Reckless Abandon (November Blue, #2)(26)

Away from the watchful eyes of curious friends and family, his arm seizes my waist and I fall into his kiss. Its length is

inversely proportional to its explosiveness—as soon as it begins, it’s over—and I’m immediately left wanting more.

“I missed you this week.” He kisses my hand and leads me through the private entrance, down the private hallway, and into the

private elevator. He doesn’t release his grip when the elevator doors close. “How was Concord?” He keeps his eyes on the floor

numbers as he asks this question out of courtesy.

I shrug and squeeze his hand. “It was good; incredibly busy and exhausting.”

“You make exhausting look good, Blue—even in those damn heels you insist on wearing.” He chuckles as the elevator slows its race

to the twentieth floor.

“These are different heels, smartass ...” I think back to the night I sat in Adrian’s hotel room, barefoot and bleeding. He came

back from the fight carrying my heels, and I could have kissed him in that moment for his thoughtfulness.

Ding.

Our hands have created their own humidity, but that doesn’t disrupt Adrian; he tightens his grip and leads me down the hall. As he

opens the door to his corner apartment, two different views of the city flood my senses. I drop my hand from his and wander to the

window that showcases Boston Harbor—breathtaking from this height. Touching my fingertips to the warm glass, I smile.

I lean my shoulder into his as he joins me at the window. “You’ve done well for yourself, Counselor.”

“Ha, I guess. That and Grandma Turner’s trust fund.” He shrugs and tucks his hands into his pockets.

“She passed away?” I pick up my head and study his face.

His gaze doesn’t break from the harbor’s white caps. “Two years ago.”

“I’m so sorry, Adrian. She was always so nice to me.” I cross my arms and lay my head on his shoulder as he pulls me in closer.

We stand in silence as daylight turns to sunset. Our history extends further than an Ivy League high-rise. After a few minutes of

silently sifting through our past, Adrian ceremoniously claps his hands.

“Well, Blue, you want a tour of the place?” He’s suddenly like a kid on Christmas morning.

“Of course. By the way, this kitchen is fabulous. Do you use it or just woo women with it?” I hurry over to the oversized island

and try to spread my arms the length of it.

“Funny. What makes you think I try to “woo” women with my kitchen?” He leans against the exposed brick beam that separates the

kitchen from the living room.

“Right, of course. You don’t need a kitchen.” I arch my eyebrow and grin as I slink toward him. Grabbing his hand, I lift up and

whisper in his ear, “It’s just a bonus, I guess.”

He doesn’t respond except with a shake of his head and a grin before showing me the bathroom, study, and guest room. As any good

ladies’ man, he saves his bedroom for last. The room bleeds Adrian—the whole place does, really. Strong lines adorned with

leather and wood throw my senses into a tailspin and kick my body’s output of estrogen to full-throttle. Adrian Turner is as man

as they come, and I shift as my panties suddenly seem uncomfortable.

“This place is unbelievable. You really do seem happy.” I bring up my inquisition from weeks ago on the beach.

“I am now.” With his hands in his pockets, he swings out his elbow and I loop my arm through his. “Let’s go eat.”



*



Adrian and I reminisce through two glasses of Prosecco and the wild mushroom risotto before he asks the host to call us a cab. I

don’t see a check arrive at the table, but Adrian pulls out my chair and ushers us away from the restaurant to the main lobby.

“Do you dine and dash here often?” I look over my shoulder and notice no commotion over our exit.

“It’s on my account.” Without further discussion he opens the cab door for me, closes it, and enters on the other side.

“You’re always such a gentleman.” I sigh, and just might bat my eyelashes. He takes hold of my hand.

“You deserve a gentleman, Blue.”

That seems to be an understatement. During dinner he remained guarded. Despite no one around that we knew, he didn’t try to court

my legs under the table, he didn’t hold my hand while we were eating, and we haven’t kissed since I arrived at his doorstep.

“Where are we going?” I attempt to shake the “insecure needy girl” thoughts from my head. It occurs to me I slid into this cab

without question.

“To a club up here. I want to dance with you.”

Insecure, needy girl banished. Enter, Hell. Yes.

“Oh. Are we overdressed?” My memory holds visions of jeans, bedazzled tanks, and platform flip-flops when I think of “club” and

“dancing” with Adrian in the same sentence. I again have to remind myself we’re in our late twenties in Boston, not teenagers in

an underground bar that looks the other way at fake IDs.

“Even if we are, you look hot.” Adrian’s sentence is timed perfectly with the squealing breaks of our ride.