.

I was lucky to have him, but there are things a girl needs from a female figure—like help with the transition from child to teen, then teen to adult.

And now, here I am with a man I never imagined would look at me twice. The same man who kissed me as if my mouth were the planet’s single source of oxygen, who now acts like me accepting his invitation for sex is a trivial decision.

And for him, it likely is. How many Taylors must have played out this scenario with William? I’m not na?ve. His grandmother said he’s thirty-eight, and looking like that, it’s obvious he’s been with dozens of women.

But even knowing the odds of anything serious between us are practically zero, I refuse to be treated as just a body.

I can’t figure out why he showed up in the first place. It’s clear it wasn’t planned. I think he wanted to give me a gift, then changed his mind.

He’s like a puzzle missing key pieces. The way he looks at me makes me think he’d like to lay me down right here in the car and devour me. But his words are cold, indifferent.

I don’t like indifference. I’m not having sex with someone who treats me this way.

“Yes, I’d like to go home, Mr. Marshall.”

He raises an eyebrow at me, but I don’t care if he’s confused.

“And I need to return the earrings. They’re beautiful, but I can’t accept them.”

“I bought them for you. They’re the color of your eyes.”

“Thank you, but I don’t even have anywhere to wear something that valuable. I’ll bring them to your grandmother’s tomorrow.”

“You could have places to wear them, if you wanted.”

“What?”

“You’re young but not a child, Taylor. You must’ve realized that given my age, and that I’m still single, I’m not looking for a long-term relationship. We could still have fun together.”

“By having sex?”

He shrugs, and I want to scream with rage.

How can he be so insensitive?

“I’m sorry, but I’m not that modern. Sex, for me, will never be ‘just for fun.’ When I do it, I need it to be special.” I don’t even care if the driver hears. I’m too upset.

He, on the other hand, seems to care, because he presses a button to raise the partition between us and his employee.

“What do you mean by ‘I need it to be special?’”

“I’m sure you know exactly what I mean.” I don’t want to act like a brat; I want to show we’re on equal footing.

“Are you a virgin?” he asks, in the same tone he’d use if I’d just told him I had some terminal disease.

“No, but I’ve only ever had one boyfriend,” I reply, turning to the window. What I don't say is that this ex-boyfriend was an idiot who only wanted sex. When I finally gave in, trusting him, he ended it the following week.

“I had no idea. I thought?—”

I turn to look at him.

For the first time since we met, he almost seems ashamed.

“That I hadn’t been with a lot of guys? There’s nothing wrong with not having slept around,” I say defensively.

“No, I know. But I would never have said what I did at the opera house if I’d known . . .”

“Please stop. I want to remember tonight as something special. Maybe it’s routine for you, but for me, going to the Metropolitan is something I’ll cherish forever—a memory to hold on to when things get rough.”

Crap, I shouldn’t have added that last part. He doesn’t need to know so much about me.

“You can go as many times as you want. I have that box all year long.”

And risk seeing him with another woman? Over my dead body.

“Thank you,” I say, voice dripping with artificial sweetness, still fuming inside.

“You’re annoyed by my honesty. I want you, but I’m trying to be honorable, Taylor,” he says after a few seconds, during which I pretend to focus on my hands folded in my lap.

“I don’t understand.”

“I could seduce you, but then I’d leave the next day. Or the one after. Definitely soon. It wouldn’t be something someone as inexperienced as you could handle.”

“I’m young, Mr. Marshall, but I can make my own decisions,” I snap back, as though I’m the one dismissing him, not the other way around.

Basically, he just told me that if we had sex, he’d use me and then walk away—because I’m inexperienced, he’s lost interest.

Can this night get any worse?

“You’re feeling rejected,” he states with brutal honesty.

“I’m fine. I just didn’t expect someone so cold to be so sensitive about how I’d feel the next day,” I say sarcastically.

“Cold?”

“You talk about sex like you’re picking something off a menu, Mr. Marshall. For the record, I’m not interested, either. I want someone with fire in his veins, not ice.”

I’m not sure what my words trigger in him, but from the look in his eyes, I’ve gone too far. If we were on the street, I’d run. But here in the car, all I can do is watch as he leans in, his mouth inches from mine.

He bites my chin, then my jaw. He licks my mouth, and just like at the opera house, I don’t know who I am anymore.

This time, it’s not an onslaught but a slow, seductive kiss that leaves me trembling and moaning in his arms before long.

“I wish I could go down on you right here in the back seat and prove there’s no ice in my veins when it comes to you. I’d make you come on my fingers and tongue, screaming my name. Then I’d make you beg me to fill you up with my cock. I’d hold your waist and have you ride me until I was buried to the hilt in that tight little pussy.”

“Ahhh . . .” I groan against his mouth, even though he’s not actually kissing me.

Just as quickly as it started, though, the provocation ends.

“I’m not the best man in the world, Taylor, but I’m not a total bastard. I can’t be what you want or give you what you deserve.”

“So this is . . .the end?”

“We haven’t even started. Maybe today’s your lucky day. I’d destroy you, and you’re too young to handle a broken heart.”

I pull away and stare out the window again, torn between thanking him and cursing him for being such a jerk.

I settle for saving my dignity by doing neither.

Yeah, I’m “lucky.”

He doesn’t deserve me.