I frown as I shove a bottle of champagne into the already full cardboard box to take to the recycle room down the hall. I heave it up in my arms and march barefoot to the door.
It’s a struggle to deal with the handle and as I swing it open the whole box topples, spilling the bottles into the hallway.
One of them breaks…
…splattering my neighbor across the hall with the remnants of champagne left inside.
“Oh!” I exclaim, falling back against the open door. Behind me, Etta croons about wanting someone to keep her warm when Mondays and Tuesdays grow cold.
Jesse certainly looks heated enough.
Not that I need any warming up just looking at him.
I’ve only ever seen him in business suits, which I’ll admit is enough to have me fearful I’ve reached early menopause with the hot flashes they send through my system.
In the wee hours of the morning, his choice of uniform is a black fitted t-shirt and loose gray sweatpants, both of which do him quite the service. He’s obviously on his way to the gym. Whatever he does there, it’s definitely working based on the muscles I can see through the cotton of both articles of clothing.
Not to mention a part of his anatomy that definitely requires no strength training.
Lord have mercy!
I lower my eyes further down his gray sweats and see the splatter of champagne. All thoughts of the rest of him are lost in the mess I’ve created.
“I’m so sorry!” I exclaim, rushing over.
“Careful!” he warns—too late for me to heed it.
I hiss, both from the locked door of my apartment closing behind me and, to a much greater extent, the shock of pain that shoots up from my foot, which has just stepped on one of the shards of glass.
Jesse rushes in to catch me before I crumple to the floor, his arm coming around to scoop me into an upright position.
I reflexively throw one arm around his neck as I bunch up my skirt with my free hand, and lift the injured foot.
Looking at the shard sticking out from the deep incision has me going dizzy with pain. My eyes fall to my closed door and I make a small disheartened noise.
“I’ve locked myself out.”
“I don’t think that’s your biggest concern right now,” Jesse replies, staring down at my leg, which I now realize is exposed all the way to mid-thigh from my hitched skirt.
Despite the pain, I smile at the look of intense concentration in his eyes behind those glasses, as though he’s forcing himself to be perfectly clinical about all of this.
“Do you have a first aid kit? I’m afraid all I have are bandaids. I don’t think that will do the trick here.”
“Of course,” he says, as though I’ve asked him if he has a refrigerator.
I do love a man who’s prepared for all eventualities.
“I think I can walk if I just—”
“Nonsense,” he says before taking my breath away—literally!—by picking me up as though I weighed nothing.
I feel like Lois Lane being swept up into the sky by Superman himself.
“I’d rather you didn’t track blood into my place,” he points out, ruining the moment.
That releases my lungs and I give him a slightly bemused look. “You’re quite the romantic aren’t you?”
He blinks and gives me a bewildered look. He does that a lot I’ve noticed, as though he’s perfectly clueless as to what others are so obviously hinting at. For some reason, despite his utter lack of tact, it endears him to me even more.
I throw my other arm around his neck, and I feel his throat convulse as he swallows hard.
“My keys are in my right pocket, could you…?” he manages to eke out.
“Your wish is my command,” I purr in a deliberately breathy voice, causing him to swallow even harder. Despite the throbbing pain in my foot, I feel practically giddy over all of this.
I free my arm and awkwardly feel my way across his (rippling) stomach and (firm) waist, then dig into the pocket. While there I get a nice taste of the corded muscles of his thigh before I pluck the keys out.
Lord have mercy, indeed!
“Ta-da!” I announce, raising them in the air.
Jesse remains unimpressed.
I laugh and reach down to unlock the door and turn the handle to push it in. My curiosity takes over, wondering what his place looks like.
It’s very…utilitarian.
That’s the nicest thing I can say about it.
The primary color seems to be navy, with hints of gray. Quite possibly the two dullest colors to surround oneself with. What little furniture there is seems to be very high quality, I can say that much. A couch, a desk and chair, and a small dining table for two. He doesn’t even have artwork on the walls.
“Charming,” I hum.
“It serves its intended purpose,” Jesse says with just enough sarcasm to divert my attention right back to him. He simply raises one eyebrow defensively as he carries me to the couch.
So he’s not a complete robot at least.
I laugh, finding amusement there.
“An odd reaction to what looks like a nasty cut,” he says as he stands back up and eyes my foot, straining to avoid the length of bare leg still exposed above it. I demurely push my skirt down to a modest length, which I notice has him swallowing even harder.
It only proves my theory that something left to the imagination is far sexier than showing it all.
But his words have brought my attention back to my reason for being here, and my foot begins to sizzle with pain.
While he escapes to wherever to get his first aid kit, I bend my leg to get a better look. The glass is still buried in the ball of my foot, which is quite possibly the worst location.
So much for wearing heels anytime soon.
And just before Valentine’s Day weekend! Darn it to hell!
Oddly enough, it isn’t
