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She hasn’t gone to see anyone or done anything. Just straight home.
The word “home” doesn’t match the building, though. The thought of her seeing that place as home churns my stomach. She’s got something way better waiting for her. Someplace I know she’ll love when she sees it.
So, I watch for a while. The sky turns into a dark gray tone before night falls. I could look at her or anything to do with her for hours without stopping.
Not knowing what floor she’s on or when she might appear again, I decide to just go for it. I can make up a reason for turning up at her door on my way over. I can find a way in once I cross the street. I make up all the plans on the spot, willing this to happen right now.
Getting a whiff of my pits through my soaked jacket and shirt as I start to move, I hesitate, feeling and hearing the squelch of my rain-soaked Italian leather shoes. The tailored pants had already shrunk from the wetness, making me look and feel like a success story who went bust during the afternoon crash.
I know I should really make a better impression on her. Jasmine deserves the best, not some underslept, underfed man who smells like gym socks. I should get myself cleaned up and changed.
It’ll mean leaving her unattended, though, and that bothers me.
A lot.
Seeing as my staff seems so flexible, I don’t see why that shouldn’t apply to more than just buying flowers. With a direct call to the security desk from my phone, I instruct them to have a detail sent to the building across from the laundromat.
“Keep it low-key,” I inform the head of security, John Lipton. “If an insanely attractive strawberry blond leaves the building, I want to be the first to know,” I tell him firmly, hanging up.
I wait and watch just long enough before a dark car parks in the alley opposite me fifteen minutes later. I see the familiar face of Lipton, the head of James and Jones security, chomping at the bit to do something other than sit at a desk.
They look more like CIA agents, too, which sets my mind at ease. They have no authority here, but I don’t think anyone is going to ask them any questions.
Lipton spots me and nods curtly, signaling they’re on it. I couldn’t be doing a better job of it myself, and if they’ve spotted me, I figure I’m doing a crap job at hiding.
I hail a cab and keep my eyes on her building as long as I can before it disappears, swallowed up by the city. I head for home—our home soon.
My phone was in my hand the whole way. Waiting for the call I kind of want but don’t want. I want to find out where she’s going if she does leave, but I’d really like her to stay put while I get ready.
I don’t want anything in her life but me from now on, and not having her right by me in mine? That’s not something I want to last much longer, either. It’s about twenty-four hours already, and me going home alone without her just feels wrong.
I must be slipping in my old age. Whenever I see something I like or something I want, I just take it, but thisisa little different. There’s our whole future playing out over and over in my mind. I want Jasmine’s hand shaping it, too. Those same hands I picture running over me when I’m finally standing under the jet streams of hot water in my penthouse shower. The sight and feel of my own arousal are so constant now I may as well call it my “Jasmine.”
It’s just one of the things she does to me, even when she’s not around, and a constant reminder of her as I dry off and slip into some track pants. I feel like I’m overdressed, but this is according to my “Jasmine.”
I easily devour the contents of my refrigerator. A day with nothing but a mug of cocoa for a guy my size is not healthy, but it all kinda tastes the same, as filling and delicious as it is.
What I really want in my mouth is something else.
The scent and taste of her hand on my lips are still etched in my senses, and I hum and grunt at the memory as I eat. I’m satisfied knowing I will have a new world of flavors, scents, and sensations to explore soon.
If she’s playing hard to get, she’s doing a bang-up job of it. I mean, what happened to powerful, independent young women? I thought they didn’t like that old-fashioned stuff where the guy has to take the lead, but I’ve only got myself to blame there.
I’ve got a ton of corny, but very horny, ideas for romance. If it’s what she wants as bad as I need it, I don’t care who takes charge once we’re right where we should be—in our bed, getting to know each other in the best way possible. The idea makes me grin like a maniac as I look at the clothes I’ve laid out, sitting on the edge of the bed I know I’ll be sharing with her soon.
My phone is still in my hands as I stare at the screen until my eyes itch and burn, even to focus.
I figure I can just rest them for a bit.
Just a… few… minutes…
CHAPTERNINE
Jasmine
That feeling of being watched?
I think I just picked up on the undercover agent convention they’re having in the side alley. Not real cops by the looks, but maybe something else. Who knows these days?
