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“Did I tell you how beautiful you look tonight?”
“Tell me again.”
He tucks a piece of hair behind my ear. “You really did look beautiful tonight.”
I smile up at him. “Do we have chocolate?”
He smirks. “So, I tell you that you look beautiful, and you ask me if we have chocolate?”
“And?” I smile. “Your point is?”
“My point is that I’m being judged on my shopping abilities.”
I giggle and turn my back to him. His big arms wrap around me from behind.
“That better mean there’s chocolate in the fridge, Mercer,” I mutter as I put my head against his chest.
He chuckles and rests his chin on the top of my head. The elevator doors open and we make our way down the corridor. Nathan opens the door to my apartment and we walk in. I go straight to the kitchen, flick the kettle on, while he goes to the fridge to grab something, which he quickly puts behind his back.
“What have you got there?” I ask.
“Ah,” he teases. “What do I get for it?”
“If it’s chocolate… anything you want.”
“You really should play harder to get.” He raises an eyebrow and produces a box of my favorite chocolates.
I clap my hands together. “Where did these come from?”
“I bought them today when I got the champagne.” He opens the box and pops one into his mouth. “You want?” He holds one up for me. I open my mouth and he puts it in.
“Hmm.” I close my eyes at the rich creamy taste. “Delicious.”
His eyes darken as he watches me suck on it.
He takes his jacket off, undoes his bowtie and top few buttons. I make us a cup of tea and take another chocolate.
I watch him take off his shoes and then undo his belt and slowly slide it off.
My breath catches. Why am I noticing how masculine he suddenly is?
“So, what did you want?” I ask as I hand him his cup of tea. “For the chocolates.”
His eyes hold mine. “I want to get you out of that dress.”
I smile. “Well, you’re going to have to because I can’t reach the zipper.”
He chuckles and sits me up onto the counter in front of him. We both sip our tea, our eyes locked on each other.
Something is different but I can’t put my finger on it.
“Two years.” He smirks.
“Are you still thinking about that? Why? When was the last time you had sex?”
He steps forward, in between my legs, and his hands rest on my upper thighs. “A long time, too.”
I frown, surprised. “Why?”
