Page 48 of Lessons in Love
“You’re the cocktail expert, but can I make it for you?”
“Yes. Thank you,” I reply, looking over at her in the kitchen. “I like mine neat.”
“Is that without ice?”
“Yes.” I walk to the large window. It’s not floor to ceiling like mine, and her apartment is a lot warmer. It has a very Virginia feel throughout. Music starts to play, Frank Sinatra singing Christmas carols. I always preferred Dean Martin, myself. He never kowtowed to the establishment. Ol’ Blue Eyes was good, and damn talented, but Dean held his own while holding a martini in the other hand.
Virginia stands next to me, keeping her eyes forward. “I rented it for the view.” She turns to me. When I look at her, she hands me my drink. “And it’s close to work.”
“Do you like what you do?” I take a heavy sip and watch her over my glass. Her smile is one I’ve seen a million times when patrons at the bar are asked the same question. It’s what they do,not who they are. It’s another reason the bar does so well. They can shed their responsibility and just have a good time.
“I like numbers. I’m that geek who can get lost in the combinatorics of Euler’s equation all afternoon.”
“Yet you picked The Met Fifth Avenue instead of Breuer.”
“I love the geometry of contemporary art, but I find beauty in the ages of art and how it was depicted through the different cultures. Anyway, it’s good to see things outside of your comfort zone.”
“Have you ever been pressed against a window, exposed in ways that leave your soul bare like your body and kissed with so much passion that you can’t and won’t constrain it to only your lips?”
Her mouth is open, her breath deepening. “Good God. Warn a girl.” She’s fanning herself with her hand and turns to look back out the window.
“Answer me.”
From my tone, my expression, she understands the gravity of my question. “No, Hardy. I haven’t. Have you?”
“No, but I want to. I want to take you to that place where you forget that others might see and begin to crave that they do. And if they have never experienced the edge of that blissful abyss, they get a glimpse into what true ecstasy can be.”
Her body is closer, her chest heaving. I can hear her breath. I witness the way she licks her lips. Resting my hand over her heart, I feel the pounding—begging for more. She whispers, “I want that.”
“How badly?”
“Enough to know I’m ready for lesson four.”
Moving my hand to her cheek, I say, “No, you’re not, but you’re ready for me and lesson three.”
I take her drink and mine and set them down on the windowsill. “Do you remember what we did in the office?”
“Everything. I think about it all the time.”
Smiling, I take her left hand in mine and put my other on the curve of her waist. “Dance with me again.”
Her silent permission is enough for us to start moving, our bodies pressed together, and her head leans on my chest. I wrap my arms around her and we sway. Rubbing her back, I close my eyes and appreciate that I’ve been given a chance to hold her.
And to kiss her like this. Leaning back, I find her chin and turn it up to mine. “I want you,” I whisper, and then kiss her, her lips taking to mine as if they should never be apart.
They shouldn’t. That’s a conversation for another day. Lesson three awaits . . .
Letting my hands roam as if she was mine, I grab her ass and squeeze her against me, enough so she can feel how she affects me. Her body starts moving of its own accord. “You want this. I can feel it. I can tell. Your body gives you away. Where’s your mind?”
“On you.”
“Good, baby. So good.” I take a step back. “Sit on the sill.”
“There?” She points to the windowsill behind her. It looks to be wide, like eight inches or so.
“Yes, Virginia. There.”
She holds my gaze for a hard moment before she backs up and sits next to our drinks.
