Page 31 of Just The Way You Aren't

Spike whines when I prepare to open the front door. “Aw,baby, I’ll be back,” I coo at him. I wobble the rest of the way to my door, hoping my balance will improve over time. Bracing myself on the frame with one hand, I square my shoulders to assume the most flattering posture and pull the door open.

Damien stands in the corridor, waiting at the threshold of my apartment door and looking the way I dreamed he might. Handsome, elegant, and entirely out of my league.Gulp.It looks like it’s on the tip of his tongue to say something, but whatever it is dies on his lips as he looks me over, his jaw going slack.

“Hi,” I say with a smile, gently nudging Spike away from my ankles before he trips me. “Told you I’d be ready on time.”

Damien doesn’t say anything. I kind of like Damien Langley looking speechless as he drinks me in. And it’s not as if I’m not doing some ogling of my own. The black suit and crisp white dress shirt he’s wearing are cut perfectly to his body. And, since I’ve seen him in jeans and a polo shirt before, I know it is quite a fine body.

“Shall we go?” I prompt him when it doesn’t seem like he’s capable of speaking.

At his nod, I step out and close my door behind me before any of my other fur babies decide to attempt their escape from my apartment. Then I sashay over my welcome mat. Or, rather, I try to sashay over it. Whatever I’m doing, it fails in two steps and I end up falling right into Damien’s arms.

He catches me without missing a beat. His strong arms wrap around me and hold me against his muscular body. If I wasn’t so embarrassed after nearly face-planting right in the building hallway I might be able to appreciate how firm and strong he feels against me, and how incredibly good he smells. I stare up at him as he holds me, my fingers squeezing his solid biceps. Jesus, how many hours does he spend in the gymto get a body this hard? His arms and torso aren’t the only hard things I feel as he cradles me against him.

He looks down at me, then lower at my lips. My lips tingle. Who am I kidding? My entire body is lit up and tingling.

Damien squeezes his eyes shut and lets out a frustrated sigh. “Are you okay?”

“High heels,” I say with helpless shrug. “Not really my thing.”

“I see.” He holds me a moment longer, then rights me and offers me his arm. “We should go. We don’t want to be late.”

“Heaven forbid we deviate from our schedule,” I tease him, though my mouth is still dry. I wish he’d just kiss me already, honestly. This crackle in the air between us is driving me crazy!

Making our way down the building’s stairwell is precarious, and I curse the broken elevator as my ankles remind me with every step that I am not built for high heels, nor experienced enough with them to try to tackle concrete stairs. Thank goodness for Damien’s steady arm and immoveable support.

He doesn’t poke fun at me for how slow we walk, and when a neighbor in the building passes us, Damien shields me to make sure I don’t get bumped and topple into a head injury. His chivalry and the woodsy, masculine scent of his cologne makes me dizzier than the strappy heels on my feet.

Somehow, I make it down the stairs and to his car. I know he has a driver, but not tonight. He opens the passenger door for me and holds my hand as I lower myself into the seat. Then he carefully tucks in the hem of my long dress so as not to close the door on it.

I can’t tame the swarm of butterflies that take flight as I watch Damien Langley treat me as if we were on a properdate. Like a proper couple. Maybe he’s just a gentleman to every woman in his company. Although the warm, lingering smile he gives me as he steps back makes me feel as if I’m the only woman in the world.

“All set?” he asks.

I nod and tuck my wild hair behind my ears. “I’m good.”

He gently closes my door, then strides around the hood of the car and eases into the driver’s seat. He’s about to pull away from the curb when he pauses to wait for me to put on my seatbelt—a task that shouldn’t be difficult but for some reason was causing me grief as I tried to make sure I didn’t snag the silk fabric of my dress in the buckle. He reaches over, smoothly takes the clip from me and eases it into place.

His touch is warm and steady and lingers on my hip as the cross section of the belt plays a game of ‘how good is your bra, really?’ between my boobs. Damien’s gaze flicks to my cleavage as the seatbelt accentuates their fullness and his eyes widen a fraction.

His hand moves from my hip back to the steering wheel. It takes everything in me not to reach over, take his wrist, and guide his touch back to my thigh. I could never be that bold. But after holding his arm the whole descent down from my apartment, and his hand on my hip a moment ago, all I want is to feel his closeness for a while longer.

Does he feel the same way? Is all of this in my head?

As usual, he’s virtually impossible to read. With a schooled expression, he shifts the car into gear then eases away from the curb. His hands are relaxed on the steering wheel as he maneuvers us through Manhattan to the venue.

I sit beside him, wondering what those strong hands would feel like on other places of my body. I close my eyes and inhale deeply, trying to clear my head. Silver Hearts. I amgiving a small speech about Silver Hearts.Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you for giving me the opportunity to speak with you today. As I’m sure you’re all aware....

“Going over your speech?” he asks.

I nod. “I think I’ve worked out the details.”

“I look forward to hearing it.” He glances my way, then quickly back at the road, as if the millisecond glance was dangerous. Finally, he sighs. “Where did you get that dress?”

“Abby. She’s the only person I know who had something doable for black-tie. Why, is there something wrong with it?” I ask anxiously, smoothing my hands over the skirt.

“No,” he says quickly. “Nothing’s wrong with it. It’s stunning. You’re stunning.” He didn’t sound happy about it at all.

I laugh. “Thanks, I guess?”

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