The Private Serials Box Set(32)
“Maybe you should take me home.”
“Fuck that, Lena. I’m taking you to my place. You can’t spend the night alone in your house and I haven’t slept well in nearly a week. I’m not sleeping in my car again.” He put the car in gear and we jerked back onto the road. Soft Preston was gone again and I was in the car with pushy Preston.
“Okay,” I sighed. The rest of the ride was quiet. Neither he nor I spoke. When the car slowed again it was to stop at a gated community. He stopped at a keypad, rolled his window down, and entered four digits.
“Fourteen, ninety-two,” he said softly. “The year Columbus sailed the ocean blue.” He turned toward me slightly, a boyish grin on his face. “It was the only four-digit combination I knew I’d never forget.”
“Makes sense,” I replied.
“Remember that, you’ll need it.”
He made his way to a building that had garages all along the first floor and I realized we were at his condo. It hadn’t occurred to me that there were anything but giant mansions in the West Hills.
As we neared one of the garages, it began to open, timed perfectly so we didn’t even have to stop or slow down—he just pulled right in, effortlessly. Once the car was in, the garage door closed behind us and Preston folded himself out of the car. I followed, grabbing my duffle, trying not to let my nerves get the best of me. More excitement had occurred in the last three hours than I could remember in my whole life, and I was still trying to keep my wits about me. I had to remind myself why, in all reality, I’d come here. To be with him. To let the all-encompassing attraction I’d had to him since that first day take me wherever it led.
Without words, he led me into his house and I took the quiet opportunity to admire his home. It was definitely a man’s place. Everything was either black, white, or gray. He led me past the living room and I took a second to look inside. The furniture was black leather, reminding me of the jacket he’d worn every time I’d seen him, apart from that night. There was a glass coffee table in the middle of the room and an enormous flat screen TV hanging on the wall.
I continued to follow him down the hall, which I noticed had no pictures hanging on the walls. Everything was stark and empty. I tried not to think about how his house could be spruced up or what I could add to make it more homey and warm. When I followed him into the next room, I gasped at the most beautiful kitchen I’d ever seen. I had a nice kitchen at my home. It was functional and I used it often, but Preston’s was a work of art.
Black granite countertops, a huge island with a six-burner stove built in, stainless steel appliances, and gorgeous dark cabinets. There were twin ovens built into the wall, stacked on top of one another, and a door slightly ajar that looked like a walk-in pantry.
“You like to cook?”
“Not really. I don’t have a lot of time to cook.”
“Oh.” That surprised me. Why would he have such a state-of-the-art kitchen if he didn’t cook?
“I bought the condo new, and it was already built this way,” he said, reading my mind. “Don’t get me wrong, I can cook. I just don’t find myself home a lot.” He walked to the far side of the island and then his eyes looked to me. “Can I make you a drink? Vodka martini?”
I blushed at his remembrance of my drink of choice, my heart speeding up just a little at the thought of him paying attention to such details.
“Can I just have straight vodka? On the rocks?” I needed something to take down quick, not something to savor. He didn’t answer me but I watched as he pulled out a tumbler and made my drink, also pouring himself a scotch.
With both tumblers in hand, he walked around the island, heading straight for me. His eyes never left mine as he approached and when he made it near me he came to stand directly behind me, forcing me to turn to him. He placed both tumblers on the granite behind me, one on either side, leaning into me. I could feel the cool, hard edge of the granite biting into my back, coupled with the warm hardness of his chest pressing into my front.
He reached down and took the duffle from my hands.
“Anything breakable in here?”
“No.” I quirked a smile at his strange question and then yelped as he tossed it over the island and into the sitting room beyond. Then his hand was in front of me again, holding my drink out for me. “Thank you,” I said as I took the tumbler from him. I pressed the glass to my lips, still looking him in the eyes, then tipped the glass back, taking the cold liquid down in one swallow. I winced just a little as it burned, but recovered quickly, enjoying the warmth it spread through my belly.
He smiled down at me, but this was a new and different smile. This smile was nearly predatory, dangerous. My smile disappeared quickly, replaced by my heartbeat thrumming through my veins, both my hands gripping the glass in my hands as if it were the only thing keeping me upright. Leaning back just far enough to bring his glass to his lips, he took a small sip of his scotch, eyes glued to mine.
“Can I try it?” I asked, before I knew the words were coming out of my mouth. I blushed a little, realizing it was a strange request. “I’ve never had scotch before.” His eyes were lidded and dark as they came closer to me, his face tilting slightly as he gently pressed his lips against mine. The kiss wasn’t insistent, wasn’t pushy; it was soft and cautious. His tongue teased the seam of my lips and when I opened to him, I tasted the scotch. Our tongues melded to one another and the kiss was nutty and peppery. I released a small moan and he pressed into me further.