He gives me a hug. “Come on, boss lady. No crying.”
I nod as he leads me to the large revolving door. A few moments later while we’re waiting for the elevator, he says, “I think you’re a lot braver than you think.”
I scoff. “Are you kidding? I just told you that I’m scared.”
“Hell no, I’m not kidding. Admitting fear is actually brave. And I’ll give you another example: you went out on that stage in a white see-through negligee because it was what needed to be done. You walked out there proudly, nipple tape and all.”
By the time he stops talking, my mouth is agape, and we’re getting sideways looks from more than a few people. “It was not see-through.”
“Oh, right.”
My mind fills with the memories of seeing myself in the mirror. There was lace that went down between my breasts that prohibited a bra, but I know for certain that silk was body-glued to my skin. I turn toward Stephen as we wedge into the elevator and whisper, “How did you know I had on nipple tape?”
His laugh is his only answer.
I’m not sure if I should be upset or worried or laugh along with him.
“It was not see-through,” I state matter-of-factly.
My comment does nothing but make him laugh more.
When we finally step out of the elevator, our rooms being on the same floor, I punch his shoulder. “You’re mean.”
Stephen leans in and kisses my cheek. “No, I’m not. Have fun tonight and don’t wait up for me. I could end up spending the night with friends in the village. I promise to be at the office bright and early with two cups of steaming Starbucks.”
With that, he disappears down the hallway toward his room.
“You are mean,” I repeat, but only at a volume that I can hear.
Chapter Eighteen
Shana
The restaurant high in the sky is filled with customers, every table an island among the sea of flickering candles within the ocean of windows offering the most spectacular view of New York City. Our conversation pauses as the waiter returns with Trevor’s credit card. I take in the stunning view as he signs the final bill and closes the small folder.
This is our second real date, third if you count the first night at the piano bar in Indianapolis. The thought makes me smile. Three dates in the course of a year. No one can say that we’re rushing things. As soon as he places the pen on the tablecloth, I lean forward and speak. “Dinner was amazing. You really don’t need to buy each time. I do have a spending stipend from Saks to cover my meals.”
Trevor just smiles.
“You know,” I offer, “I also know how to cook.”
“And does your hotel room have a nice kitchen?”
“I could invite you back to see it. Really, it’s amazing for a suite. The microwave oven is out of this world.”
His smile grows. “I like the invitation. I could even bring some microwave popcorn.”
I lay my hand on my stomach. “I’d say yes, but I believe I’m stuffed. One piece of popcorn and I may explode.”
Trevor stands and reaches for my hand. The warmth envelops me from my fingers within his grasp all the way to my toes. However, as I stand our connection breaks, and we casually move as a couple between the tables. And then, within a few steps, his hand returns, this time covering the small of my back.
I struggle with myself to admit that I like the way it feels to have him with me and how easy it is to fall into his lead as if we’re connected as one.
“Where to?” I ask as we stall just inside the large glass doors on the ground floor. Outside, the sidewalk is crowded with people as taxis and horns fill the street.
“That, my lady, is up to you. I know you had a big day at work today, and I wasn’t sure what you’d be up for doing.”
“Would you like to see my microwave?”
The gold flecks sparkle as he knowingly returns my grin. “You know, I have a full kitchen in my apartment.”
“No?”
“I do. I admit I don’t use it much, but I too can pop some scrumptious popcorn.”
I lean close and throw caution to the wind. This is our third date and no matter what the powers that be at Saks decide, I’ll be headed back to London in less than two weeks. “How about my microwave tonight and your kitchen tomorrow? I could stop and pick up some groceries after work and wow you with my culinary skills.”
“Or you could allow me to show you that I can cook something besides popcorn?” He stands tall and puffs out his chest. “After all, I’ve survived for thirty-plus years. I can make more than microwave meals.”
I lift my eyebrows, widening my stare. “Yes, Trevor, I’d say you’ve survived quite well.” I reach out and splay my fingers across his chest. “Probably not a lot of desserts.”
He reaches for my hand. “If you are asking if I can make a cannoli, I already have one.”
Heat fills my cheeks as my smile turns bashful. “I know.”
When he looks at me with a questioning expression, I go on, “I could tell the other night at the bar.”
“Shana?”
“Trevor, I’d like to have you come back to my room.” The words sound sure but saying them cranked up my pulse until I’m worried that if he doesn’t answer soon, I may faint.
His hands move upward and gently palm my cheeks. Slowly, he moves closer until our lips touch. When he pulls away, my eyes open wide to his. I’m lost in the golden flecks within his stare until he speaks.
“If I go to your hotel, I don’t want popcorn.”
I let out a soft giggle. “What do you want?”
“Shana, I want the same thing I’ve wanted since the night before the wedding. I want you.” He leans back and takes me in. The heat from his stare is like a flame on my skin as his eyes scan from my shoes to my eyes. “All of you. I want all of you.”
“I guess that’s good.”
“You guess?”
“I don’t have any popcorn.”
One more kiss and we step hand in hand out onto the sidewalk as the doorman flags us a taxi.
Other than the outside noise, the ride is quiet as we both silently watch the world pass by outside the windows of the taxi. The streets never seem to care if it’s day or night. The traffic remains. My mind and body twist with eager anticipation. The overwhelming expectancy is like a warm fog surrounding us, filling the taxi with its sweet scent. It’s as if we’re floating instead of driving to our destination.
Subconsciously, I nibble upon my lip as I overanalyze what we’re about to do. It’s not like I’m naïve. I’m a grown woman who knows exactly what she just agreed to have happen, and yet in some ways, I feel as though I’m at as much of a loss as I was my first time.
Don’t misunderstand. I’m not a virgin, and I know the fundamentals. It’s just that it’s been a long time since I’ve had what Kimbra and I used to refer to as mind-blowing sex.
As I think back on my not-very-impressive list, I’m beginning to wonder if I ever really had it. I contemplate the elements necessary for taking a relationship to this next level. First, there’s usually a physical attraction. I mean, no one usually jumps into bed with someone they’re not attracted to. As I think back, I wonder if sometimes the surface is the only element.