Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 65582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 328(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 328(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
She takes my hand and we walk through the brightly lit lobby to the stainless steel elevators. Virginia said hello to the doorman when she passed and wished the lobby clerk a good evening. It’s little things like that, small gestures that say more about the kind of person she is than the louder ploys for attention she thinks she needs to attract the asshole.
The elevator doors open and I swing her inside and pin her to the wall. “How are you still single, Ms. Ryan?”
“You tell me, Mr. Richard.” She glances to the buttons and says, “Twenty-three.”
I hit the button and when the doors close, I run my nose along her neck, taking in her scent. “You’re beautiful but stubborn, intelligent but with the tiniest bit of naivety. You’re strong and defiant, sexy, and demure.” Touching her lips, I lean in and kiss the corners. “You are a siren wearing an angel’s halo. What am I going to do with you?”
She’s almost breathless, but her hand slides around my neck, and says, “Anything you want.”
My mouth covers hers and our lips part, our tongues engaging. Bending down just enough to find the hem of her dress under her coat, I start slowly, methodically dragging the fabric up with my hand. “I’m going to eat your p—”
The elevator dings and the doors open. We both release a breath as the tension escapes the elevator and we walk off hand in hand. She says, “Hold that thought.”
“I’ll do more than hold it, babe.”
“That’s what I’m counting on, professor.”
“Professor? I like that.” She leads me down a corridor and around a turn. Her apartment is at the end. The key unlocks it and I hold the door while she enters first.
“My Professor of Romance.”
My eyebrows waggle and I run the palm of my hand over the round of her ass. “I had no intentions of romancing you tonight.”
“Want to come inside?”
“Do I ever?”
This time she breaks character and laughs. “You really do have a talent for the sexual innuendoes.”
“I’ve listed it as a skill on my résumé.” The view is great. The city is lit up just outside the large living room windows, reminding me so much of my past.
“I bet you did. Drink? I have a great pinot noir.”
Running my hands through my hair, I can feel my veins twisting to find some of my old self inside. I’m not sure if I should give in or block the feelings from resurfacing. Gentle. I want to be gentle with her and if I let the past seep back in I might not be. “Do you have whiskey?”
She hangs her coat and bag on some hooks by the door. “I bought a bottle of Jack Daniels. I wanted you to feel at home.”
I do. Too much in this environment. “Thanks.”
“You’re the cocktail expert, but can I make it for you?”
“Yes. Thank you,” I reply, looking over at her in the kitchen. “I like mine neat.”
“Is that without ice?”
“Yes.” I walk to the large window. It’s not floor to ceiling like mine, and her apartment is a lot warmer. It has a very Virginia feel throughout. Music starts to play, Frank Sinatra singing Christmas carols. I always preferred Dean Martin, myself. He never kowtowed to the establishment. Ol’ Blue Eyes was good, and damn talented, but Dean held his own while holding a martini in the other hand.
Virginia stands next to me, keeping her eyes forward. “I rented it for the view.” She turns to me. When I look at her, she hands me my drink. “And it’s close to work.”
“Do you like what you do?” I take a heavy sip and watch her over my glass. Her smile is one I’ve seen a million times when patrons at the bar are asked the same question. It’s what they do, not who they are. It’s another reason the bar does so well. They can shed their responsibility and just have a good time.
“I like numbers. I’m that geek who can get lost in the combinatorics of Euler’s equation all afternoon.”
“Yet you picked The Met Fifth Avenue instead of Breuer.”
“I love the geometry of contemporary art, but I find beauty in the ages of art and how it was depicted through the different cultures. Anyway, it’s good to see things outside of your comfort zone.”
“Have you ever been pressed against a window, exposed in ways that leave your soul bare like your body and kissed with so much passion that you can’t and won’t constrain it to only your lips?”
Her mouth is open, her breath deepening. “Good God. Warn a girl.” She’s fanning herself with her hand and turns to look back out the window.
“Answer me.”
From my tone, my expression, she understands the gravity of my question. “No, Hardy. I haven’t. Have you?”
“No, but I want to. I want to take you to that place where you forget that others might see and begin to crave that they do. And if they have never experienced the edge of that blissful abyss, they get a glimpse into what true ecstasy can be.”