Page 7 of Already His

“No, I called your studio and requested a fittingwith youspecifically,” he said easily like it wasn’t borderline stalker behavior. As I gasped fish-like at him, he stepped past me and unlocked the door. I could smell his sweat. It was clean and fresh, with a hint of musk that made it decidedly male, but pleasantly so.

“Come in,” Elliot said, standing just inside and holding the door open, “Unless you’d like me to put you in?” he said. God, he looked good. In my confusion and shock, I’d forgotten my embarrassment, and now, as his eyes moved across my face, his full mouth curled in a smirk at his reference to the other night, it came roaring back.

“No, thank you, I’m leaving,” I said impulsively, and turned to leave. His large hand shot out and stopped me, gripping my wrist with a soft, yet unbreakable hold.

“No, you’re not. You’re coming inside to do your job, or you might not have one to go back to. Your boss didn’t exactly sound like a fan of yours,” Elliot said. He was right, Stefania would like a chance to get rid of me and replace me with those eager to please, free interns. Gritting my teeth, I stepped inside. Elliot did not move back, which brought us too close to each other. The scent of him and pull of his body was too much, this close. I retreated against the closed door.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked him.

“Maybe I just wanted you to measure my inseam,” he said, “Or maybe if you’d answered my call yesterday, you’d know,” he continued.

“Are you deranged? Ok, I know I embarrassed myself on Saturday. I drank too much, I… everything – too much, ok?” I had to work to get the words out, as Elliot was approaching me, crowding me backward against the door and I had nowhere to go to avoid the smell and longing to touch him. His skin was slick and shiny. I wanted to lick it. I closed my eyes, uncaring if it looked weird at this point. Think gross thoughts, I told myself sternly to break the spell of lust this man seemed to cast over me.

“You didn’t embarrass yourself at all, and I didn’t call you here because I wanted to make you feel bad,” he murmured, caging me with his arms against the door. “I called you here to finish what we started,” he said. Heat dropped through me, like a drip down my spine. I could feel my body stirring, nipples hardening, thighs clenching around a sudden moistness.

“What we started was fuelled by drink and melancholy over my best friend getting married and moving on. It wasn’t rational,” I stated, and the bastard actually laughed. He raised a dark eyebrow at me.

“Rational? Since when has desire been rational?”

“Look, I know that a man like you mustn’t hear no very often. But that’s what I’m saying. I don’t fancy you, Saturday was a mistake. Let’s just go on with our lives and pretend we never met,” I offered.

“Is that really what you want?” Elliot asked. I bit my tongue and the instinctive refusal that threatened to jump out.

“Yes, it is,” I told him. Elliot Winter was dangerous. He was too good-looking and rich, too powerful. At the very best, he’d be a glorious one-night stand to whom no one else would ever measure up. At worst, I’d already be in love with him by the time the reality of our differences sank in, and I’d be left with a broken heart. Also, I was pretty sure there should be some kind of requirement that the man you lost your virginity to shouldn’t be too perfect. It’d make the whole ordeal much more awkward. He held my gaze a moment longer and then stepped back, his hands dropping to his sides.

“Very well, let me take a quick shower, and then you can do the fitting and be on your way,” he said coolly.

I nodded, not trusting my mouth to blab out more than I wanted to share. He looked at me as though he knew exactly the battle that was going on between my body and my better sense.

He turned to the graceful staircase and disappeared upwards. I sagged with relief, a fizzy tension in my veins that being around him seemed to produce.

Now free to indulge in my curiosity, I took in the expensive-looking hall, from the tasteful art on the walls, imported rugs on the warm wooden floors, and muted color palette. It suited the classic, old money vibe that Elliot Winter had. I wondered what my vibe was? I hoped it was eclectic vintage, but worried it was more DIY-customised goodwill. I wandered along the to where it opened into an airy kitchen, with a wall of windows.

“A garden!” I exclaimed, jealously, as I went to the window and looked out. It looked like those Japanese gardens you see in designer home shows. Now I was sure that Elliot Winter had sold his soul to the devil.

The doorbell interrupted my musings, and I glanced around, wondering wildly if it would be weird if I answered it. I decided it would be, and turned back to the garden. A bluetit had landed on the table and was delicately pecking seeds out a feeder. Elliot Winter hadn’t struck me as someone who fills birdfeeders.

The bell rang again, more insistently. I went to the door, compelled by the urgency of the sharp, short rings.

I pulled it open, and a bike messenger thrust a document folder into my hands.

“I need a signature,” he said, music blaring from one hanging earbud. He looked impatient. I reached out for the pen, ready to sign for the delivery.

“Wait, are you…” he looked at his keypad, “Elliot Winter?”

“No, I’m not, but he’s in the shower,”

“It can only be signed by him. It’s legal documents,” the messenger said, checking his watch. His impatience was making me twitchy.

“Well, you’ll have to come back later or wait,” I told him. The messenger pulled a face.

“That’ll throw my whole schedule off. Can’t you go and call him down? I really need to get on. I’m trying to finish early tonight so I can pick my daughter up from school,” he said. Urgh, emotional manipulation for the win, I guess.

“I’ll try, but I’m not making any promises,” I told him, already cursing my bright idea to open the door in the first place.

I went up the stairs, my boots soundless on the expensive carpet. At the top of the stair, I hesitated, looking at the long row of doors along the hallway. I could hear the faint sound of water running. I started toward it.

“Elliot! There’s something for you to sign,” I called out. Silence. I edged further along, “Elliot! There’s a bike messenger waiting for you!” I called. One of the doors was slightly ajar. I inched toward it, and turned away from it, just as the water cut off. I really didn’t need visions of everything Elliot Winter was dangling in front of me to keep me up at night. I caught sight of myself in a long mirror on the opposite wall. I could see the door, and from the angle of the mirror, the space it was open looked right into the bathroom. Before I could help it, my eyes were drawn by the figure moving inside.

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