No Strings Read online

  And there was nothing more passionate than sex with a stranger. Why ruin the amazing night they’d had by letting it get boring...predictable?

  Xavier’s phone jangled on the bedside table, announcing the alarm he’d set just two hours ago. He had a meeting at Nost to discuss new directions of the app, which member roll was growing bigger every day. He had to get to work. Emma shifted against him, rubbing her full breasts against his side. The feel of her soft nipples against his skin sent a ripple of tightness through his groin. He wanted her again...yet, he had no time. As it was, he might be late. He dropped a kiss on the top of her head and she murmured, sweetly, still sleepy. He slipped from the covers to get dressed.

  As he moved quickly and quietly, he watched this beautiful creature in his bed, her golden hair spilled out over the pillow, her pink lips parted as she slept. The white curve of her shoulder just visible beneath the edge of the sheet. She lay deliciously naked beneath it, her skin almost calling to him. He wanted nothing more than to climb back into bed with her and taste her all over again. He wanted to feel her again, explore the very depths of her. See if they were as amazing on the repeat as they were the first time. But he couldn’t. His phone vibrated with incoming messages from his partner at Nost. He needed to get in the office.

  He bent down and laid a gentle kiss on Emma’s temple. She shifted but she fought with sleep, as it tugged her deeper downward. He wanted to stay here, watch her sleep, memorize every detail of her face. He wanted to keep this with him, this amazing night. He half wished she’d wake, but as he touched her golden hair, she dug in with a satisfied murmur. Even now, she was vulnerable and trusting: sleeping so deeply with him, a stranger. Emma simply didn’t hold back. She put herself in his hands.

  He felt the need to care for her. He reached down and pulled up the warmer blanket, tucking it over her bare shoulder. She let out a satisfied sigh. God, she was perfect.

  Now’s the time to leave, he thought. When she’s still perfect.

  Reluctantly, he turned to leave, grabbing his wallet and cell phone. On his way out, he saw the hotel pad and pen on the desk. On a whim, he scribbled a quick note and then smiled to himself.

  They technically still had twelve hours on the Nost clock, he reminded himself. A lot could be done in twelve hours.

  He opened the hotel room door and slipped out, careful to make sure the door shut quietly behind him.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  A BURST OF chimes from her phone woke Emma with a start. The hotel room was dark, the light-canceling shades drawn, and for a second she was disoriented. Where was she? Then she realized she was naked beneath expensive thick cotton sheets. Mr. X. Memories of the night before flooded her mind and all the various ways they’d explored each other’s bodies. Her neck grew hot just thinking of his strong hands on her body. That was by far the most amazing sex she’d ever had. Bar none. She sat up in bed and found it empty.

  Where was he? The bathroom light was on, door ajar. She opened her mouth to call his name, but then remembered with shocking clarity that she didn’t know it. Was she really going to shout out, “Mr. X?” to the room?

  Oh, God. Had she really done this? Had she really fucked the brains out of a man and she didn’t even know his name?

  Sure, she knew women did this all the time. Sarah came to mind. This was probably her normal Tuesday night.

  But Emma? Never. As in, not once. Not at a frat party, or a club, or a bar. She’d never taken a stranger into her bed. She thought of all the many ways they’d gotten to know each other last night. Not so strange anymore, she realized. Emma could practically sketch his amazingly fit body in her mind. She might not know his name, but she sure knew every other thing about him.

  She studied the light from the bathroom. “Hello?” she called from the bed. No answer. Emma pulled the top sheet off the bed and padded over to the bathroom, finding it empty.

  “Huh,” she murmured out loud as she crossed the room to the curtained window. She flung back the curtain and sunlight poured in. Outside, the day had already begun, and far below the street was crowded with small cars and the sidewalks teemed with people on their way to work. The Loop bustled with energy and focus. She’d soon be among the throng, making her way to the L. She glanced at her phone. She had a half hour to shower and get dressed, then she’d need to head home and finish up that last article that her editor wanted today. Such was the life of a freelancer.

  Emma turned, and that was when she saw the letter on the nightstand. She went to it, reading the precise, neat handwriting:

  8 p.m. tonight. Meet you in the lobby.

  A little thrill ran through her. He wanted to see her again? Was this something that happened with Nost? She thought it was purely for one-night stands. But there was also no mistaking what Mr. X wanted. He wanted more sex. Tonight. Here.

  She could feel a little tingle in her inner thigh. Yes, please. More of him, please.

  Then she felt deliciously naughty. I don’t know the man’s name. Nothing. And I’m coming back for more.

  She folded the note carefully and tucked it into her bag. Then, she bit her bottom lip. She really ought to know his name. Some detail about him. She searched her brain, but came up with nothing. He’d vaguely said something the night before about working in tech, but that could mean anything. She had no idea where he lived or worked. She did know that he came alive beneath her touch, that he loved it when she focused her tongue on the tip of his...

  Suddenly, the room got hotter. Emma absently cupped her own breast through the sheet, remembering Mr. X doing the same thing the night before, remembering the feel of his teeth against her nipple. She felt a rush of heat then, and almost felt the urge to slip her hands beneath the sheet and touch herself.

  She shook her head. What was happening to her? Just thinking of Mr. X sent her into a tailspin. She glanced at her phone. Emma needed to get ready. She retreated to the bathroom to find the shower where just hours ago, Mr. X had sudsed her down, washing every part of her in delicate, perfect circles. She turned on the pizza pan–sized shower head, and the room soon filled with steam. Mr. X was everywhere in this room, and her body felt like he’d claimed it. As she let the sheet fall down, she remembered everywhere he’d touched her, every little ripple of pleasure he’d sent through her body. Suddenly, it seemed that the evening felt like years away. She wasn’t sure she could wait.

  * * *

  Xavier arrived at his corner office in the west Loop in a four-story brownstone not far from the United Center. Inside, the building was all gleaming new tech company: open floor plan, stocked fridge, ping-pong table in the glassed conference room that sat in the middle of the office space on the raised first floor. The open floor plan accommodated just four offices: one for each of Nost’s partners. Everyone else worked in glassed-in cubes. As it was a pet-friendly office, dogs sat near various cubes, and a big bowl of dog treats was laid at the front desk. Xavier wanted to push for in-office day care, but so far, only two employees had children, not enough to make a program.

  The staff of Nost was almost all young, hip and attractive. It hadn’t been on purpose, but the people who’d showed up for the job interviews just fit that bill. Pets were their priority, and kids seemed a long way off. It made sense to Xavier. Not too many forty-somethings with families would be looking to work for a hookup dating site.

  Xavier crossed the main office floor just in time to get the knowing look from his assistant, Justin Tanaka. Justin wore his usual uniform of colored bow tie, slate-gray vest and skinny jeans. The color of the vest and bow tie changed daily, but the general outfit did not. He wore wingtips on his feet and his thick, jet-black hair in a precise cut.

  “Well, well, well,” Justin crooned as Xavier arrived, hopping up from his desk and following Xavier into his office. “Wearing the same clothes from yesterday?”

  “Only you would notice that,” Xavie
r grumbled as he put down his messenger bag. Justin, just twenty-four, was the best personal assistant: on time, organized, a hard worker. His only flaw was his nosiness, but Xavier didn’t mind. Justin kept things lively, and he was instrumental in making sure Nost was LGBT friendly.

  “Of course I would.” Justin rolled his eyes and put a hand on his hip, jutting it out for emphasis.

  Xavier laughed. “I know. You don’t let the office forget it.”

  “Hey, if you’ve got it, flaunt it.” Justin shrugged one shoulder, back to his normal, less theatrical self. “So...” Justin perched himself on Xavier’s desk. “Tell me...who was the lucky Nost girl?”

  “Emma,” Xavier said, sitting at his computer and pulling up his email.

  “Emma! I like that name. My cousin’s named Emma. Let’s see, that makes...” Justin mimed flipping through a binder. “Girl number 438.”

  “There haven’t been that many,” Xavier protested, glancing up from his keyboard.

  “Oh, my bad. That’s 437. Better watch out or you’ll break my record.”

  Xavier eyed him. “Which is?”

  Justin quirked an eyebrow. “You don’t want to know.”

  Xavier laughed. “You’re right. I don’t want to know.”

  Justin crossed his arms across his vest. “All right, mister. Remember you’ve got the meeting with the board at eleven, and this evening, the development team wanted to know if you’d join them for their happy hour at seven.”

  “Can’t do it,” Xavier said, categorically, thinking about Emma and the lobby of the Ritz-Carlton. “I’ve got plans.”

  Justin quirked an eyebrow. “With Emma?” Xavier said nothing, but something in his face must’ve given the truth away, because Justin shrieked, “You are! You’re going out with Emma two nights in a row?” He clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth with disapproval. “You’re dipping your wick in the same well! What will this do to our brand?!”

  “Technically, Nost promotes the forty-eight-hour relationship,” Xavier explained, as he typed in his email password. “And it hasn’t been forty-eight hours yet.”

  Justin narrowed his eyes, doubtful. “Mmm-hmm. You sure you’re not developing a thing for this girl?”

  Xavier laughed. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “You know I don’t do that. It’s the whole reason I founded this company.”

  The company his father told him was a mistake. “Love needs more than forty-eight hours,” he told his son a year ago, before the last heart attack took him.

  “Papi, this isn’t about love,” he told his father, who’d simply arched an eyebrow and replied, “Isn’t everything about love?”

  The damn romantic. More and more, memories of his father kept popping up lately. He wondered why. It had been a year since Xavier had put him in the ground at the graveyard next to his mother. A year he’d been an orphan, and he’d done pretty well by himself: had launched a wildly successful company. Had found comfort in the arms of many women... Maybe not 437. But a sizable number.

  “There’s a first time for everything.” Justin’s dark eyes gleamed. “You know the only constant in this world is change.”

  “Does that come with a free side of zen meditation?”

  “If you’d like. Want me to pencil that in for you?”

  Xavier laughed. “No thanks.” He didn’t need meditation or yoga. He just needed to see Emma one last time.

  Justin gave him a knowing look as if he could read his mind. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. And remember, no texting this girl Emma. You didn’t get her phone number, did you?”

  “No,” Xavier replied.

  “Good. Maybe there’s hope for you, after all.” Justin sauntered back to his desk.

  Was there? Xavier wondered. Was he developing a thing for Emma? No, he told himself. Just one more night. One more night to scratch this little itch. One more night ought to do it. He’d never gone three nights before, never found a need to go beyond the forty-eight-hour rule. But, he admitted, he’d hardly ever come back for seconds either. Usually one night was plenty. One night and he’d felt satiated. But not with Emma. What made her different? He’d need to see her again to find out.

  He pushed the little worry out of his brain. It didn’t mean he was falling in love with her, did it? The sex was amazing, more than amazing, sizzling hot, but that didn’t mean he needed to go pick out wedding bands. Plus, if he really wanted to cool things off, he ought to just start dating her. Propose. Like he did with Sasha. That would fix his want and hers—for good. They’d be a bored couple in no time.

  He sat at his desk and logged in to his computer, pulling up the code for Nost. It was brilliantly simple, and yet teasingly complex. He loved it. It had been his baby and he still liked to tweak it. He remembered Happy Fun Time from last night and frowned. The man had violated pretty much every Nost behavior guideline at the bar last night. He pulled up the man’s profile. Whose pictures was he using? Not his own. Xavier squinted. No way that male model was the same man he’d seen in the Cardinals hat the night before. And the little c and v next to his name...might not even be his real name. He might not be vetted at all. He remembered the way the man had talked to Emma the night before and his blood boiled just thinking about it.

  With a few keystrokes, he turned up the Facebook profile, where Xavier saw the real Happy Fun Time clearly had stolen his pictures. He’d stolen this man’s identity, whoever he was, and was using it as a front on Nost.

  Xavier clacked away on the keyboard and with a few commands, barred Happy Fun Time from the app. For good. Still, uneasiness lingered. The guy used a name that wasn’t his, and he could do it again. He could slip into the roster of Nost under another stolen name at a later date. The thought irked Xavier. He wanted the app to be safe and to be fun, and it would be neither if assholes like Happy Fun Time found ways around Nost’s safety settings.

  Xavier made a mental note to ask the security guys for a way around this. He worried Happy Fun Time wasn’t the only one gaming the system. Still, he’d have to have the man’s social security number in order to run the verified test. But plenty of identity thieves had numbers that weren’t theirs. Xavier shot an email to his friend, a Chicago police detective, asking his advice.

  Xavier focused on his computer once more. He had the information of every Nost user at his fingertips. Yes, the site was publicly anonymous, but on the back end, there was all kinds of personal information he could find. Names, addresses, phone numbers.

  His fingers paused on his keyboard. Should he look up Emma’s information?

  He glanced outward through his walls of his glassed-in office at Justin’s back as he worked. He shouldn’t, he knew. It violated tons of ethics standards, but...

  No. Xavier closed the window on his machine.

  I shouldn’t do it. Should I?

  He tried to focus on work emails, but he kept being drawn back to the minimized box on his computer screen. The Nost app database.

  Eventually, he could resist no more. The temptation was just too great. What could it really hurt?

  With a few clicks of the mouse, he’d pulled up Emma’s information. Emma Allaire, age twenty-eight, lived in Lincoln Square. Before he could stop himself, he’d searched her on social media, and found her Instagram account. Dozens of pictures rolled up for him, as she had her account public. As he scrolled through them: her with her friends, her with what looked like her mom, several of Emma at her favorite coffee shop on North Avenue... He felt a surge of guilt. He was snooping, stalking even. And what was he even doing? Not only was he invading her privacy, but he was doing the very thing he told himself would kill their attraction: he was trying to get to know her.

  Yet, he gobbled up every new bit of information like a starving man. He’d never felt this way about any Nost girl before. After exploring their bodies, he’d been content to just let them go. But som
ething about Emma was different. She intrigued him.

  Was it her fire? Her determination to challenge him on his beliefs that a no-strings relationship was the best kind? Was it the way she’d stood up to Happy Fun Time at the bar? Or, was it the way she’d given herself to him so authentically, so honestly the night before. She’d let herself be vulnerable in a way no woman had before, not even Sasha.

  He soon found her articles online and devoured them, one after another. Emma came across as thoughtful, razor-sharp and insightful. More liberal than he on most issues, he found, she was the kind of woman who wasn’t afraid to put herself out there. To let others know how she really felt. Her writing mimicked her passion the night before. Emma was just herself—no pretense.

  He found that amazingly refreshing.

  So many of the women he’d been with were so concerned with pleasing him, with molding themselves into something they thought he’d like, rather than just being them. He made no apologies for who he was and always wanted a partner do the same.

  Before he’d realized what he was doing, he’d spent the entire morning combing the internet for information on Emma.

  But, he reasoned, it didn’t mean anything. Did it?

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  EMMA THREW ON a sweater and headed out of her modest, one-bedroom Lincoln Square condo. She skipped down two flights and outside into the fresh fall air. The morning chill had lifted beneath the bright, warm haze of the midday sun, and the leaves on the trees were beginning to turn shades of red and gold. A cab rushed down her tree-lined street as she made her way for Armitage Street nearby. She wasn’t sure if it was the beautiful fall day in the city or the fact she still felt like she was glowing from her amazing night with Mr. X, but everything just felt shinier...and brighter.