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strong.  A vodka martini would be nice—if you have it.”  
    He closed the door behind us, and I could sense him standing behind me, wondering how this was going to play out.
    “I think we should slow down a bit,” I said.  “Neither of us is thinking straight right now.  Before I sleep with you, I want to know who I’m sleeping with.” 
    When I turned to look at him, I expected to see disappointment on his face.  But I didn’t.
    Instead, I saw intrigue.
     

 
     
     
     
     
    CHAPTER SIX
     
    “All right,” he said.  “A vodka martini.  Olives?”
    In the faint recesses of my mind, I could hear my mother’s voice scolding me, preaching scripture at me, telling me how disappointed she was with me—only this time I shoved her aside in ways that I hadn’t before.
    I’m not going to let you in, Mom.  Not this time.  You’re not going to ruin this for me.  I’m an adult.  I make my own decisions now.  You don’t have the right to judge me for them, and you sure as hell aren’t going to steal this moment away from me.  Because guess what?  I want this to happen.  I want to have sex with this man.  And I’m beyond tired of being who you want me to be.
    “Three,” I said with resolve.  “And make it dirty.”
    He grinned at that, and then led me into the enormous living space, which had a Steinway grand in the corner of the room and windows that overlooked Fifth Avenue. 
    I focused on the views, and in the process, left my mother behind.
    As he’d promised, the views were indeed spectacular, especially because so much of New York appeared to be twinkling with life right now.  When I’d arrived for work earlier that afternoon, the sun had still been out.  But now that it was dark, the city had become a dizzying, lovely display of lights.  We were too far up to hear the hum of traffic coming from below, so what I saw was almost like a photograph—one I’d likely never see again. 
    Not unlike him.
    “Have a seat,” he said.  “Choose your chair or sofa.  I’ll be back in a moment with our drinks.”  He started to move away from me, but then stopped.  “By the way, how dirty is dirty?”
    “Filthy,” I said.
    With a deep, disarming laugh that made me smile, he turned away and disappeared into another part of the suite.  I went to one of the white sofas and sat down on it.  A glass-covered coffee table separated me from the identical sofa across from me.  To my right was the wall of windows and the magnificent slice of the city they offered.  In another room, I heard liquid and ice being shaken.  
    I was shaking as well, but for other reasons.
    While I sat there, I looked around for telltale signs of who this man was, but as decked out and as comfortable as this suite was, another hand—a corporate hand—had designed it.  In fact, all around me was a slick sleight of hand that had succeeded in making this feel like a lived-in apartment, but it wasn’t.  It was bizarre.  While there appeared to be personal touches, there was nothing personal at all about them.  Not one thing in this space offered me a glimpse into who this man was, other than the fact that he was wealthy enough to keep this suite as his own. 
    But then I already knew that.
    When he returned with our drinks, I noticed that he’d removed his jacket and his tie, and that his shirt was unbuttoned at the throat.  As he came toward me, I could see a hint of the smooth, tanned chest that lay beneath, and I’d be lying if I said that the sight didn’t arouse me. 
    He handed me my martini and said, “Should I sit next to you or opposite you?”
    I was still unnerved by what that woman had said to me earlier.  I needed a moment to relax and talk before we proceeded.  “How about if you sit across from me for now?  So we can face each other while we talk.”
    “All right,” he said in a good-humored voice while he took the sofa across from me.  “Let’s talk.  I’d actually like to know more