by Layla Hagen
On Monday morning, I find out there's a hitch in Christopher's moving plans. The builders discovered a problem on the fourth and the ninth floors, and consequently, they're delaying the key handover for a week. What that means is I can go only to take measurements in one week, then place the order for the kitchen furniture. Well, this simply won't do. I gave my word to Christopher that he'll be able to move in on a certain date, and I will make sure all of his furniture is in the apartment by then.
"It's not such a big deal," he assures me. "I can move in even if the kitchen isn't there yet."
"Moving into an unfinished apartment is like eating a cake without sugar," I argue. "It tarnishes the entire experience."
"I can move in later, then."
But I know how much he dislikes the rental he lives in now, and I want him to be happy.
"I’ll handle this. It's a promise."
And handle I do. Over the years, I've learned there is a back door to everything, from convincing suppliers to speed up an order, to gaining access to a building which is technically still under construction. The back door to the latter is the construction site superintendent. He has a copy of the keys for each of the apartments for the entire duration of the construction process.
A quick research tells me who the superintendent is in this case, and after half a dozen phone calls, I finally reach him. After a short conversation, I convince him to let me in for no more than fifteen minutes so I can do measurements, and then I call Christopher.
"Guess who's going to your apartment to take measurements today?"
"How did you do that? I tried to bribe, threaten, and blackmail the guy I talked to and he wouldn't budge."
"I have my tactics," I say proudly, hurrying to my car. I’m downtown, having just visited an antique shop for one of my clients. The sound of cars, horn blares, and the usual city noise fills the air, so I press the phone to my ear as I hurry to cross the street. "Which include none of the above. It's called being nice to people. You should try it sometime. I'll call you to report everything once I'm done."
"You're kidding, right? I'm coming too. I want to see the place."
"Err… I negotiated entrance for one. It's a sneaky operation."
"Then it'll be a sneaky operation involving both of us. I'll meet you there. What time?"
"One o'clock."
"Okay."
I arrive in front of his high-rise two hours later, overcome by the usual giddiness that grips me when I'm about to enter a new residential building. I'd put this up to being some sort of decorator quirk, but the truth is, new homes have fascinated me since I was a kid.
This time though, my stomach is in knots too, and Christopher himself is the reason for that. This will be the first time we’ve seen each other since the kiss. When we talked on the phone earlier, we were professional, and I resolve to do the same while I take the measurements.
When Christopher joins me, it's obvious he has something very different in mind.
He greets me by kissing my cheek, which he's never done before. The second his mouth touch my skin, my entire body buzzes with life. When he places one hand on my waist, the innocent kiss suddenly becomes an intimate experience. Even the air between us seems to crackle with tension. I become acutely aware of the fact that his lips are only a fraction of an inch away from mine.
Stepping back, I put some much-needed distance between us. "Hi."
In response, he offers me one of his trademark drop-your-clothes smiles.
He hands me a paper cup I hadn’t noticed before, his fingers lingering a second too long on mine. The brief touch is enough to send my senses into a tailspin. Oh boy.
"One eggnog with extra whipped cream and caramel topping. Your favorite," he informs me, and I melt even more than I did when he kissed my cheek. This is something I shared with him in a text almost three weeks ago. The fact that he remembers this little tidbit is beyond endearing.
"Thank you. Ahh, this is like a holiday in a cup for me, but it has alcohol. That's why I only drink it outside office hours."
"I know." He wiggles his brows. "I was counting on that leading to some inappropriate behavior during this sneaky operation."
"You're impossible." A white-hot current runs through me, watching the twinkle of mischief in his gaze. Holding my chin high, I decide to take charge. He wants to challenge me? Fine. Two can play at this game. Taking a sip, I enjoy the exquisite taste in my mouth, purposely letting out a small sound of pleasure. Christopher's expression of shock is the best damn reward.
Game on, Bennett.
"Follow me," I say.
My mole, Frank, waits for me in front of the construction container placed at the corner of the building.
"Hi, Frank! I'm Victoria. We spoke on the phone," I greet him, holding out my hand. He's in his fifties, with a bushy mustache and a beer belly. Frank bears an uncanny resemblance to Santa Claus.
"Victoria! Nice to meet you." He casts an uncertain glance to Christopher.
"Christopher's the owner of the apartment," I explain as the two men shake hands.
"I see. Let's get the two of you up, then. My lunch break begins in two minutes, and no one stops by the trailer at that time."
"You can just give me the key if you want to and enjoy your lunch, you don't have to show us up."
"Nah, it's best if I come with you. If some of the boys see you, they'll get smart with questions." The implication is clear: no one will question us if we're with him. Frank strikes me as someone who has the kind of quiet authority that people seldom question.
"Thank you for sacrificing your lunch break for us," I tell him sincerely.
"You made a very convincing case."
Frank disappears inside the trailer, marching back out a minute later holding a set of keys. He leads us straight through the front doors of the building.
The smell of paint greets us in the hallway. It bothers most people, but I like it. To our right is a sleek reception area, which will have twenty-four-hour service. Two construction workers walk in through the door behind the reception, eyeing Christopher and me curiously, but as Frank predicted, they don't say a word.
Everything about this building speaks of elegance and efficiency. Frank leads us to one of the six elevators, and while we speed up to the seventh floor, I sip from my cup of eggnog. I can't help a squeal when we step inside the apartment a few minutes later.
"There’s so much light," I exclaim, walking directly to the large window that stretches out onto the terrace. "I saw the size of the windows on the plan, but this is truly beautiful."
I resist the temptation to walk on the balcony and soak in a few rays of sun. I'm here for measurements.
"I'll leave the two of you to do your business," Frank announces. "I need to check some wiring at an apartment two floors above. Since I'm here, I'll do it now. I'll be back in half an hour. It's unlikely that any of the boys will bother you up here."
Oh, so much for the buffer. But as he leaves, I notice Christopher inspecting the place without enthusiasm. "This looks so—"
"Don't say another word," I interrupt. "I know this looks like an empty shell right now, but it'll look welcome and warm when I'm done with it. I promise I'll even bake cookies in your brand new kitchen the day you move in, so it smells like home."
He blinks, clearly taken aback by my offer. To be honest, I'm surprised myself. It's not like I'm going around offering to bake for my clients. But recalling his boyish enthusiasm when he stepped into my kitchen after training Lucas, I know this will make him happy.
"You're very sweet, Victoria," he says simply while I down the last drops of my eggnog.
"I'll start taking measurements now."
"I'll help."
"No, you can enjoy your apartment. I'm going to do my job." Placing the now empty eggnog cup next to the front door, I fish out the measuring tape from my bag and get to work. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him heading out to the balcony. Since I'm here anyway, I’ll measure the e
ntire apartment, just so I can rest assured that there are no unpleasant surprises. I finish measuring most of the rooms in the apartment in a record time, leaving the kitchen for last.
Christopher's pacing around in the living room. It's obvious he's not used to just sitting around, doing nothing.
"If you're bored, help me measure the kitchen."
"Sure. What do you need me to do?"
I hand him one end of the tape, instructing him to walk to the end of the wall we're measuring. As he does what I say, I can't help noticing the way the fabric of his pants molds to his ass. Those are some great pants and an even better ass. Damn, that suit he's wearing should be illegal. Or maybe his ass should be.
"That's about nine feet and two inches," he says.
"Not about. I need the exact number. Every inch matters."
"Really?"
"Yeah," I reply, head bent down to my phone while I wait for him to tell me the correct number to type in my notes. "All your kitchen furniture will be custom made, and if the counter is even half an inch too large, we're going to have a problem. So even a fraction of an inch matters."
Belatedly I realize how I sound. When I look up at him, he's grinning from ear to ear. I can't even pin this one on him; I laid my trap and stepped right into it. I begin to wonder if my subconscious is trying to sabotage me.
"Nine feet and two and a half inches," Christopher says. To his credit, he keeps a straight face.
"Thank you."
"Is there something you want to tell me?"
I’m surprised he picked up on this. New spaces inspire me, which shouldn't be a problem in my profession, but in my case, it is. On countless occasions similar to this one, in which I only saw the location after my client got the key, I couldn't stop talking about all the shiny new ideas inspiring me. That brought me more than one accusation of trying to upsell. I honestly wasn't, but I can never stop the influx of ideas when I step into a virgin space. I try to contain the avalanche of ideas that threaten to burst out of me. To no avail.
"Well…," I start, then talk his ear off for the next little while until I'm out of breath.
"Victoria? No offense, but that all sounds like pig latin to me. If there's anything you know will make this place look like a home, go ahead. I'm giving you carte blanche." Evidently, I was so immersed in my proposal, I didn't take notice of him advancing toward me, or me backing into the wall opposite the kitchen. One of his hands is propped against the wall near my ear, and with the other one, he twirls a strand of my hair in his fingers.
"Really? I don't want you to think I'm trying to upsell you things. I want you to love your new home." The words tumble out of my mouth at an alarming speed, but Christopher's proximity is setting me on edge. Drawing in a deep breath, I attempt to calm myself, but my heart rate ratchets up. Feeling his fingers move from my hair to my temple and then descend to my jaw isn't helping.
"I was hoping it was just an excuse to spend more time with me," he says gently. The space between us seems to become increasingly smaller, even though neither of us moves. "You smell like eggnog." Something in his voice has changed. I can't pinpoint what; maybe his timbre is lower, but it sounds more intimate than it did seconds ago. It sends desire coursing through me, and I become aware of the fact that my breasts are squished against his chest. His hot breath lands on my cheek, like a forbidden whisper. "I am going to kiss you, Victoria." His words unleash a hunger inside me, so deep and so powerful that I have no hope of resisting it. I nod slightly, and then his mouth covers mine. I part my lips invitingly, and when he coaxes my tongue with his, I'm on fire.
Oh, this man knows how to kiss. He is demanding and in control, and I love every second of it. Before long, we're a tangle of limbs because I need to feel so much more, and I'm not alone in my desperation. One of his hands finds the hem of my sweater, and I shudder. Pressing his knee between my legs, he opens my thighs. Driven by a will of their own, my hips roll forward, and I find myself pressing my center against his thigh. A rough groan reverberates from his chest, and his hand slides up, stopping where the fabric of my bra meets my skin. All movement stops for a few interminable seconds, and I realize he's seeking permission.
I nod almost imperceptibly, and our control snaps. Christopher cups my breast over the fabric of the bra, and my nipples turn hard within seconds. His mouth descends to my neck.
"I am going to make you come, Victoria," he whispers against my skin. Heat pools between my thighs at his words, and when he undoes the button of my jeans, I become putty in his hands, driven by a blind desire.
"I want to touch you too," I complain, groping shamelessly at his shirt, reaching down to his belt.
"No. I want to focus on you."
He doesn't give me the chance to protest, sealing his mouth over mine again while sliding a hand inside my panties. I'm drenched, of course, and when his fingers move up and down the rim of my entrance, I all but break out of my skin. I need something to support myself, but there's nothing except a wall behind me, so I lace my arms around Christopher's neck, deepening the kiss. I can't get enough of this man. When he slides one finger inside me, pressing his palm against my clit, I lose all sense of time and space. Right now there’s nothing in my world except this beautiful man and all the sinful sensations he awakens in me. He ignites me from deep inside, and before long, my hips move against his hand, driven by a will of their own as my entire body tightens with pressure.
We come up for breath, and I hold on to him for dear life.
"Do you want me to slide a second finger inside you?"
"Yes," I answer through heavy breaths, my hand yearning to touch him intimately. Dropping one hand between us, I cup his erection over his pants. The groan reverberating from deep inside his chest is music to my ears.
"Victoria, I said no touching me."
"I can't help it."
"If you don't do as I say, I’ll stop what I'm doing."
"Not fair," I mumble, but quickly obey because I have a hunch he'd carry out his threat in no time. Closing my eyelids, I rest my head against the wall as he slides a second finger inside, stretching me.
"You're so tight."
Heat singes me like a lightning bolt as he increases the rhythm of his movements, and the pressure of his palm on my bundle of nerves is pure perfection.
"Open your eyes," he commands in a low, seductive tone. I blink them open and find him gazing intensely at me. "I want you to look at me right until the end."
Nodding, I ride the wave of pleasure. Losing myself in his dark gaze only makes this moment more intimate. Needing to feel closer to him, I hitch a leg up his thigh, practically straddling him. I curl my fingers around his hair, desperation coursing through me. My climax shatters me into a million flaming pieces, and I cling to Christopher for dear life, moaning, and whimpering but never looking away.
"You're so beautiful when you come." He rests his forehead against mine for the briefest of seconds, and he blows heated, short breaths against my lips.
This moment is pure magic. I don't know why or how, but I'm not ready for it to end.
When he pulls his hand out of my jeans, his fingers are coated in my wetness. The sight turns me on.
Then, with a jolt, I realize where we are, and that Frank is about to return. Oh God. Frank. What if he'd walked in on us?
Christopher seems to be thinking along the same lines.
"Frank will be back," he says.
"The sink in the bathroom is already connected to the water supply."
Christopher takes off without another word while I try to compose myself, waiting for Frank to arrive. Checking the time on my phone, I note there are still five minutes left until the half hour Frank gave us expires.
Drawing in a lungful of air, I try to calm myself and wrap my mind around what just happened. Before I have time to gather my wits, the door opens, and Frank walks in.
"Done?" he inquires.
"Yes. All measurements taken. As soon as Christopher comes back
from the bathroom, we can go. Did you check the… wiring?"
Frank takes my bait and starts rattling about how he needed to fix it, and that no one takes their job seriously anymore these days. Christopher returns in the meantime, winking at me. The three of us leave the apartment, Frank walking in front of us.
***
Christopher places his hand at the small of my back as we exit the elevator on the ground floor, kissing my temple. This unexpected display of affection warms me on the inside, and I lean into his touch without much thought. We share an accomplice glance, and in his molten dark eyes, I see honesty, kindness, and a dash of mischief. Raising his hand up to the nape of my neck, Christopher brings his lips to my ear.
"You're gorgeous," he whispers only for me to hear just as Frank pushes the door to the building open and we step onto the bustling street.
Pulling myself out of Christopher's grasp, I square my shoulders and hold out my hand to Frank, who turned around to face us.
"Thank you for letting us in." I shake his hand, and then Christopher does the same.
"We took inappropriate to a whole new level," Christopher comments the moment we're alone. Swirling around, I take in his body language. Feet planted wide, arms hanging at his side, shit-eating grin stretching on his handsome face. He couldn't be happier if I told him Christmas is coming earlier.
"If it had been any more inappropriate, I would have climbed you."
"I believe you straddling my leg counts as climbing. Let's talk—"
A loud ringing interrupts him, and it takes a second for both of us to realize it's coming from his phone, which is tucked in a chest pocket on the inside of his suit. Pulling it out, he frowns at the screen.
"Have to take this."
I nod, stepping away to give him space, but he speaks so loud that it's impossible not to listen.
"That's a serious situation."
He's not shouting, but his tone is so cutting he might as well do it. Whoever is at the other end of the line has my sympathy.
"It's not going to cut it," Christopher thunders. "We need to solve the packaging issues in two weeks maximum if we want to be in good shape for the Christmas season."