by Taylor Dean
In the limo on the ride home, Paul says, “Would you like to go up to my place?”
“I’d love to,” I say readily. Secretly, I’ve been dying to see his penthouse apartment. If it’s as amazing as the rest of the building, I’m in for a real treat.
Upon arrival, the desk clerk eyes me with interest, nods, and politely averts his gaze. “Hello, Mr. Brooks. Beautiful night.”
“Yes, it is,” Paul says.
Of course, Paul has a private elevator leading to his apartment and I stop dead in my tracks at the sight. Why didn’t I think this one through? I cast him a worried look. “Can we take the stairs?”
“It’s nineteen stories high,” Paul counters as if that says it all.
“The deathtraps some people call elevators in this building have glitches. You said so yourself.”
He relents, chuckling. “I did, didn’t I?”
“And now you want me to get in one?”
“I get in it every single day of my life, several times a day in fact.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” I say with a grimace.
“If I say yes, will you get in?”
“No.”
“Looks like we have a problem.”
I wonder if we should just call it a night, but I’d love to spend more time with him. “I . . . could use a little exercise.”
To my relief, his eyes dance with mirth. “Hmmmm, I suppose I could too.”
“Have you ever taken the stairs?”
“Not once.”
“Maybe it would be good for you to see what they look like—make sure they don’t have any glitches.”
“I suppose you’re right, Savannah Tate,” he says, a smile curving his lips. “All right, we’ll take the stairs.”
I let out the breath I’d been holding. “Thanks.” He’s being an awfully good sport about this.
“For a price.”
I hesitate. “A price?”
“Yeah. One kiss for every floor.”
Our eyes meet and hold. “You drive a hard bargain,” I say, pretending his “price” doesn’t fluster me at all. A kiss for every floor? Oh my. Filled with indecision, I bite my lip.
“I am a business man. I know how to close a deal.”
Yes, he does. Several things begin to run through my mind. I think about our lovely afternoon together and how comfortable I feel with him. I think about his courteous behavior. And I ponder over the fact that he admitted I make him think about having a companion in life.
This relationship is going somewhere. I’m positive he’s the right Paul. “What kind of kisses are we talking about?” I ask bluntly.
“Sweet kisses. The best kind.”
I suppose I don’t mind nineteen of his sweet kisses in one night. Not at all.
He eyes me with a glittering stare as he awaits my answer. “Consider this deal closed,” I say.
He nods, seeming pleased. “Let’s go.”
The first flight isn’t too bad. When we reach the landing of the second floor, I’m not sure what to expect and I wonder if I’ve made an unwise decision. To my surprise, he takes my hand in his and places a chaste kiss on top of it, his eyes never leaving mine. My stomach does a little flip-flop. I needn’t have worried about his intentions. Paul really is a gentleman through and through.
“You know, Savannah, what goes up must come down.”
“The thought did cross my mind.”
“And you’re okay with that?” he says as we start to climb the stairs once again.
“My options are limited.”
“Once I went on a vacation with a friend and his family to Carlsbad Caverns in New Mexico. Walking into the caves is the equivalent of going down 79 stories. We cheated and took the elevator out of the caves. Now that’s an elevator that had better be in good working condition.”
I shiver at the thought. “I’d walk out.”
“It takes about one hour to get to the bottom and that’s only because downhill is easier. It’s much harder and much longer when going up.”
“Time well spent.”
He grins in response and I’m thankful I’m with someone who understands my new phobia. After all, he experienced it with me.
On the third floor, his hands cover my shoulders and I hold my breath, wondering what he’ll do next. All at once, he kisses the tip of my nose, then follows it with one of his charming smiles.
It’s the moment when I know I could easily fall in love with this man. No doubts. Even if fate hadn’t intervened by pushing us together and making it obvious. I release my breath and laugh out loud. I’d interpreted his meaning behind “sweet kisses” correctly and I actually look forward to what’s coming next.
The stairs, not so much.
I turn to tackle the next set and keep the conversation going. “I visited the Empire State Building with my family. Everyone took the elevator to the top except me and my mom. We sat in the restaurant at the bottom of the building and had milkshakes.”
“Who was the chicken?”
“Me. My mom didn’t want me to wait all by myself.”
When we approach the fifth floor, I flash him a raise of my eyebrows. “The fourth floor is missing I see.”
“There isn’t a man or woman alive in China who would agree to work on the fourth floor.”
“No matter what you call it, it’s still the fourth floor.”
“Don’t ask me to explain it. I just call it the fifth floor and mind my own business.” He pauses. “By the way, this means I get two kisses.” He proceeds to plant a kiss on one cheek and then the other.
Feeling a little dizzy, I wonder if he could be any more perfect.
As we head upwards, he continues our conversation. “So, you have a history with a phobia of elevators?”
“Actually it was a windy day. I was only eight years old and I was convinced I’d get blown off the top of the building.”
“102 stories is awfully high.”
“Leave it to an architect to know exactly how high the Empire State Building stands.” I’m already winded, but Paul isn’t even out of breath. “It’s practically in the clouds,” I add, trying to sound normal.
On the sixth floor, he slowly cradles my face . . . and kisses me lightly on the forehead. My heart races in my chest as I realize these types of kisses send a thrill up and down my spine much more so than passionate and deep kisses. He’s definitely creeping his way into my heart.
My step is just a little lighter as I eagerly climb higher.
“You know we can quit and grab the elevator at any time, right?” he says.
“Not a chance. I will die in the stairwell first.”
“I was afraid you’d say that,” he mumbles good-naturedly.
“Thanks for humoring me, Paul. I’m not sure I’ll ever board an elevator again.” I feel a little guilty for making him trudge up all these stairs. Thank goodness he’s not only willing, but he’s made it into a romantic undertaking as well. I think he might be the perfect Paul.
Paul turns and winks at me. “I see a lot of exercise in my future.”
His words make me feel as though I could fly to the top floor. Paul sees a future for the two of us. Inside, I rejoice that I’d never given up on my search for Paul.
“Floor seven,” he breathes, running his hands through his hair. We rest for a moment, then he slowly approaches with half closed eyelids. “Where to kiss you next? That is the question.”
I pretty much forget to breathe. The anticipation makes me giddy.
He tangles his hands in my hair and tips my head backwards. His lips graze over my neck, placing feather light kisses everywhere he travels. I close my eyes, lost in his tender touch.
When I open my eyes, I find him studying my expression. “The eighth floor awaits,” he whispers.
Up we go.
The sound of our footsteps echo in the stairwell, making my ears ring. Paul says nothing and I feel the need to fill in the awkward silence.
“
My sister dated a guy who actually asked her to kiss his neck during a goodnight kiss.” Did I really just say that out loud? Kill me now.
“Seriously?” he asks.
At least he’s feigning interest in my strange comment. There’s nowhere to go except forward with this conversation. “Yep. He said, Kiss my neck! Kiss my neck!” I mimic a passionate whisper the way my sisters always did. “My sisters joke about it all the time.” I miss them and their crazy antics. Still, I wish I’d kept that comment to myself. Most men probably don’t want to hear about giggly girl talk. “Poor guy. He has no idea he became a family joke.”
“Your sisters sound a little scary.”
“They are. Especially when they team up against me. Don’t worry, I won’t tell them anything about you.” I can’t imagine telling my sisters about our romantic climb up the stairs. They wouldn’t approve. But then, they’d wrap me in bubble wrap if they could—and keep me safe on a shelf. I love them dearly though.
“Now I can sleep at night,” he says with an exaggerated sigh that makes me giggle.
On the eighth floor, he takes my hands in his and says, “Savannah Tate, these stairs are killing me.”
I love the way he always calls me Savannah Tate. “Look on the bright side. You can skip your workout tomorrow.”
“I don’t know if I’ll be able to walk tomorrow.” Then he slowly kisses each one of my fingertips while his eyes remain on mine.
I think my heart just stopped. “You’re killing me,” I manage.
“In a good way?” He raises one eyebrow.
“I can’t think of a better way to go.”
We continue on our journey and he asks, “Why do your sisters team up against you?”
“Because I’m the baby and they can.”
“Said every youngest child in the entire world.”
I laugh lightly at his words. “Most recently, they didn’t want me to go to China. They didn’t think I’d be safe.”
On the ninth floor, he tucks my hair behind my left ear and kisses the sensitive spot behind it.
“You’re not,” he whispers.
“I don’t think this is the kind of danger they were worried about.”
“In that case, they’re not as wise as they think.”
On the tenth floor, my calves scream in rebellion. The eagerness to know what Paul will do next helps me ignore the pain.
He takes my left arm and kisses my hand, then travels all the way up to my shoulder. An insane urge to giggle overcomes me, but I hold it in. I figure laughter is probably not the response he’s looking for. He’s serious and intense all of a sudden as he looks into my eyes. The depth of emotion swimming in the pools of his eyes takes me back a bit.
The climb up to floor eleven acknowledges our fatigue as we both move a little slower than we had on the previous flights.
This time Paul confuses me as he kneels in front of me. What is he doing? He lifts up my shirt just enough to expose a peek of skin. For a brief earth shattering moment, he looks up at me with a fiery expression. Just when I think he’s going to lightly kiss my stomach, he blows raspberries on my belly, making me scream and laugh at the same time. The sound echoes and rumbles through the stairwell.
He laughs raucously at my response. His playful side has revealed itself and I love it. So far, that’s my favorite kiss, if you can call it a kiss. Babies’ tummies across the world would probably object. “That was so unfair.”
He chuckles. “What’s unfair is I have to do all the kissing.”
“I’ll dutifully take my turn.”
“I accept your sacrifice.”
Laughter accompanies the slow hike up to the twelfth floor. For a high class businessman, Paul is surprisingly . . . fun. It’s a pleasant discovery and confirms so many things in my mind.
Both of our chests are heaving as we face each other on the landing. I swallow and move toward him, stopping directly in front of him. Not really sure what to do, I lean in and kiss the smooth portion of chest visible at the tip of his collar. In response, he releases a shaky breath.
“Why have I never thought of doing this before?” he asks.
“Do you really want me to answer that?” My voice, barely audible, escapes my throat even quieter than usual.
“No, don’t remind me. My body will remind me every day for the next several days.”
“Wait, so from now on you’ll associate sore muscles with me?” I groan.
His expression turns mock serious. “With every pulled muscle and every strain, I’ll be thinking of you.”
“That’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
“Hard to beat that one, isn’t it?” he quips. “C’mon, let’s get this over with so I can die in my own home.”
As we race to the thirteenth floor, I say, “Who needs a gym?”
“I’m throwing away my treadmill tomorrow. I suddenly feel as though I’m not in shape at all. If I had a personal trainer, he’d be fired.”
He’s being modest, of course. He hasn’t even broken a sweat.
My breathing has turned into short little gasps. The cause of my labored breathing, however, is definitely a combination of exertion and excitement. “We’re on the unlucky floor.” My voice sounds wispy and light.
“It suddenly feels like the best floor ever to me.”
We breathe each other in, both wondering what will come next. Tentatively, I take his hand and cradle my cheek with it. Then I turn into his palm and kiss it several times, letting my lips wander to his inner wrist where I kiss him gently. His eyes light up with an emotion I don’t recognize.
“I have to say, this is the most interesting exercise I’ve had in years,” he says, but I wonder what he’s really thinking. His flippant words don’t match the serious glint in his eyes.
I feel as though I float to the next level. My legs are numb, yet alive with adrenaline.
Paul makes it to the fourteenth floor just ahead of me. I approach him from behind, running my hands along his back. He stills at once. Feeling courageous, I stand on my tiptoes and place a soft little butterfly kiss on the back of his neck. As I circle around him, I let my hands trail over his back, to his shoulder, and then to his chest.
His eyes narrow, boring into me with so much strength, I nearly take a step back.
“I’ve never enjoyed climbing stairs quite like this before.” His voice turns low and throaty. Again, I feel as though he isn’t saying what’s really on his mind.
“I’ve never thought of a stairwell as a romantic place. I stand corrected.”
“Meet you on the next level,” he says, and takes off before I even comprehend what’s happening.
When I catch up with him on the fifteenth floor, he’s waiting for me, leaning against the wall with his arms folded, an arrogant half smile on his face. I’m suddenly thankful for his humor. The last few moments had felt a little too heavy for my liking.
“So sorry to keep you waiting,” I say.
He glances at his watch. “You’re only two minutes late, that’s all.”
“It’s so sweet that you waited all that time for me.” The sarcasm oozes from every syllable. My sisters would be proud.
“Oh, you’re worth it.”
He’s been worth waiting for, no doubt about it. All those years I spent looking for Paul were not a waste, not when I had this man waiting in the wings.
I walk forward and leisurely kiss the little indent on his chin.
We stare into each other’s eyes for several heartbeats. A tension I’ve never felt before seems to spark between us.
The attraction we feel for one another is taking on a life of its own, something so strong it feels palpable.
“I think it’s my turn again,” he whispers as if he can’t find his voice.
I nod, words escaping me. In all honesty, I’m fresh out of ideas when it comes to new and inventive ways to kiss a man.
Halfway up the next flight of stairs, I feel the need for more conversatio
n between us. The silence I normally love is about to suffocate me. “I have a confession to make,” I offer.
He pauses in the middle of the stairs, resting his hands on his knees. It’s a good excuse to take a much needed rest. He’s silent for longer than I expect before he says, “I love a good old fashion skeleton in the closet. Fess up.”
His initial hesitation tells me a confession worries him a little. “It’s not exactly mind blowing.” I sort of sit and sort of collapse onto a stair, attempting to be graceful and failing. “I’ve always had a thing for men named Paul.”
He releases his breath in a relieved sort of way. “Really?”
His reaction makes me wonder what he thought I was going to say. “Yeah. All of my boyfriends in high school were named Paul.” I won’t tell him the whole truth, or else I’ll risk sounding a little silly. Maybe I already do.
“I guess you’re meant to be with a man named Paul.” He doesn’t smile, he’s utterly serious.
I find myself longing for his humorous side.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to say more, but I think better of it. “I think so too.”
He sits next to me on the stairs. “So, tell me about these other men named Paul.”
“Boys. Boys named Paul.”
He quickly corrects himself. “Tell me about these boys named Paul. Should I be worried?”
“Nah, they’re far in my past. The first Paul was named Paul Montague and he was the football quarterback. He was tall and buff and he sat next to me in World History. Why he was in a freshman history class when he was a junior never crossed my love-filled mind. Every day he asked if he could borrow a pencil and I kept a zippered pouch filled with perfectly sharpened pencils just for him. Some days he didn’t even have binder paper, but I hooked him up, even though he complained about the closeness of the lines on college ruled paper.”
Paul laughs and some of the tension between us fades.
“Our love affair ended on a cold day in January after a tough exam. The teacher asked to speak with us, wanting to know why Paul’s multiple choice answers were the exact same as my multiple choice answers. The teacher never looked at me. His accusing eyes remained on Paul’s. You see, Paul had an entirely different version of the exam than I’d had. Who copied who was pretty obvious. He took more than just pencils and paper from me.”