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“Promise.” After a few attempts on his own, I turn in my seat and help him secure the chin strap. Jocelin puts his hand on my shoulder to steady himself, then swings a leg over and sits behind me. He’s a lot further away than I’d like, and his body language is tense. I frown and shout over the purring of the motorcycle. “You gonna be okay?”
He nods. “The reality of this is a bit unnerving. I guess I’m just realizing there will be nothing between us and the other vehicles.”
“I promise I know what I’m doing, and I’ll be very careful.” I give his hand a gentle squeeze, even though I’d rather give him a kiss. But the full-face helmet blocks most of the good kissing spots even with the visor up. “I have to protect my precious cargo.” Joce shakes his head but relaxes, which was my intention. “Where to?” He gives me his address as I pull on my own helmet, and I mentally whistle. We’re headed to the ritzy end of town. “Ready?” When Jocelin nods, I rev the engine one more time and grin. “Hold on tight.”
Jocelin grips my hips, and I slowly move the bike forward, letting him find his balance. When we hit the street, I give it a bit more gas, and he stiffens, tightening his hold. It’s been a long time since I’ve had someone on the bike who’s never ridden before. I usually ride solo or with Astrid. She and I have ridden together for so many years, it’s like second nature. Having a stiff, nervous rider on the back of my bike is throwing off the balance, and though it’s not difficult to compensate, it takes more focus.
At the next traffic light, I make a few adjustments, moving one of Jocelin’s hands from my hip to cross over my body. This forces him closer, giving us a better center of gravity on the bike. “This way you won’t feel like you’re going to fall off.” Jocelin nods and wraps his other arm around my waist, and damn, I like the way he fits against me.
At eight o’clock on a Friday evening, traffic is relatively light. Whether it’s the lack of other vehicles on the road or my excellent driving, Jocelin slowly relaxes. By the end of the thirty-minute ride back into the city, he’s pressed up against my back, with his arms wrapped around my body and his chin on my shoulder. I don’t hate it. At all. We pull up to the security booth in the garage of his building, and Jocelin fumbles to open the visor on his helmet. It takes a second, but when he flips it up he’s beaming from ear to ear. “Evening, Jim.”
“Evening Mr. Allard.” The guard nods at me and opens the gate, letting us through.
Jocelin leans against me, visor still raised. “Park in space 38A.” I nod and move up the ramp, finding the parking spot to the left of the elevators. I roll into it and cut the engine, waiting for Jocelin to slide off the bike before lowering the stand and swinging off. I remove my helmet, and Jocelin hands me his, and as promised, I don’t laugh at his slightly compressed quiff. As if he can tell what I’m thinking, he runs his fingers through his hair, spiking up the front, with the rest falling into an artful mess. God, he’s beautiful. I grip the helmets in one hand and take his in the other, following him to the elevators. Rather than pressing a button, Jocelin pulls a key card from his wallet and taps it against the access console. The doors open, and we step inside, thankfully avoiding any awkward waiting. He taps the card to the inner panel above the floor numbers, presses twenty-four, and the doors shut. I barely feel the movement as the elevator ascends, and in moments there’s a delicate chime and the doors open again. I do my best not to stare.
Okay, I totally stare. We step directly into Jocelin’s loft, and my gaze shoots across the room to the wall of floor-to-ceiling windows. The view is breathtaking. All of Seattle is spread out beneath us, lights from the city twinkling hypnotically. Jocelin moves further into the room, and I follow, my gaze darting to him as he takes off his suit coat, carefully laying it across the back of a chair. His tie follows, laid flat over the coat. He’s obviously fussy about his clothes, and I definitely am not, but I usually don’t need to be. He reaches for the button at his collar, and I don’t even try to hide my interest as he opens it, revealing the dip between his clavicles. It’s one of the sexiest parts of a person, at least in my opinion.
“So, this is home.” I pull my gaze from the sexy column of his throat to look around the room, smiling as my architect’s brain kicks in. The design is exquisite. It’s an open floor plan, with an abundance of light wood and white walls throughout the dining and living areas. The focal point of the design is the windows, but they’re beautifully balanced by the huge stone fireplace. The space has an airy feel, like summer in a bottle. From where I’m standing, I can see a kitchen off to the left, as well as an upper floor with a loft office area and at least one bedroom. I spin in a tight circle, taking it all in.
“Would you like a tour?”
I grin and nod as I remove my own jacket and tie, laying them next to Jocelin’s. “Please.”
He motions around the living room. “Well, obviously this is the main room. I don’t spend much time here unless I have people over. I have an office upstairs which doubles as a guest room when needed. That’s where I spend most of my time. Down here is really just for entertaining, and I don’t do much of that.”
I follow him into the kitchen, and my mouth drops open. The layout is functional, with lots of counter space and a bounty of wall outlets, but every square inch of the room, from the stainless steel appliances to the epoxy grout between the hand-placed tiles of the mosaic backsplash, screams luxury. The countertops are granite, the floor is dark hardwood, and the lighting fixtures are custom. The entire area is showroom ready, like it’s rarely used, and I wonder if he has a phenomenal cleaning service, or if he truly doesn’t take advantage of this incredible space. “This is an amazing kitchen. Do you cook?”
Jocelin laughs. “Not if I can help it. Although I can make a mean espresso.” He gestures to a Breville Oracle espresso machine in pride of place on its own beverage bar. “Speaking of which, would you like one? Or a beer?”
“Beer would be nice. Whatever you have.” I roll up my sleeves as I wander around the kitchen, absorbing all the little details. Jocelin grabs two beers from a built-in French door refrigerator, pulls a bottle opener from a whisper-quiet drawer, pops off the aluminum caps, then hands one bottle to me before motioning for me to follow him back to the living room.
“How long have you lived here?”
We climb a narrow set of stairs to the second floor. “About six years, now. I moved in after the lofts were renovated.” At the top of the stairs to the right is an open study-office that overlooks the grand room. There are neat piles of papers on the desk, an open laptop with two additional monitors, a cozy-looking sofa with a fuzzy blanket artfully thrown over the back, and another breathtaking view of the city. To the left is a bedroom area, and Jocelin heads in that direction. My heart rate speeds up. If this is his way of hinting that he’d like to get to know me better, I’m on board with that.
“So, this is my bedroom.”
It’s a lovely room. The white walls are offset by frequent touches of soft grays and a dash of black. There’s a white brick fireplace, with black grating and cast iron fireplace tools to one side, and a seating area across from it, with an overstuffed white sofa that looks cozy enough to sink into. However, the focal point of the room is most definitely the king-sized bed centered on the back wall. It’s covered in a fluffy white comforter and piled high with lots of gray and silver throw pillows. I imagine Jocelin’s pale skin and dark hair against the lightness of the bedding, and my cock perks up.
I take a deep breath and focus on the dark ball of fur curled up in the middle of the bed. A small fuzzy head slowly lifts, and pale green eyes lock on mine assessingly. With a slow blink, the cat lowers its head, curling in on itself, and I’m dismissed.
“That’s Dracona. She rules the house. She’s notorious for her bad behavior and disliking everything. If she hisses at you, don’t take it personally.” Jocelin moves around the bed and through another doorway.
“The en-suite bathroom.” I look over his shoulder at the narrow room with all-white walls and fixtures. Everything has clean, elegant lines, from the granite countertop with the enormous trough sink to the free-standing, deep tub big enough to comfortably fit two of me. The floor is light wood, designed to pull the eye toward the back of the room and the massive shower. “God, that’s spectacular.” The shower walls are white marble, with a mid-ceiling shower fixture as well as three separate shower heads on the right wall, two on the left and a strip of tumbled pebbles down the center of the floor. I know this style immediately.
“This looks like a Tadhg Byrne design.”
Jocelin turns toward me, a perplexed look on his face. “Actually, it is. Tadhg designed this for me. He’s a close friend.”
“You’re friends with my boss?” I laugh. “You have to be fucking kidding me. You’re friends with my sisterandmy boss.“ Then it all clicks into place. Of course they know each other. Jocelin works with Tadhg’s brother, Blake. “So, then you probably know Quinn, his partner.”
Jocelin stares at me, nodding slowly. “Yes, I knew Quinn first. It’s a bit convoluted, actually. I was friends with Blake’s partner, Stef, first. Stef introduced me to their brother Jules, who was living with Quinn at the time. Quinn invited Tadhg to one of our game nights, and we’ve all been friends ever since.” Joce shakes his head. “Wait, you work for MRB Concepts?”
“Yes. For all intents and purposes, I’m Tadhg’s apprentice. He’s teaching me the real world application of high-end single-family dwelling architecture.”
Jocelin laughs. “That’s definitely how he’d phrase that.”
I shake my head. “This night keeps getting stranger and stranger.”
