Finally, the elevator opens with a ding, and there he is, leaning against the frame like trouble, hoodie half-zipped.
I open my mouth to snap at him with some half-formed complaint, maybe a "Where the hell have you been?!"but I don't even get the first word out.
He rushes toward me and my back hits the wall so fast that I get a little startled.
His hands are everywhere, under my skirt, roaming my thighs, gripping my butt. Then his teeth catch my cheek with ahalf-gentle tug that makes me gasp.
"Jesus, what are you—"
"Starving," he rumbles against my mouth, hands fisting in my hair like he's unmaking me on purpose. "Been craving you all day."
I can't even catch a full breath because he eats it away.
"Didn't you—Ahhh—Didn't you take the edge off at lunch?"
"You think my hand could ever replace you?" His hips slam into mine and he grinds against my clothes, making me feel how ready he is. "That was just the warm-up."
There goes my ponytail.
There goes my logic.
There goes everything.
I manage to push him back, feeble but desperate. "Ben, this is insane. What if someone sees us? I can't do this anymore."
"I know," he says and laces his fingers with mine. Then, without saying anything else, he reels me through the corridor.
I expect him to swipe the card on the pool door and be under him in less than two minutes, but he passes it, turns to check whether I noticed—I did—and bites his bottom lip, eyes gleaming with anticipation.
We stop at the corner unit, the only door that looks like someone might live behind it.
The metal 42 on it catches the corridor's blue light.
"Try not to jump me before we even cross the threshold." Ben tugs a key from his pocket and fits it into the lock.
The door swings open. Warm, dry air hits me first, lacedwith lemon polish and some earthy scent coming from the perfume sticks by the door. The whole unit smells untouched.
"What's this?" I ask, stepping inside and the door clicks shut behind me.
"Our new apartment," he announces.
I whip around. "What?"
"You didn't really think I was dragging you to the pool every night, did you?" he says.
The key lands in my palm and he folds my fingers over it with his thumb, sealing it. "Everything behind this door is ours. No witnesses. No interruptions."
I uncurl my fingers, gaping at the key. "What? I mean—how?"
"André tipped me off," Ben says, already moving through the space, fingers drumming the edge of a black granite island across from the door. "It took some strings and about ten phone calls, but I got everything sorted. We got a three-month lease."
I blink. Three months. A whole season.
And here I was, thinking he'd bail next week, after realizing dating me is a different beast.
I take the apartment in.
The left side of the unit opens into a dining area with a long table and a huge horse candle on top. Then there's a sunken living room with a soft blue sectional facing a wall-mounted screen the size of a drive-in.
