I lift my leg, unsure and awkward in the tightness of my skirt, as if it’s not meant for this high climb.
As I step up onto the running board, my other heel slips off and hits the pavement with a hollow sound. I twist awkwardly, ready to clamber back down and grab it. His large hands encirclemy waist, and he lifts me as if I weigh nothing, setting me in the passenger seat of his truck.
“Sit,” he orders me, voice all velvety deep and unshakable.
All I can feel is his closeness, the heat radiating off him, his firm yet tender grip. All I can see is him, the square set of his shoulders as he bends to retrieve my fallen shoe.
He kneels, and the sight of him beneath me unravels me.
A wild pulse beats at my throat. He slips my heel back on, his touch light. His fingers skim over my ankle, leaving a trail of goosebumps before he finally withdraws, leaving me out of breath.
He runs his fingers up to my knee and gives me a gentle nudge to turn my body, so I do. I’m quiet as I watch him close the door with careful force. I sit, rooted in the plush leather seat, unsure what to do with my hands or my racing thoughts.
He rounds the truck, and a breeze of cold air enters with him, but his presence is warm beside me in the cab.
The truck rumbles beneath us, both of us sitting high above the road. He drives, calm and collected. I ride, barely breathing. Silence stretches between us, broken only by the sound of the tires spinning underneath. He seems at ease, fingers resting loosely on the steering wheel. I’m anything but, only bringing myself to speak to give him directions to my apartment.
“You’re unusually quiet,” he says, low and teasing.
I steady my voice. “Well, I’m a little embarrassed. I don’t know if you heard, but my boss had to drive me home from a bar after a few espresso martinis,” I say jokingly.
“I didn’t have to,” he says, turning to glance at me. “I wanted to.”
The way he says it leaves me unsure how to respond.
“Thanks,” I finally say.
I look out at the road, trying to focus on anything but the way he’s leaving me undone. Every sharp turn, every flick of his eyesto the mirrors, every brush of his hand against the gearshift, I’m aware of the man driving me home, and what he does to my pulse.
“You’ll want to take a right at the next light,” I tell him, needing to steer this back to something manageable.
He nods, shifting lanes, and I watch the set of his jaw, the ease of his grip. Every detail draws me in, a magnetic pull I can’t resist.
The truck rolls to a stop in front of my building, but everything inside me feels like it’s still in motion. He puts the truck in park and turns to me, his eyes searching and intense. I know I should say thank you and leave, but the words catch in my throat.
“I should—” I start, and my voice fails. My hands fumble with the seatbelt, desperate for something to do.
“I’ll walk you up,” he says, already out of the truck and rounding the front. I finally click the seatbelt loose and scramble to gather my purse as he opens my door.
“James, you really don’t have to,” I say, but I’m already reaching for his hand as he helps me down.
“I know,” he says, a flicker of something dangerous in his eyes.
We step into the elevator together, the doors cinching us into a private cell of brushed steel and amber light. I clutch my purse with both hands, knuckles white, wanting to fill the space with words but finding that all my conversational fodder has been incinerated by his heat. He stands so close that the fine hairs on my arm stir in the air between us.
He turns toward me, gaze dropping for a split second to my lips before coming to rest on my eyes. A shallow breath escapes me. The elevator chimes, breaking the silence between us as the doors slide apart.
The hallway is empty.
We stop in front of 3C, and I fumble in my purse for the keys, but my hands are trembling just enough to make the taskimpossible. I laugh, tight and awkward, as I pull out a tangle of receipts and lip gloss tubes before finally locating the right key.
He’s watching me, and I can feel it, not just the casual, patient gaze of someone waiting on you, but something deeper, a concentration that suggests he’s cataloguing every detail: the tremble of my hands, the way my hair falls in my face, the little hitch in my breath.
I finally get the key in the lock and swing the door open. Salem trots out to greet me, rubbing his fur against my leg and sending a low purr into the quiet hallway. I scoop him up, the familiar warmth of his body a small, comforting anchor against the unfamiliarity of James’s presence here, just outside my apartment.
“Thanks again for the ride and for the drinks,” I say, knowing I should leave it at that but unable to stop myself. “And for the company. You were a perfect gentleman.”
He regards me closely, a soft rumble of a laugh escaping. “See you in the morning, Avery.”
