Thrill Me. Isabel Sharpe

engine.

      Unfortunately, he wasn’t there. Or fortunately, depending on whose nerves you asked. Not that she wasn’t thrilled to be doing this, of course she was. It’s just that…well how did you behave during a long commute with someone you barely knew that you were planning to screw for an entire week?

      Hey, how are you? Hot for this time of year, isn’t it? Looking forward to penetrating me?

      Maybe it was better they’d meet at the hotel.

      Half an hour later, May emerged from the train onto a hot, dark, underground platform, dragging her rolling suitcase behind her. She inched along, in closer proximity to more strangers than she cared to be, and struggled up the stairs. Penn Station made Newark Airport look like a ghost town.

      Not that she’d never seen crowds before. Not that she hadn’t expected everything to be Milwaukee times four, Oshkosh times ten. And Pine River, Wisconsin, the town she grew up in, times…did they make numbers that big?

      Onward to her adventure. She’d met Trevor a month ago when he’d come through for the University of Wisconsin “spirit day” celebration and stopped by to catch up with an old professor at the business school, where she worked as assistant to the Dean.

      They’d hit it off immediately. Gone from polite chat, to his invitation for coffee, to his invitation to drinks, to his invitation to dinner, to his invitation to his hotel room, which she’d declined, though she’d been tempted. When had any man paid this much attention to her? Then after he left town, he’d e-mailed her. Called her. And, incredibly, called her again. Until chatting with him became a regular part of her day. A bright spot in the last few dismal months since Dan had pronounced their six-year relationship over, because he wasn’t feeling the excitement anymore. Because he’d had a vision of them together for the rest of their lives, doing the same things, having the same arguments they’d had since college, and it wasn’t pretty.

      Pretty? Who could keep pretty going forever? Life wasn’t an adventure day in and day out. You worked, you came home, you had kids, you raised them, you retired, you died. Along the way you found things to enjoy so you stayed out of ruts.

      Of course she couldn’t stop him going where he needed to go. But feeling left behind sucked, not to mention feeling as if your guts had been ripped out. Though she knew Dan top to bottom, and couldn’t help the sneaking suspicion that after he sowed whatever oats he felt he had to sow, he’d be back and their lives would progress smoothly toward the future as they’d always planned. Life was beautiful and miraculous all on its own. You didn’t need to keep creating adrenaline rushes to enjoy it.

      Okay, so she was after one now. Probably in reaction to what Dan had said about her, about their lives together. Dull and predictable? Not this week, honey. The e-mails and phone calls with Trevor had gotten increasingly intimate. Increasingly…sexual in tone. Why not? Dan was the only man she’d ever been with, and admittedly she was curious. Trevor was extremely attractive, and he must be a gazillionaire because he’d unexpectedly and thrillingly invited her to stay with him for a week at HUSH Hotel in Manhattan.

      Her jaw had nearly hit her desk when she researched it on Google and got an eyeful of the luxurious accommodations, the “discreet” nature of the place. Said jaw nearly hit the floor when she got a load of the price tag. A family of four could eat for a month on what it cost to stay there one night.

      So here she was, on her way to having a wild, wonderful sexual fling. And then going back to her so-called boring life. Which didn’t really seem that boring apart from a little restlessness, a niggling suspicion now and then that there must be more. She figured that was normal. Her mom had chased a dream to Radio City Music Hall and discovered being a Rockette was hard work, fun, sometimes tedious, occasionally exciting, occasionally disappointing, same as anything. Maybe that’s what Dan needed to learn. Maybe once he learned it, he’d come back to her.

      Or maybe this week would change everything.

      Now. To find her way up to street level and get a taxi to the hotel. She moved purposefully forward and bumped into someone, then someone else on the rebound. “Excuse me, I’m sor—”

      “Watch where you’re going, honey.”

      Honey? She made a face at the suited back of the retreating jerk, and then realized poking her tongue out in Penn Station was definitely not a New Yorker thing to do. Giving him the finger probably was, but she didn’t have that in her.

      Okay. She was going to have to become Veronica Lake to deal with this. All her life she’d combated shyness and introvert tendencies that separated her from the social mainstream. As a tactic to give herself courage she’d imitated leading ladies from her mother’s stack of old movies. When Mom said she looked like Veronica Lake, her movie star persona had achieved focus.

      So. Onward, Veronica.

      She straightened and walked briskly, trying not to gawk at everything, trying to keep a furtive eye out for signs to where she was going. Seventh Avenue, Eighth Avenue, which exit did she want?

      She picked Seventh and was rewarded with a street view and the marquis of Madison Square Garden. Taxi stand here, Trevor had said. Yes, there. With a thirty-foot lineup.

      Veronica’s who-cares expression crumpled a little. Was everyone in New York waiting here? It would take hours to get a cab.

      Straightening her shoulders, she marched to the end of the line. No problem. Veronica did this all the time. This was her city. She was coming home after a wild weekend with fraternity boys at Princeton. Nobody better mess with her.

      In line, she started realizing how warm it was for early July, at least compared to Oshkosh. The noon sun managed to find its way through the buildings and beat right down on her. Horns honked. The whistle of the uniformed man guiding people to cabs shrieked repeatedly. Cigarette smoke traveled unerringly into May’s face with every puff and exhale of the woman in front of her. Sweat formed on her forehead and prickled under her arms. Lovely. She hoped she had the chance to shower at the hotel before Trevor showed up.

      A thrill of adrenaline shot through her as she moved up in the line. She was really doing this. Really going to see him again. Really going to spend the week in his jovial sexy presence. Really going to have the kind of attention and luxury lavished on her that most people only dreamed about.

      Hot damn.

      Except as she moved closer—and no, she wasn’t going to have to wait for hours, duh farm girl—the adrenaline kept coming, but the thrill turned more to fear. The woman in front of her lit another cigarette. The sun kept shining on May’s too-heavy jacket. A cab farther back in line tried to take on a fare before his turn and the man with the whistle blew shrilly and kept blowing, then held up the line for five eternal sweaty smoky minutes by having a…well, animated shall we say, conversation with the driver.

      People around her muttered. A drunk passed, yelling randomly about Jesus and video games and roast pork sandwiches.

      Then it was May’s turn. The cab pulled up. She lugged her suitcase in and sat, registering disappointment at the non-air-conditioned interior.

      The driver glanced in his rearview mirror with dark tired eyes. “Where to?”

      She gave him her haughtiest movie star stare while her entire body begged her to tell him to drive her back to Wisconsin, damn the cost.

      “Hush Hotel.”

      His brows shot up, he turned fully around and—oh joy—leered at her, then winked and pulled out into heavy-but-moving traffic. And for the next fifteen minutes, while the meter ticked higher at a speed faster than his, he proceeded to try as hard as he could to get them into a fatal accident.

      My God, the city was immense, impossibly crowded, a hodgepodge of neat and slovenly storefronts and neat and slovenly people. How could anyone stand having to navigate all this every day? No wonder New Yorkers were considered tough. You needed a thick protective coating just to cross the street.

      Finally, the driver executed another of his who-needs-lanes moves, pulled