As the elevator came to a stop on his floor, it made the usual loud ding. He made his way out and turned left, passing by the closed doors of his unknown neighbors and several mass-produced floral prints on the walls of the cream-colored hallway. When he reached his corner condo, Cole pulled out his keys from his pocket, unlocked the door, and pushed it open.
Stepping into the small foyer, he dumped the keys on the wooden table at the entryway. He shrugged out of his coat and black suit jacket and then hung them both on the six-foot cherry wood coatrack situated in the opposite corner.
Rolling his shoulders, he stretched his neck from side to side, trying to ease some of the tension knotted up between his shoulder blades and the top of his spine. Making his way across dark hardwood floors into his kitchen, he opened a cabinet and grabbed one of his crystal tumblers. He reached up to loosen his tie as he walked over to where he kept his liquor. At the opposite end of the kitchen, he’d had a wine fridge installed on the bottom half of a separate cabinet, and above it was where he kept his old friend, a bottle of twenty-five-year-old Macallan.
Moving over to the sink with the bottle and tumbler, he uncorked the scotch. He turned on the tap, got his fingers wet, and then proceeded to pour himself a single neat before he flicked a couple drops of water into the liquor.
Lifting it to just under his nose, he inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. In the complete silence, he thought about the unobtainable for a moment—the one thing he currently desired more than anything, even more than the drink he now had in his hand.
How long has it been since I was so focused on a woman? A damn long time, he thought, moving around the kitchen counter. He walked toward the French doors that opened onto his balcony. The night was dark, and the lake was too, he mused as he stepped outside. He finally brought the glass to his lips and took a slow sip, the fiery liquid warming a path down his throat to his belly. He reached down to where his crisp white shirt was tucked into his black tailored pants and pulled it from its confines. Lifting the glass again, he took another sip as he started to undo the bottom buttons.
How can I find her again? That was the main question that was currently bothering him. He knew he could go down to Exquisite, but he also knew he would have to get past her brother. While the thought of dealing with Josh’s friend Mason didn’t bother him at all, Cole wanted his next meeting with Rachel to be private. He wanted to get her alone, and he wanted it to happen soon.
Downing the rest of the scotch with a deep swallow, Cole walked back inside and placed the empty tumbler on his coffee table. First, he needed to relax. Unbuttoning his shirt, he made his way down the hallway, passing his office and library, through to his bedroom. When he reached the top three buttons, he stopped, pulled the tie over his head, and threw it on the end of his bed.
Opening a drawer in his large bureau, he pulled out his swimwear, and then he grabbed a towel from the linen closet before he headed to the pool upstairs. It was time to decompress. Only then would he be able to really focus and work out a plan—a plan that involved Rachel and himself in a room together, alone.
Rachel pushed through her apartment door at approximately one in the morning. After kicking it shut behind her, she threw her bag on the floor, toed her black flats off, and walked barefoot down the hall to her kitchen. Opening the small fridge with a yawn, she pulled out the almost empty jug of milk, poured herself a glass, and then threw the container in the trash.
She headed into the living room and flopped down onto her old, comfy leather couch. Unbuttoning her coat, she pulled her feet up under her as she looked around the sparse living space. God, when did my life become so lonely? she thought, moving her head back and forth against the couch.
When her phone rang, she wasn’t surprised. She pulled it out of her coat pocket and then grinned as she looked at the caller ID. Casanova.
“I’m here, and I’m alive. No one mugged me on the way home.”
“You’re home then?”
“Yes, Mase, I’m here, safe and sound.” She sighed before she quickly added, “Thanks for checking on me.”
Her brother chuckled. “I don’t know why I feel the need to check on you. I mean, with your kickboxing moves, you could probably fight off a mugger better than I could.”
Rachel laughed. “Yeah, you’re probably right. See you tomorrow, brother.”
“Night, Rach,” he said before she ended the call.
Placing her phone down beside her, she closed her eyes, trying not to feel sorry for herself. Letting pity and self-doubt creep into her mind was becoming a nasty habit of hers whenever she was alone at night, and that was why she had finally decided to venture out to Whipped several months ago. It was the place where she had unintentionally caught the eye of a man who reminded her of things she’d thought she had buried the day her father had been laid to rest.
Cole. That was the only name she knew him by. To avoid the possibility of being set up, she hadn’t bothered to ask Josh anything else. After the Halloween party, Josh had dropped the case—thank God—and she hadn’t seen or heard from Cole since. That is, until today, nearly two months later, and holy mother of God, did I see him and every last inch of his tall frame.
Just thinking about the uptight, perfectly tailored suit made her palms itch. As her skin started to heat, she found herself sitting up and shrugging out of her coat. Throwing it beside her on the couch, she leaned back and closed her eyes, picturing Cole’s short blond hair, his scorching hazel eyes that were so focused and so intent, and that damn mouth that had licked and sucked that stupid piece of candy. Apparently, it also totally destroyed my brain cells, she thought as she opened her eyes and sat up on the couch.
Standing, she stretched her arms above her head. She removed the elastic from her ponytail and shook her hair out, causing several blue tips to fall over her shoulder. Yeah, I’m sure I’m exactly who his mother wants him to bring home. Then again, I can’t imagine a man like him giving a shit about what anyone thought.
Either way, it didn’t matter. The likelihood of her seeing him again was not very high. Even if they were to run in to one another at the club, they had similar tastes, which meant one thing. They were certainly not compatible for each other. That was exactly the point she had been trying to stress each time they had met. He just wasn’t listening, Rachel thought as she walked into her bedroom.
She pulled down the zipper from the back of her black leather pants and then peeled them off her body. After removing her shirt, she looked herself over in the full-length mirror in the corner of her room.
The blue-and-black demi cup bra had cost her a little over a hundred dollars. When she’d added in the matching strip of blue lace that had been sold as a thong—but looks more like a small piece of string—the cost had jumped to one-fifty.
Placing her hands on her waist as she cocked her left hip, Rachel decided that the money spent had been worth it. If there was one thing she indulged in, it was her lingerie. She loved the feel of lace and silk against her skin. She also loved how the boutique sets made her feel sexy. It was like she had her own little secret under her clothes. Well, it’s one of many.
As her long black hair draped over her shoulders, she could feel the blue tips tickling the upper curve of her breasts. She gazed in appreciation at the new silver navel ring she had bought yesterday. As it winked back at her, she could see the edge of the script writing she had tattooed down her ribs on the right side of her body.