I figured Oliver would have warned me if she was a working girl. I had always thought sleeping with women other than my wife to be a stupid hazard many a man regretted later. Especially without a blood test or background check.
But I was getting reckless in my old age. In my rage. Or maybe I was mistrusting my new-found freedom when it came to women. I’d always been tightly bound in my commitments, still fingering the groove left behind from fifteen years of wearing a wedding ring. Moving in here would be a doorway to my new bachelor lifestyle and I liked to stake out the terrain, notice the little things that could result in a failed mission to guard the safety of my men. I turned around just to make sure Rebecca wasn’t there watching me take the morsel dangled in front of me—someone I knew I’d thoroughly enjoy.
But the coast was clear. I was ready to launch.
Permission to engage, you bastard. Make it so! I told myself.
She was lovely to look at and I allowed my heart to melt just a little at the edges like a dark piece of chocolate on a warm plate.
“I know the name of this building. I know the name of this drink. I don’t know your name,” I whispered, leaning into her.
She didn’t answer right away but devoured the other cherry in front of me, tearing at it with her bright white teeth, daring me to grab her and kiss her sweet lips, which of course I wasn’t going to do in public.
But I thought about it.
In my fantasy, she was naked, displaying her perfect ass as she lay a path of rose petals in front of me while I walked barefoot, crunching them with each step.
She gave the perfect answer. “You don’t need that, Marco. I know what you need.”
Well, all right then.
Chapter 2
Marco
Brent brought me my key card. “We will have your touchpad completed tomorrow, if that suits you, Mr. Gambini,” he said, handing the platinum key to me.
“Thank you.”
“I have a bit of orientation to give you, when you are ready, so just ring me up.” He handed me his card. “That’s my cell, and I answer it twenty-four hours a day. It’s a special line for our residents here.”
“Thanks again,” I said as I slipped the card in my breast pocket. She was still rimming her drink with her forefinger. Ollie was waiting on a pair of young bucks halfway down the bar.
“We’ve taken the liberty to stock your apartment with some staples. We understand you prefer Coppola, so we’ve had it flown in. You’ll find a case of it waiting for you. We have some cheeses and specialty fruits in season from our farmer’s market. Next to the basket is an order sheet for anything we left off. We know you like Black Rifle coffee and drink it with half and half, so that’s all provided for you, along with a grinder and French press.”
I continued to be impressed, although it violated one of my cardinal rules.
“I’m going to have some boxes delivered in the next day or two, mostly clothes, but a few other items I’ve purchased, including a big screen for office work. I don’t like anything delivered to my quarters without me being present.”
“Of course, Sir, for security.”
“So this will be the last time this occurs, is that clear?”
“Yes, sir. We have storage upstairs outside your quarters. Would it be acceptable to leave things there, or would you like to approve them first?”
“I’d like to see them before they’re placed anywhere near my front door.”
“Very good, sir. Will there be anything else?”
“No, I think you’ve done a fine job, Brent.” We shook hands. As he began to walk away, I called out, “What sort of problem was it that involved the rear entrance?”
Brent blushed. “Of the female kind, sir. It happens.” He shrugged. “It was a request of the resident. Nothing we couldn’t handle, although we don’t make a habit of it.” He finished his sentence without looking at the blonde.
Good on you.
Oliver approached and asked if we wanted a second, just in case I’d changed my mind. “Not for me, although it was delicious,” she smiled, pushing her empty glass forward. Her red fingernails matched her lips perfectly.
“I’m good. I’m going to be addicted to Midnight in Manhattans,” I said.
“In the morning, we’ll make you my orange juice wake-up elixir best had with fresh biscuits and strong black coffee, Breakfast in Boston. You’ll like that one too, Mr. Gambini.”
I took her arm without asking. As we crossed the marble foyer to the elevators, it occurred to me I hadn’t eaten in several hours. The drink had been strong and I liked how it kicked in. But my mind was far from food.
She was easy on my arm, adjusting herself as we stood in the elevator just so her left thigh lightly pressed against mine and my forearm grazed her breast. It had been a long time since I’d dated, and even though my libido heightened, which I liked, I didn’t want her to see me nervous, which I didn’t like.
On Floor Twelve, we exited, walking into a mini landing room that doubled as a small sitting area. Several locked doors were lined up around the room, probably my personal storage areas Brent had mentioned.
I tapped the key card against the glass square on the door marked 1212, heard the click, and entered my new apartment.
The drapes had been opened, and a stunning view of the Boston city lights displayed before me like a tray full of jewels. I’d seen pictures of the scenery in the daylight, panoramas of the harbor and surrounding area, but not at night. This was every bit as beautiful as the glistening columns in Manhattan I called home for fifteen years.
A large bouquet of flowers was on the coffee table in the living room. Off to the side and open to the huge room, was a stunning kitchen with black granite countertops, appointed with black-tinted stainless steel appliances, just as I’d ordered. I had decided I’d learn to cook, and I supposed it wouldn’t be something most the men in this building did, which didn’t bother me one bit.
She was behind me, telling me she was ready whenever I was. And I was.
My arms encircled her waist as I pulled her into my body. I arched her backward, feeling the heat of her quivering mound. Her soft face looked up to me, her arms up over my shoulders, her lips slightly parted, ready.
I dove in with a kiss I wanted to remember. The first of many. I knew by the way she sighed and moaned that she’d be good for me, to help me forget—just for the evening—that I was a mean motherfucker bent on revenge.
I took her hard, but was careful not to hurt her. We went over the threshold together. The two of us. In a barrel. Over the Niagara Falls.
In her arms I found solace. Her legs spread wide and her sweet moist sex restored me to the man I’d always been. I was grateful for the anonymity, the lack of competition in the fucking I’d told myself I loved with Rebecca. She was no comparison to Rebecca. She matched me in every way, sometimes leading me gently into rooms I’d not been inside during my long monogamous marriage. I was thrilled to be bridled by her beauty, her strength. It was long and sweet and I was fully satisfied, but not totally sated.
I think she was surprised how quickly I’d undressed her outer shell, peeled the layers of whatever had begun to build in her young life. She probably wasn’t prepared to have any feelings for me whatsoever. But I could tell she did. As I came inside her the first of several times, savoring her shattering body beneath me, she turned her head, and I, always the gentleman, pretended not to see her soft tears. It was a surprise to me, too, that I liked seeing those tears.