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“We’re here. Would you like me to escort you upstairs?”
I’m going to do it, “Yes, that would be nice.”
The driver once again opens the door for us, and Jordan tells him to circle the block or find a parking spot until he calls. I lead him into the building and punch the button on the elevator.
“No doorman?”
“Too expensive to live in those buildings on my salary.”
“I didn’t mean to imply…”
I hold my hand up for him to stop as I step into the elevator with him following. I think he’s embarrassed because he leans against the wall brushing off imaginary lint from his jacket as the car ascends to the seventh floor.
I walk out, and he follows to my apartment. Now what? What do I do once we’re inside? Do I offer him something to drink? I open the door, and he pushes it open for me to go in, following behind. I feel so much pressure, but it’s not from him, it’s from me. Once inside and the door is closed, I remove my shoes and exhale a sigh of relief.
“I don’t know how women wear those things.”
“Not easily, but now you can see how much height it adds.”
“I see that, but you shouldn’t go through all that just to impress a man.”
He looks around our small but comfortable apartment. I’m sure his is much bigger.
“Nice place you have here. Is that a Van Gogh?” he says as he gestures to a painting on our living room wall.
“Yes. Van Gogh would shudder to think what his paintings go for now. Of course, that’s a reproduction, but I love the frame.”
I’m feeling a little more comfortable and ask him to sit on the overstuffed couch that we got from Megan when she moved into her fiancé Chase’s apartment.
“Can I trouble you for a glass of water?”
“Sure. Would you like some ice?”
“Please.”
I prepare two glasses of ice water, and when I come back, Jordan has taken off his suit jacket and loosened his tie. I can see the sleeves of his shirt straining against the muscles of his arms. His coat hid them well. I sit next to him and hand him his water.
“Thanks. I was parched.”
He stares at me, and I can’t look away from his eyes, they are hypnotic.
“Emma, I’d like to kiss you. Would that be okay?”
“I, uh, I, sure.”
Sure? Seriously?
Jordan takes the glass out of my hand and places it on the table, then leans in and softly places his lips against mine. They’re warm and moist. The tip of his tongue flicks into my mouth, and I open to give him entrance. He wraps his hand around my head and cradles it causing ignition below my waist.
His other hand strokes the ivory flesh in between the cowl of my dress, from hollow of my throat to my upper stomach. It sends small electric shocks through me as his fingertips brush against my skin. I’m breathless, trying to gulp air in between his kisses. Jordan senses my distress and gently eases his lips away from mine. I don’t know what to say, and he does it for me.
“Wow, that was some kiss.”
“I’d like to do it again.”
“I’m not going to argue,” Jordan chuckles.
He places his hands on either side of my face and kisses me first with gentle pressure then becomes more insistent. His tongue is buried in my mouth, and I suck at it. I don’t have a ton of experience with sex, but I sure know how to kiss. His hands slide from my face to my shoulders and roam my body.
