Four Beautiful Letters (Desire Island 4)

Sophia’s first instinct was to wail, Noooooooo! You can’t go, you bastard. Not now—not when something amazing is happening between us. She bit back the words, reminding herself they’d known each other for what – three days and change? She had no claim on Nick however amazing their time together had been.

He was a work-driven guy who placed his career above everything else. That was starkly clear at this moment. And who was she to blame him? She ran her own business too, albeit on a much smaller scale. She knew there were times when only your presence would do, no matter how much support you thought you’d put in place.

Be a grown up, she counseled herself as she struggled to swallow her bitter disappointment. He feels bad enough…

“Hey,” she managed, pushing her mouth into something she hoped approximated a smile. “I get it. You’ve got to do what you’ve got to do. Maybe we can reconnect at some point. Once I’m back in the city and once you’ve put out all your many fires…”

Nick rose from the desk and moved toward her. He took her into his arms. She held herself stiff at first, unable to settle into his embrace. But she relented as he held her close, stroking her hair as he murmured, “I’m so sorry, Sophia. Thank you for understanding. And, yes. Definitely. We’ll definitely reconnect once you get back.”

She let him kiss her, but something inside her heart—a window that had been opened for the first time in a long while—slid silently closed.

Chapter 7

Sophia punched in the keycode beside the glass door of her small Brooklyn apartment building. The actual flight time to JFK from Norfolk, Virginia, the closest major airport to the Outer Banks, had been under two hours. But she’d been traveling for over twelve, including the boat from the island at seven that morning to Hatteras, the two and a half hour shuttle ride to Norfolk, the wait time in the airport, the crush of people at JFK, the air train to the subway and finally, the subway’s R train to the 36th Street station.

Juggling her bags and the flowers wrapped in newspaper she’d bought on a whim from a street vendor, Sophia fished for her mailbox key in her purse. She’d forgotten to put her mail on hold before leaving for vacation. The tiny mailbox was crammed with junk mail wedged in so tight she had to use two hands to get it out.

Laura, her assistant, as well as her best friend, had kept everything running smoothly at the shop while she was gone. But there was something wrong with the point of sale equipment that needed to be addressed right away. And several large boxes had just arrived from Sophia’s last scavenging trip to various estate sales in upstate New York. She was excited to see the pieces again, some of which she’d gotten for far less than they were worth. She couldn’t wait to get them all cleaned up, priced and out onto her tiny showroom floor. Sophia had been planning to stop by the shop on her way home, but she’d been too beat.

“Don’t worry,” Laura had said, a smile in her voice when Sophia had called on her walk from the subway station to her building. “It’ll all still be there tomorrow. Get a good night’s rest and I’ll see you in the morning. I can’t wait to hear all about your kinky adventures.”

Laura, who was in her late twenties and recently married, wasn’t actively into BDSM. But she was aware of and completely comfortable with Sophia’s kink. She had even gone with Sophia to a BDSM club a couple of times, mostly to gawk. And she had recently confided that she and her new husband, Ben, had added what they called “BDSM lite” to their sexual repertoire, including fuzzy wrist cuffs and playful spankings.

The tiny elevator was out of order, as usual, so Sophia trudged up the four flights to her apartment. She unlocked and opened her door. Edging past her bicycle in the narrow front hall, she dropped her bags to the floor with a relieved sigh.

The building she lived in was nothing to write home about, with its crumbling red brick façade, tiny front lobby and perennially broken elevator. But she loved her apartment, most especially because of the light. The place had surprisingly large windows, set so she got both the early morning and afternoon light. She’d reupholstered some wonderful Art Deco armchairs and a loveseat in a lovely pale lemony yellow floral that always made her smile.

Heading into her kitchenette, she pulled out two vases from the cabinet. She arranged the pretty white and yellow hydrangeas she’d purchased and brought them back out to the living room. The air was stuffy, despite the central air the landlord had recently put in. The sun hadn’t yet set so she opened a window, letting in the sound of children playing, hydraulic breaks squealing, honking horns and a siren in the distance.