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"I don't think so, Katherine. I think I want to carry you up and into my lair."
He grinned at that, his eyes twinkling with a look that promised so much…
I gave in and buried my face in his neck, smiling, a thrill going through me at the thought of being in his lair. His place.
We went through the doorway and it was like a loft instead of a typical apartment with separate rooms. The unit was open concept and bookshelves covered all the walls, filled with thousands of books. Because it was a corner unit, it had windows on three walls and would be bright during the day. Now, it was dark outside, and only a single table lamp provided light. The floors were hardwood planks with antique-looking Persian carpets of various sizes scattered here and there. In the front was a combination living room / den and in the center of the apartment, the kitchen was on one wall and open to a dining room. In the back, through the only door, I could just make out a bed.
The windows were huge and ornate with multi-paned windows looking out over the street. In the living room six old guitars stood on stands, acoustic and electric. Posters of old bands covered the walls without bookshelves – the Beatles, Led Zeppelin, Deep Purple, The Who. I took it all in while he held me in his arms.
"Are you going to put me down?"
He smiled. "I don't know what I'm going to do with you, Ms. Bennet. I haven’t decided yet. One thing I might have to do, if memory serves me, is kiss you to keep you from talking."
He did kiss me as he stood there with me still in his arms. A soft kiss, just lips on lips. Then he pulled back and his eyes were so intense that I felt my breath hitch.
What that look promised…
"I must be getting heavy…" I said softly, for I didn't like being held.
"You're light as a feather."
I sighed and gave in to him. "You have so many books. And all these guitars…" I glanced around. "I want to explore your apartment."
"I want to explore you."
That sent a jolt of lust through me. "You do, do you? I think you already did after lunch…"
"Ms. Bennet, there's so much more of you to explore. So much more of your body. So much more of your mind."
I swallowed at that, my mind immediately going to the clauses in the agreement, but he did put me down. He removed my coat and I took off my boots, leaving them on the mat by the front door.
"Take a look around. I'll get us a drink."
I put my bag down on the table and walked around while Drake went to a small sideboard in the living room. Dark wood paneling gave it a masculine feel. More bookshelves lined the walls, an ancient leather couch and wing chair sat beside a small fireplace, and leaded glass windows faced the street. I wandered around, looking at the posters on the walls, the guitars, the piles and piles of magazines on every flat surface with titles like Guitar, Rolling Stone, Bass Player, and then scientific journals – Annals of Internal Medicine, Lancet, JAMA and others.
I peeked into the bedroom at the rear of the apartment to see a huge four-poster bed covered in a thick coverlet. The room was light, with white walls and sheer curtains at the windows. There was a small bathroom off the bedroom with an old claw-foot bathtub and pedestal sink. When I returned to the living room, Drake was there with two tiny crystal glasses etched with a delicate filigree design. Inside was a clear liquid.
"Here," he said, handing me one. "These are my father's glasses that he got from an old woman named Yelena Kuznetzova, who was rumored to be Stalin's housekeeper at his dacha in Soviet Georgia. This is Anisovaya. Drink up."
"I should have known," I said, smiling. "Stalin's housekeeper?"
"It was one of my father's favorite stories. Probably just his bullshit wishful thinking."
"He was a Stalinist? I thought he was a Trotskyite."
"He was a Sovietophile. Anything Russian, especially Soviet. He was sad to see the Soviet Union fall. Said it was their folly in Afghanistan."
I nodded. "It was probably Afghanistan."
"Anyway, Za vas," he said in Russian. "To you."
"Za vas," I replied and we shot the vodka back. I grimaced a bit and he smacked his lips.
"Oh korosho, that's so good." He smiled, a wicked smile. I couldn’t help but smile back.
"This is a nice old apartment."
