“Too bad we can’t see what he’s doing in there.” I search through the people milling about as we creep down 88thStreet, not spying anything unusual.
“We’ll know exactly what he’s up to shortly.”
CHAPTER26
MAXINE
“Igot a place in the city for a few nights so we can be close,” Winger says after making a few trips around the park.
“Oh, okay,” I agree easily. Sticking around to monitor where he’s going is a good idea.
“I can take you back to the apartment if you want.” Winger glances at me.
“No.” I think,I’d rather be with you, but what I say instead is, “I’d rather be close.”
Cleveland isn’t my city. I’ve only been in the area a few times, but I know we’re not far from the Polaris building when Winger pulls up to the front of a brick building. A valet in a black and gold uniform hustles around to the driver’s door the moment we stop.
“Unit 602,” Winger tells him and exits without another word. I scramble to get out of the passenger seat, but he makes it to my side to help me out, not releasing my hand as we make a stop at the open trunk, where he grabs a duffle before we enter the building.
He heads straight for a bank of elevators without looking around at the seating areas, signs for the gym, or the little shops on the main floor.
“Have you been here before?” I question once we’re in the elevator.
“No.” He pushes the button for the sixth floor, which is the top level.
“Don’t you have to check in or something?”
“No, it’s all taken care of.” We exit onto a hall with super high ceilings and lots of windows. The walls are brick, while the exposed silver ductwork gives it an industrial feel.
There are only two units on this level—I know because there’s a little gold plaque pointing one way for unit 601, and another for 602. Winger leads us to the left, and I can just make out Lake Erie through the windows off in the distance.
I’m so distracted by the view, I don’t even see him open the door until he says, “Are you coming?” to get me moving. The view from the inside of the loft is just as spectacular, if not better. One entire wall seems to be comprised of huge windows, reaching for a ceiling that’s just as high as the one in the hall over the living room, which has a set of slick black stairs leading to a space above the kitchen, where it’s lower.
I let out a low whistle of appreciation as I spin. The heavy door slams, and I hear the click of the locks. Surprisingly, I don’t feel the least bit cornered or trapped, until I pivot to see Winger standing near the entrance, watching me.
Tension fills the vast space, shrinking it down until it feels like we’re closer than we actually are. My mouth feels dry all of a sudden, keeping me from making a joke about being out of my league in so many ways.
He breaks eye contact with me and gently tosses the bag on the sofa before heading straight for the fridge. I peek around his solid frame, noting the bottled water and nothing else.
He cracks the lid on one and reaches back, offering it to me, so I scamper over and take it, grateful for the first swallow to loosen my tongue. Without looking at me, he opens his own bottle and drains it with a single drink.
I eye the duffle bag on the couch, instead of watching his throat bob as he drinks, because there’s something about it that makes me want to run my tongue along the same path. The desire to touch him is almost unnerving because it’s not something I’ve dealt with before. The few other times I’ve been with men, when it was my choice, it was still just perfunctory—a mechanical function without feeling that I forced myself through because I wanted to reclaim something that should have always been mine.
This is not that. This is so much more. There’s a really big part of me that wants to rush to find a bed—hell, even that comfy, oversized sofa would do—and strip him bare before fucking him. I want to know if all this will crumble the moment I touch him or he touches me. I want to speed past the trepidation, part fear and part anticipation, and see what’s underneath.
I actually take a step toward him, intent on just that, because I need to know before I lose myself to him completely.
“Should we check what Ian is up to?”
The question stops me in my tracks and serves as a chilling reminder of why we’re here in the first place, shriveling all thoughts of sex into a distant memory.
“Sure.” My voice breaks, so I clear my throat. “I’m going to find the bathroom.” I don’t give him a chance to argue before heading past the kitchen and down a hall.
The doors are open, so it’s easy to spot what I’m looking for. The bathroom is large, with a freestanding tub on a tiled floor next to an open shower. The toilet is partitioned into a little room by itself. After locking the door, I take my time poking around. I’ve read horror stories about surveillance equipment being left in rentals, and I’m pretty sure that’s what this is.
When I’m certain no one is going to watch me pee, I handle business and wash my hands. The woman gazing back at me in the mirror looks too wide-eyed. I examine my face, searching the small freckles and my blue eyes to see if there’s something that shows how different I feel, but I come up empty. I’m the same chick I was yesterday, and the month before that.
When I finally leave the room, I find Winger sitting on the couch behind the open screen of a laptop, and he’s watching me as if he thinks I might have been doing some ritual in the bathroom to make my head spin.
