“It’s delightful,”

  “It’s very old fashioned and plain.”

  “But obviously, it’s very sentimental for you. There’s only one charm, a locket with a lock of hair. The locket has your name engraved on it, but I’m guessing it’s not your hair.”

  “No.”

  “So, does your mother have the same name as you, or did she have it engraved for you?”

  “She gave it to me when I was small. Not long before she left us.”

  I’m surprised at his sensitivity and his instinctive detective work. Most alarming of all, this man’s attention has been fixed solidly on me all evening. He’s listened to everything I’ve said. But really listened. He asked for my opinions, he wanted to know my thoughts.

  I hope he doesn’t ask what they are right now. I’m feeling a serious danger that if he did, I might tell him. Then I would really be in trouble.

  He says, “Let me show you my apartment.”

  Maybe he did read my thoughts again.

  Chapter 8

  Him

  SHE AGREES TO COME with me, I think because I told her to. It makes me wonder, would she do anything that I tell her now? That’s too thrilling a thought. While we finish our cocktails. I tell her to come and sit close to me. And she does.

  The more I see of Eva, the more I want her. And the more certain I am Eva is the woman for me. My first instinct was exactly right, as they almost always are. She is perfect. And she doesn’t even know how wonderful she is.

  It will be my greatest pleasure to show her, to help her unwrap herself and discover her true magical potential.

  She will be my queen, the ruler of my empire. She is the woman who can be the mother to my children. Already I can see how beautiful our babies will be, how they’ll grow up, strong, intelligent, wise and golden.

  Eva is the good thing that comes to me as my reward. A reward that I don’t deserve at all. And she deserves better than me.

  When I speak low into her ear, her head rolls toward me.

  “Eva, you are the woman I have waited my whole life for.” Her head turns as she listens. She sighs when I tell her, “I had no idea until I saw you today. You are what I need. You are everything that I want.”

  Without looking around she takes hold of my hand. While I tell her, “I need to have you. I have to claim you and make you completely mine,” she holds my hand in her lap. My big hand, clumsy and oversized, contrasts with how delicate her soft thighs are. While she holds me so tenderly, I slip our hands together, under the light folds of the red dress, caress her along the inside of her thigh. Her eyes flash and her lips tighten as she makes a slow nod of agreement.

  The scent of her heat makes me wild inside. My blood pumps, making me stiffen. Her breath trembles and shudders as I stroke her.

  “You are divine. You’re the most beautiful woman in the world.”

  The biggest thrill of all is when I tell her to do something. It’s as if the air between us crackles with electricity. She lights up. A mixture of defiance and thrill, of pleasure and resistance sparks into life in her, and it’s so charged that I feel it lighting me up, too.

  “Come with me, now. Come to my apartment.”

  “Is that in this building, too?”

  “No. But it’s very near,” I squeeze the inside of her thigh. “And it has a much better view.”

  “Oh,” she sighs, “I bet it does.”

  When she stands in the darkness, she is close. The heat of her body and the softness of her breasts press against me. Her hips rock against my stiffening ridge as I stroke her neck with the backs of my fingers, while my other hand slips around her waist. Pulls her close to me. Gripping the soft curve of her behind, I squeeze her firmly to me. I feel her thigh, wanting to raise.

  I have to get her home to my apartment.

  Before we step out of the private elevator in my building, Eva says, “Do you think if I come with you to your apartment that I’ll fall at your feet?”

  Then her eyes widen at the first a glimpse of the apartment.

  “Oh!” her sigh is a rasp. “Oh, wow. It’s one hell of an apartment, though.”

  She looks up and whispers my name. I stroke her hair and pull her to me. Her lips part and I taste the sweetness of her breath before I seal her lips with mine, pulling her close, feeling her surrender as her body stretches up to mine. We lock together and for that moment, it feels as though the world turns around us.

  While I mix cocktails, I leave Eva to discover the main room. She gasps and claps her hands to her cheeks when she sees the view.

  The top of the apartment is glassed on all sides. One big room with a wrap-around terrace. High up over Manhattan, the glass box looks out in all directions. A sunken area for seating. Low-profile couches. All to give the best possible view. The other rooms are on the floors below.

  In the club, the music was getting to Eva. I could see she liked it. Armand, the musical director, puts all of the playlists and mixes on an app online. I know the mix he was playing tonight, so I play the late-night extension of that mix for her.

  I bought this apartment as an investment. I always thought that this penthouse was a jewel, a spectacular piece of property. I never had anyone to enjoy it with before. Seeing Eva’s reaction gives me new eyes on the place. Now I really appreciate it. Now, I don’t think I could ever sell it.

  Now I feel more awake, more concentrated and alive than I have felt in a long time. She’s had more of an effect on me than I can believe. In such a short time. It’s impossible, but it’s true.

  I mix and shake the cocktails to make them spicy and exciting, but not too strong. I don’t want to make her drunk. Not with alcohol, at least.

  I guess that my feelings have been dormant, held back and waiting for so long.

  When I take the drinks up from the kitchen area, I’m stopped in my tracks. Silhouetted in the moonlight and the nighttime glow of Manhattan behind her, she swings and sways her sexy curves in the middle of my living room. The sight of her body swaying makes my pulse hammer.

  She’s wonderful. Like a piece of art. She shakes her sexy ass, swings her hips. She moves like a ballerina, but she’s way more exciting. I’m fascinated, watching her body flow as the red dress drifts in waves around her, her soft curves show, picked out and outlined in the low lighting.

  I’m aching and harder than I think I’ve ever been before. Thicker and longer. I need her.

  When I watched her in the club, her shoulders swayed to the beats, but it was like she was trying to conceal it. Like she was dancing in secret. That was a thrill to watch. A privilege.

  And it revealed something more about her to me. I am so excited to be discovering her, layer by layer. Seeing her emerge from her defensive wrapping.

  She wants to dance. She wants to give expression and show herself through music. But something holds her back. I realize that she’s dancing now with her eyes closed. She would be shocked and embarrassed if I surprised her by making a sound. She would realize that I’ve been watching. I almost wish that I hadn’t been. But I can’t. I know that I’m going to treasure these images of her forever.

  She dances as though she’s dancing alone. She is free and uninhibited. I don’t want to break the spell. But I also don’t want to deceive her or surprise her. Not surprise her in that way. I do want to give her surprises, but only good surprises. I want to surprise her with thrills and delights. With pleasure. With ecstasy.

  I move quietly down to the seating area with the couches, but I put the glasses on the coffee table, deliberately making a sound with them, a soft thunk of glass on glass.

  She stops as I knew she would. She turns. Her hands go up to her face.

  “Keep dancing.”

  Wordlessly she shakes her head, hurries down to get her drink. She takes a sip. Puts it down again. She’s so excited, as she comes near, I feel the heat, the warm glow of her skin.

  “I’m sorry,” she says, “I was carried away.”

  I pick up my drink and clink glasses with her.

  “Don’t apologize,” I tell her, firmly. It’s an instruction. “You dance beautifully. Thank you for letting me see.”

  “I didn’t mean to…”

  “I realize.” I look in her eyes and I feel how sharp the tension is for her. She wants to dance, she wants to show herself and to be seen. But she can’t. She’s too restrained. Reluctant.

  “Dance.” I tell her as a command. “Dance for me.” I tell her. Her lovely face is a glow of startled confusion. She wants to. My commanding her makes it possible. Gives permission and pulls away the responsibility. But still, she’s shy. I tell her again. “Dance,” I point, back up to the center of the room. “Now.”

  She takes another sip of her cocktail. Puts down the glass and looks in my eyes as she swallows.

  “Now.” I tell her again.

  With a nod, and a gulp, she turns, and jumps back into the music.

  At first, she’s self-conscious, holding her eyes tight shut, but her moves are big and sure. She obviously practices. As she dances around the room, the space becomes a set. Something unique and magical.

  I feel an urge to dance with her, but I know that will only frighten her off. If I move, I’m sure she will stop. I have to give her time to become comfortable. Familiar. To enjoy being seen. I have to stay still. But it’s hard. Very hard. Her hips roll.

  She makes shapes, pictures with her body. She spins, pirouettes, pliés, and jumps. She expresses herself with a free-form wildness that’s like something tribal or ancient. Ancient but heartbreakingly tender.

  Chapter 9

  Her

  I HAVE TO DANCE because he tells me, and so I can because I must. Under his command, I’m free.

  The glass windows run from floor to ceiling, and the glassed roof, makes me feel like I’m out in the night air, high above New York. I feel exposed by these huge windows. All of Manhattan spreads up and out below my feet. The lights of Broadway lead a trail to the Chrysler, the Empire State, Columbus Center. I can see the park and, closer, the necklace of lights along the riverside, the South Street Seaport. I see boats on the river. And the Statue of Liberty.

  “How did you know?” I’m swaying with the beats already. “How did you know what to play?” The beats are surges that pulse through me, taking me. My shoulders swing, my feet move, my head turns, side to side.

  “I watched you. At the table in the club.” God, he really does pay attention. I should be careful. I’m not feeling very careful.

  My hips turn and my spine stretches, my arms go out and then I’m dancing. Yes, yes, yes. Yes,

  The music plays in a pattern that breaks and pops, it turns on a knife edge, leading and it isn’t stopping, I float my skirt and turn and I want to lift up all my dress. Yes, yes, yes.

  I drag my skirt up on my thighs and shake my hips and I’m turning, turning all the way from side to side. I’m moving. I twirl. I bend and I’m twerking like I’d lose my dress, yes, yes. I lose myself to dance.

  Jumping beats weave through me, make me spin and turn, bringing out the moves I’ve learned and practiced. It all flows together, a river of styles. The beats flow, I follow. The dance is me. Making a picture, telling a story. A movie. Explosive feelings build and swell, like fireworks in a storm.

  There is only me and the music, the music in me. As I turn, glide and stalk around the room, I start to feel a charge, from his eyes on my body. I stretch right in front of him, in front of him, in the middle of the room. I stand tall, shake, pull my hands in my hair and watch this strange, dangerous older man as I shake and roll.

  With my eyes on his, moving like a snake, stalking like a panther, circling like a condor, I’m showing myself. I strut like a stripper. Shake like a whore.

  My full red dress billows, and I lift the skirt, I prowl. Pull it up my thighs.

  I remember his hand on my thigh. My pelvis rocks and saws, back and forth. I drag my fingers through my hair as I take long, deep, hot breaths. Prowl. Feeling hot. Watching him, watching me.

  Wanting to feel the dress slip, slide, flutter, and fall to the floor.

  Wanting him to see me. All of me. Wanting to dance on him. Around him. Close. Very close. Me on him. Him in me.

  I’m in front of him. Turning my back to him. I want so much to roll my ass up and down the long ridge that stretches the front of his pants. I move back. When I feel his hardness up against my soft ass, it’s like a silent clap of thunder goes off inside me.

  He starts to move his hips. I raise a finger. Turn. Look in his eyes.

  Press my finger to his lips. And I slip my finger into his mouth. Feel his hard teeth. Like the hunk of hard, hot flesh that I’m rubbing against, rocking. Rolling my pelvis. Obscenely. A rush of sensation explodes inside me.

  I turn again. I keep my eyes on his as I put my back against him. Press my ass back, push it up and down, roll it against his pulsing thickness.

  Then I slip the shoulder strap. Look back at him.

  His eyes are on fire.

  His hot breath pants on my neck and my bare shoulder. I pull the strap back up. And turn to face him. Slip down the strap again. Lower, this time.

  His lips part as his tongue slips across them.

  “I want another kiss,” he says.

  I tell him, “So do I. But I want to make you wait.” I press my palm on his chest.

  God, I can feel the pulse in his bulge against my stomach. I want to wrap my thighs around him. Grind him with my soft hot, wet ache. Rub my mound on him, squeeze my buzzing clit against him. Rub and roll against the throbbing underside of him.

  His eyes flick up and down. Locking hard on mine like he could enter me through them, flashing down to stare, hungry, greedy at the swell of my soft breasts.

  Glad that I wore this lovely lacy bra, I know now that it’s at least going to get an audience.

  Chapter 10

  Him

  THE MILKY SOFTNESS OF her breasts squeezes against me. The swell enrages and inflames me. She teases with the strap of her dress.

  From head to foot, I’m vibrating. Holding myself back from ripping that dress to ribbons.

  I want to grab her. I want my mouth on her. I want to gobble, lick, and suck on every part of her. To nibble the lobe of her ear, the side of her neck, her breasts, all the way down to her hot, wet, honey-scented mound that she scrapes on my thigh and on my hardening rod.

  I want to be up hard between her soft breasts. In the cleavage of her ass. Between her soft thighs. In the back of her throat.

  She wants to make me wait. I wonder if she knows how high the pressure builds.

  The beats are earthy. Low and insistent.

  Holding myself back for her may be the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

  With hands on her thighs, she pulls, lifts the front of her dress.

  The rhythm of her warm, sweet breath rises. Makes me harden and swell.

  I listen to her breath. Heavier. Rising as she moves.

  Her lips part. Her teeth sink, sharp, into the side of her bottom lip. Her chin lifts and her eyes drift down, half closed, as her pelvis scrapes hard against mine.