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“Of course,” he answers easily. But when Jayme walks through the door he’s holding open, he glares at me. “Don’t hurt her,” he says menacingly.
I pause. “Is this the part where you threaten me?”
He shakes his head, his eyes dark but full of something deeper than a warning. “Don’t need to. Just don’t do it.”
I blink. I wasn’t expecting that. He sounds . . . concerned for Jayme. I get it, she’s amazing and has people falling into line to do her bidding. Me included. But I guess I expected the monster of a man to resort to fists and death threats, not polite orders.
“Carson?” Jayme says from a few feet inside the lobby where she’s stopped after realizing I wasn’t behind her.
“Coming,” I answer. I dip my chin at Myron, acknowledging his request and silently letting him know that I have no intention of hurting Jayme.
We take the elevator up to the fifth floor, and I look down the hallway as she leads me to her door. There are only two doors on this side of the building. I’d expected there to be several apartments along each side.
She unlocks her door with her thumb and then shrugs at my questioning look. “Fingerprint scanner. The landlord had them installed for security.”
“They’d have to get past Myron first. Does he sleep or is he like one of those robots that goes for weeks on a single electric charge?” I joke.
Jayme laughs. “He’s the night guard. Brad is the day guard, and Javier is the weekend man. Though they live on the first floor, so we can call any of them if we need to.”
They’re not simply doormen but full-service, on-site caretakers.
Damn. I’m feeling much better about Jayme’s safety and security. And I realize that her comfort is well taken care of too.
Her apartment is warm and cozy, but also large by any city standard. The living room has a fluffy sectional couch turned toward an electric fireplace with a television on the wall above it. There are a bunch of pillows, but they’re sorted into groups of three, and the blanket thrown over the back looks casual, but I’m sure it was perfectly arranged. The coffee table is brass and glass with a vintage feel and holds a stack of books, a candle, and a single coaster.
To the left is the dining area and kitchen, which I can see into. The cabinets are light wood, classic and traditional but modernized with sleek white countertops. The dining room has dark green geometric wallpaper and a gathering of brass candlesticks in the middle of the table.
Everything I can see are beautiful, simple quality pieces that are timeless. In a way, if I’d been told this was a model home unit, I’d have easily believed that. But knowing Jayme as well as I do, I can see the little touches of her personality here. She is classic and well put together too, but with a twist, like the apothecary jar of seashells by the fireplace, which could be a generic staged piece, but I bet they’re from the beach by Taya’s house. And the fresh white tea towel hanging from the stove handle that reads Eat a Bag of Dicks. I’m not sure where that came from, or if I want to know.
“Nice place,” I tell Jayme, who seems to be waiting for a comment from me.
“Thanks. Come on, let’s take a quick shower before we crash.” She takes my hand and leads me down a hallway.
We pass a set of glass doors closing off a small office with a library’s worth of books on the shelves along one wall. There are a couple of other regular doors that are closed, so I don’t know what’s behind them.
Then I’m in Jayme’s bedroom. It feels like a dream come true, or at least the start of a particularly hot fantasy. But after our earlier adventure, I might need a little persuading before I’m ready for a full round two. I chuckle to myself, knowing that simply seeing Jayme feel pleasure would have me rock hard and raring to go in seconds.
Her bed is neatly made with layers of fluffiness—a comforter, folded blanket at the foot, and a throw, plus a few decorative pillows. It looks like a cozy nest where she can curl up. And honestly, I could lie on top of all that stuff and fall asleep in seconds at this point. It’s been a long day and an energy-filled night.
But she keeps leading me further into her sanctuary, into a huge main bathroom that is clearly intended just for her. The space is bright, with white tile and wood cabinets that match the ones I saw in the kitchen. The large soaking tub looks inviting, but instead, Jayme turns on the shower.
I follow her lead and strip down, laying my clothes neatly over the edge of the tub since I’ll have to put them back on in the morning to get home. Jayme tosses hers into a bag with a dry-cleaning chain’s logo on it.
