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“Some call it obsession, I call it passion,” she quips back. “Hey, why aren’t we going to those elevators?” She jerks her chin in the direction of the main elevator area.
“Because I own the entire top floor,” I say with a shrug. “We’re going to use my private elevator.”
Ramona’s eyes go wide. “You own the entire top floor?” she parrots as the lift arrives, her tone stunned.
I gesture for her to enter first. “Yes, and the view is outstanding,” I offer by way of an answer. “You’ll love it when you see it.”
She shakes her head, clearly trying to process everything. “I can’t believe this is happening,” she whispers.
I merely grin. “Kismet?” I repeat myself from earlier.
Ramona sidles closer to me in the small elevator. “Something like that,” she murmurs breathlessly.
I stare at the tempting woman in front of me, her body pressing slightly against mine, her face open and her body lush. I’m surprised by my avid desire to taste her, to touch her sensuous curves, to see every inch of the woman that she’s become.
Unable to resist any longer, slowly I raise my hands so that they cup her delicate jaw. Ramona’s breath catches as I lower my mouth to hers. I let my lips hover just above hers, desperately needing to taste this sassy girl, but wanting to tease her just a little longer.
To my surprise, Ramona is the one to close the gap between our lips. She brushes her lips against mine tentatively, but the moment her mouth is beneath me, I assume control.
Hungrily, I slip my fingers into her hair and seize that plush pout. The kiss is pure fire, the result of a heady evening of teasing flirtation. Deftly, I part her lips with my own and slip my tongue into her mouth, making Ramona groan with longing. She pushes her curvy body into me with urgency, pressing her full breasts against my chest.
But then our passionate revelry is interrupted by the ping of the elevator doors opening, signaling that we’ve arrived at my penthouse. Panting, we step back from each other. Ramona’s eyes are dazed with need and I’m as hard as pure steel.
“Ladies first,” I say roughly. I admire Ramona’s full, round backside as she exits the lift. I’m tempted to pull her back into my arms and cup her ass in my hands, but I manage to control myself.
“Oh my goodness,” she pauses mid-stride and stares in astonishment at my penthouse apartment.
I chuckle, appreciating her candid reaction and the chance to cool off from our kiss. “Welcome to my home,” I offer easily as I lead her further into the space.
The entryway is impressive, with its white and black checkerboard flooring made of the finest marble. There is a decadent chandelier illuminating the hallway, and deep, wood furniture offers an element of warmth in contrast to the cool taupe walls. I watch Ramona as she eyes the décor appreciatively, clearly entranced by the beauty of the place.
“The floors,” she murmurs breathlessly. “Where did they come from?”
“They’re original to the apartment,” I growl.
“And the furniture?”
“Most of it is antique, but some pieces are replica.” I gesture to a large wooden table in the middle of the hallway, shaped like the base of a tree. “I picked that one up during my travels.”
Ramona continues walking past the hallway and into the living room. I grin as I follow her, enjoying how caught up she is in the moment.
“Those beams – they’re stunning,” Ramona gushes as she stares up at the exposed wood girders that cross the living room ceiling.
“You’ve got your design-architect voice on,” I tease lightly.
Ramona blushes fiercely and I’m surprised by how aroused I am by such a simple reaction to my voice.
“I tend to get a little carried away,” she admits, looking down at her feet.
“Well, go ahead and get carried away,” I encourage with a chuckle. “I’ll fetch us that nightcap while you look around.”
I leave the curvy woman to her own devices as I head to the wet-bar to prepare us each a drink – whiskey neat for me, and a glass of perfectly chilled champagne for her. Meanwhile, she putters around with her purse, looking for something. Probably doing girl stuff, like checking her make-up or fixing her hair.
A moment later, I return to the living room where the pretty brunette is staring at one of the walls.
“Goodness, you have an entire wall made up of Turkish tiles,” she says with awe as I hand her the drink. “The colors are marvelous.”
“I do. I had them commissioned by a local artist when I was in Ankara last summer. He even showed me how they’re made.”
Ramona spins and stares at me. “Okay, you’re successful, intelligent, you obviously travel to cool and exotic places and yet somehow also manage to avoid sounding like an arrogant jerk. Who are you?” With this final sentence, Ramona lets out a light giggle.
