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His phone rings, and he answers it. It’s Albert dropping of the clothing that was picked up from Saks. Jordan stands and pulls his t-shirt out of his pants, pulling it over his considerable erection.
“Your things are here. I hope you like what Svetlana picked.”
“I’m sure I will. Thank you.”
I hear the elevator ding, and Albert steps out with several bags. How much clothing did Svetlana pick? I only needed an outfit for tomorrow and maybe something to sleep in. He hands the bags to Jordan, nods, and is gone in a flash, leaving us alone.
“Would you like me to take these things to one of the guest rooms?”
“Please.”
I dutifully follow him to one of the bedrooms closest to his. He plunks down the bags and kisses my cheek before exiting. I peek in each and discover that Svetlana has done an excellent job selecting clothing. Most of the items are exactly what I would have chosen for myself.
In one bag, I find two boxes of Jimmy Choo shoes, one a black patent leather pump, and the other, ankle strap sandals. Oh my, these shoes are somewhere around seven hundred dollars. I remember admiring the leather pump a couple of months ago, thinking maybe I would try to save up. I can imagine how much the clothing cost.
The last bag I look through has panty and bra sets, several of them along with a short black silk nightgown and pink satin shorts and sleeveless camisole set. I would have been satisfied with borrowing a t-shirt from Jordan to sleep in, preferably the one he’s wearing. Or even better, the shirt he wore to work all day. I want to wear something with his smell on it.
I also find a short black silk robe and a pair of black cashmere slippers. I’m grateful for Jordan’s generosity. I lay out my clothing for tomorrow, a Carolina Herrera black pencil skirt with a sleeveless white silk blouse. After I’m done changing into the black silk nightgown, I go in search of Jordan.
I find him sitting at the kitchen counter drinking my half-finished bottle of Evian and reading emails on his phone. He looks up at me, and a sly smile crosses his face.
“That nightgown looks very becoming on you. I must remember to tip Svetlana well.”
I notice he’s changed into a pair of dark blue silk pajama pants and nothing else. His torso is just as I imagined it. His abs and muscles along his rib cage are ridged. His arms are a mass of tight cuts, and his pectorals could make a sculptor weep. He’s beautiful.
“What time do you go to sleep?”
“Normally I’m up until midnight working in my office, but tonight, I think it’s time for bed now. You’re welcome to stay up if you like. Your room is equipped with a television in the armoire. The remote is on the nightstand. Or you can check out my library.”
“You have a library?”
He picks up a tablet that sits on the counter and hits the screen. Lights come on above the living area, and up industrial stairs of steel and thick cable is a wall of books.
“Oh, wow.”
“I told you a tour would take awhile. I’ll show you another time when it’s not so late. Let’s get you tucked into bed.”
He takes me by the elbow and leads me down to my bedroom. Jordan folds the covers down, and I slip under the sheets. He tucks me in and kneels by the bed, pressing a bruising kiss to my mouth, which leaves me weak.
“Goodnight, Emma.”
“Goodnight, Jordan. Thank you for everything.”
“You’re more than welcome.”
He closes the door but leaves it open a few inches; then I hear him go into his room. I turn on my side, and I’m not sure if I can go to sleep. Then I remember that I forgot to tell Nathaniel that I’m not coming home. He’ll freak out if I don’t tell him where I am. I text him.
Staying at Jordan’s tonight. I’ll see you tomorrow.
Oh? Did you have sex?
No! Pretty close to it, though.
You’ll have to tell me the details tomorrow. Busy right now. Love you.
That meant that Nate had a girl or two over, and he was busy entertaining them. I just hope that he’s in his room and not on our couch. Ick. I can’t fall asleep, and by midnight, I make a decision. I get out of bed and softly knock on Jordan’s door. I get no answer, but I’m determined. I open the door, and the room is partially illuminated by the patio lights that he forgot to shut off.
He’s lying on his back with his chest exposed. Both arms are shoved under his pillow. He looks youthful in sleep, much younger than his twenty-eight years. I don’t want to sleep alone, and I go to the other side of the bed and slip in, moving until I can put my head on his chest. He stirs and pulls his arm out from under the pillow to cradle me against him.
