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only decorations, fake flowers, just add to the hospital feel.
The doorman indicates I can go up to the something-or-other floor and points at the elevators. I was too distracted to hear him right, and I’m a little shy about asking him to repeat himself, so I peer down the long hallway and wander over to where he pointed. All the while I’m hoping Nora will pop out of nowhere and take me to the right place. This is the kind of building that I can’t just roam in aimlessly without the cops being called.
Like a miracle, the elevator opens in front of me and Nora is standing inside. Her long, dark hair is sleek and shiny, running down her shoulders in two glossy lines. It’s beautiful; she’s beautiful. Her eyes are made-up, lined with black wings, and her eyebrows are darker, more defined. She looks so different—not in a bad way, just in a way that I haven’t before seen her.
I’m used to her wearing makeup—the red lipstick from yesterday was hot—but today she looks like a woman. Her pristine black shirt and pants are gleaming, like her dark hair and dark eyes. The green is more prominent in her eyes now that the dark lines bring the color to the surface. Her outfit is sexy; the black shirt hangs off her shoulders, and the neckline scoops down like a heart over her cleavage. It’s almost inappropriate for her to look this good when I’m supposed to behave myself in front of her family.
“This elevator is too small,” I tell her when I step inside.
She smiles at me sheepishly. I take her hand in mine and kiss her palm. When the doors close, she presses a button with her free hand and I gently pull her to me.
“How was work?” I kiss her forehead, then her nose, then the corner of her mouth. I give one last kiss to her hair.
Nora’s lips part, and she moves her body into mine, letting me lean her against the wall. “Good.” Her lips taste like syrupy gloss. “Did you miss me?” she asks in a hushed voice.
The elevator opens, and I look down at her as she pulls away. “Is the sky blue?” I ask, even tilting my head and smiling my best puppy smile.
Her face lights up, and she shakes her head at me. She touches her long nails to her chin and grins back at me. “Actually, I think the sky is a little gray today.” I reach for her waist, but she moves away just in time. “Patience, little one.”
I look past her down the hallway, and when she falls for my trick and turns her body, I catch her off guard and wrap my arms around her, pinning her arms to her chest. I use my left hand to move her hair away from her neck and press my lips to her perfumed skin.
“I think you should look again.” I pin her gently against the wall of the hallway. No one is out here. Good. “The sky was pretty clear.”
My fingertips follow the curve of her full breasts. This is the best shirt I’ve ever seen, Nora’s chest heaving up and down, up and down in it. She’s wearing a black choker, and it makes me want to take her back into the elevator and press the hold button.
Nora licks her lips, and I feel her hands dig into the back pockets of my black jeans. “I guess you’re right; it’s pretty clear.”
She nips at my lips with her teeth, and I groan, pressing her farther into the wall. A door clicks open, and I withdraw from Nora when I hear the clack of high heels on the floor. A woman, whom I immediately recognize as her sister, Stausey, is standing with her hand over her mouth and her eyes wide. She drops her hand the moment our eyes meet, but she can’t seem to blink.
“Stausey . . .” Nora says, and I back away from her, tugging at my shirt. “This is Landon.”
I rush over and reach for Stausey’s hand. She lifts it to me, and I kiss the top of it. She leans in to kiss my cheeks. I don’t know which way to turn, and—bam!—her lips touch mine and she pulls back, horrified. Nora’s eyes are wide but amused. Her sister, her very pregnant sister, is half-smiling, too, seeming to understand how that European kissing greeting could be confusing to most Americans and people new to New York.
“Nice to meet you.” Stausey regards me, her eyes resting on each piece of my clothing, my hair, my hands, and back down to my shoes. She brushes her hand against her dress, and her fingers fuss with the bow around her waist. Her body looks so tiny to be holding such a big . . . a big ball of baby inside. “How was the drive? Long, right?” Stausey guides us to the door she just stepped out of.
“It wasn’t bad.” I spot a man inside in the center of the room beyond, behind a bar area. The
