Now it was her turn. As Connor’s tall, muscular frame straightened out before her, she began to undress him. Quickly, deftly, but sensually.
For a few seconds, they stood still. Perfectly naked. Gazing at each other, taking in each and every detail. God, what could be better than this?
Suddenly, Nora laughed. She gave Connor a quick, playful shove and he fell back on the bed. He was fully aroused. A prodigious human sundial lying there on the duvet.
Nora reached into her open suitcase and removed a black Ferragamo belt, pulling it taut in her hands.
Snap!
“Now what was that about tying somebody up?” she asked.
Chapter 2
THIRTY MINUTES LATER, donning a plush, pink terry-cloth robe, Nora descended the sprawling staircase of Connor’s 11,000-square-foot, three-level, neoclassic Colonial. Even by the standards of Briarcliff Manor and the other surrounding towns of tony Westchester, his home was impressive.
It was also impeccably furnished—every room a superb blending of form and function, style and comfort. The very best New York City antique shops meet the best of Connecticut—Eleish Van Breems, New Canaan Antiques, the Silk Purse, the Cellar. Signature works by Monet, Hudson River School Star Thomas Cole, Magritte, and a George III secretary in the library which had once been owned by J. P. Morgan. A humidor, originally presented to Castro by Richard Nixon along with provenance documentation. A nearly full, walk-in wine cellar that held four thousand bottles.
True, Connor had hired one of the very best decorators in New York. In fact, he was so impressed with her, he asked her out on a date. Six months later she was tying him up in bed.
And he’d never felt more happy, more excited, more alive in his entire life.
Five years before, he’d found love, marveled at it, treasured it, but his fiancé Moira had died of cancer. He’d never thought he could find love again, but suddenly there she was, the amazing Nora Sinclair.
Nora walked through the marble foyer and past the dining room. Before she had to leave, there was just enough time to take pity on the appetite she’d worked up in Connor.
She entered the kitchen, her favorite room in the house. Prior to enrolling at the New York School of Interior Design, she’d thought about becoming a chef, even going so far as taking courses at Le Cordon Bleu in Paris.
While she chose to decorate homes instead of plates, cooking remained one of Nora’s passions. It relaxed her, helped clear her mind. Even making something as basic as Connor’s favorite: a big, jui
cy, double-cheeseburger with onions—and inside, caviar.
Fifteen minutes later, she called out to him. “Honey, it’s almost ready. Are you?”
Back in shorts and Polo shirt, he made his way downstairs and ambled up behind Nora at the stove. “No place else on earth…”
“… I’d rather be,” she said, taking her cue. It was one of their things. A shared mantra. Little testaments of making the most of their time together, which, given their bustling careers, was always at a premium.
He peered over her shoulder as she sliced into a large onion. “They never make you cry, huh?”
“No, I guess they don’t.”
Connor took a seat at the kitchen table. “When is the car service picking you up?”
“Less than an hour.”
He nodded, fidgeted with a place mat. “So where is this client of yours who’s making you work on a Sunday?”
“Boston,” she answered. “Retired guy who just bought and renovated a huge brownstone in the Back Bay.”
Nora cut a kaiser roll and loaded it up with the sizzling double cheeseburger and onions. She grabbed an Amstel Light for Connor and another Evian water for herself from the fridge.
“Better than Smith & Wollensky,” he said after the first bite. “With a far more attractive chef, I might add.”
Nora took a sip of water and watched him begin to make quick work of her cooking. He always did. Such a healthy appetite! Good for him.
“God, I love you,” he suddenly gushed.
“And I love you.” Nora stopped and stared into his blue eyes. “I do. I adore you, actually.”