Wreck Me (5 page)

“You’re kidding right? You live here?” Damon doesn’t respond. He slips out of the truck and walks around to open my door. It’s a nice gesture. Not many men do shit like that. I kind of like it. He reaches in and yet again grabs me about the waist and lifts me from the truck. He pulls me to his rock solid body and slowly lowers me to my feet. Oh damn this man smells and feels amazing. My heart speeds and my breathing becomes rapid.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to be too forward.”

“No need to apologize,” I say sounding a little out of sorts and breathy.

“Shall we?” I nod and the alarm on his man-toy chirps as he locks it. His hand finds the small of my back again and I revel in the warmth of his touch. He guides us into the foyer of the high rise building. This place is definitely swanky. What the hell does this guy do for a living? I will piss my pants if he says he owns a casino or some crazy shit like that. He is a little older than me. I can tell. How old is he? Thirties for sure. I’ll ask later.

“How’s it going Howard?”

“Pretty good, boss. What can I do for you?” Damon slides my keys, chintzy rabbit foot keychain and all, across the security desk to Howard.

“I need you to give these to Brian when he gets here and this note.” He grabs a pen and notepad from Howard’s desk area and jot’s down my plate number. I catch the word “multi-color” as he slips it back to the middle aged Howard.

“Sure thing, boss.”

“Excuse me for being rude. Howard this is my friend Jo. Jo, this is Howard. He is head of security here at the towers.” I extend my hand to Howard and we shake.

“Nice to meet you Howard.”

“Likewise ma’am.”

“Please, just Jo. “ He releases my hand and smiles warmly. I like Howard. He seems like a cool guy.

“See you later, Howard,” Damon tosses over his shoulder as he guides me towards a bank of elevators. Four to be exact. Damn this place it fancy. I feel uncomfortable. I don’t want to touch a thing.

“You must be loaded to live in a place like this,” I blurt before thinking better of it. Damon chuckles and nods his head as we step into the elevator. The doors shut and he stamps a code into the control panel. We start to ascend the high rise.

“I’m an entrepreneur. I do well for myself.” It’s a simple, vague explanation that leaves me curious to know more. The elevator has come to a halt and his hand on my back guides us through the elevator doors and into a foyer. He slides a panel open on the door and punches some buttons. I hear the slide of a dead bolt. He opens the door and motions for me to walk ahead. I step into his private home and survey the space. It reeks of an overpriced interior decorator. Geez. This place is as modern bachelor pad as they come. It feels almost clinical with all the clean lines and light color scheme. I can feel his eyes on me and I turn to face him. I nod and do my best to feign approval.

“You have a nice place. You must have had one of those expensive decorators huh?”

“Yeah. I paid her a considerable commission and she did this.” He raises his hands and motions to the whole of our surroundings.

“You don’t like it?”

“No I guess I don’t, but I’m not here much so it’s not that big of a deal.”

“So make her change it! You paid her. You should be getting what you want.” I fold my arms over my chest and scowl a bit. I have no reason to get pissy over his shit, but I guess I have this deep rooted issue with people who fuck over others. He cocks his head a fraction and studies me for a beat.

“Come with me. I want to show you something.” I plop my purse down on the low profile couch and follow him. He leads us through the penthouse, then up a flight of stairs. He keeps walking past the loft and I pause. Holy shit. Paradise. A loft library. He comes to stand beside me.

“Looks like your over-priced decorator either got something right or has multiple personalities.” I stand perfectly still and admire the cozy library. It is a huge contrast against the cold, modern theme that the rest of the penthouse is bathed in. This space is large by any ones standard, but just not on the same scale as the rest of his home. This loft feels smaller and cozier. It feels like a place I could sit in for hours reading book after book. It’s amazing. There are only two walls in the loft. Both of which are outfitted with floor to ceiling dark wood shelving. There must be thousands of books here. It’s impressive. There are two oversized chairs that could easily be loveseats. They are upholstered in some type of fabric that reminds me of corduroy. They aren’t leather and cold like the slim line furniture downstairs. The floor is carpeted not tiled. It feels plush even through my sandals. I bet it feels great under bare feet. There is a coffee table and two end tables with small reading lamps on them. I notice that one of the walls have a few empty shelves. Why are they empty? I would fill those suckers up with my favorites. I make my way further into the loft and walk a slow path in front of one of the large bookshelves. I raise my fingers and allow them to lazily graze the spine of each book as I pass. The ink and paper smells like home to me.

“She didn’t do the library or my bedroom. I handled both of them.” I turn away from the shelf and gape at him.

“Wow.” It’s all I can force out. Damn he just got way hotter in my opinion and it’s only because he has an obvious appreciation for books like I do. Maybe his appreciation is not quite like mine but still. He shows no clear response to my reaction. He makes his way towards me and stops just in front of where I stand. His right hand lands on my shoulder and slips down the length of my arm until my fingers are tangled with his.

“Come on.” I don’t utter a fucking word because my heart is racing in my chest. Damn the way he said that was sexy. He leads us from the loft. I look over my shoulder one more time at the most amazing private library I could ever imagine. Then keep right on walking behind him. He swings open a door and walks me through it. I step into a room that is a world away from all things cold and clinical. This room feels plush. The walls are painted a neutral earth tone with one accent wall the color of sea water. His bed has a huge headboard that reminds me of one of those wingback chairs. It’s upholstered and tufted. The fabric is the shade of champagne. He has two nightstands with lamps. There is a gas fireplace on the wall adjacent the bed. On the wall above the fireplace is a gorgeous abstract painting of who knows what. It’s probably done by one of those whacked out hippies. His bed looks like heaven. I have a rock hard piece of shit mattress, but his looks like a cloud. I don’t even want to see his fucking bathroom. If his bedroom is any indication, his bathroom is likely modeled after a spa or some shit. Damn.

“Your room is impressive. Maybe you should get your money back from that chick and just decorate the place yourself.” I laugh but he doesn’t. Ah shit, don’t get all serious on me. His fingers tighten around mine and he pulls me towards him. He turns away from me and leads the way back downstairs. He walks us into his kitchen and I am not shocked to see that the damn thing matches the cold theme. Slick granite countertops and dark wood cabinetry flank the walls. The cabinetry has an opaque glass center. Each one has a thin brushed nickel handle. The appliances are all top of the line and cost more than I make in 6 months I bet. It should be fun cooking in this kitchen. It’s better than my electric hotplate, toaster oven, and microwave.

“So, is it okay if I just get to it?” He lets my hand go and rounds the center island to sit atop a stool on the opposite side.

“Have at it,” he says with another panty incinerating smile cast in my direction. It smacks me square on and I can swear for just a second I feel those butterflies. Butterflies? What is that shit? That is a no go zone. I don’t do the emotionally attached thing. It has never been a good idea for me. I have only ever loved three. My Maman, my Papa, and my job. I have already lost two of the three and the third is a hairs breadth from being ripped from me. I shoo away those thoughts. I can’t deal with that right now. That shit is the whole reason I am seeking out a night of hot sex and distraction. I start digging through his cabinets and drawers. All my depressing thoughts are soon on their way out as I throw together one of my signature dishes in Damon’s cold kitchen.

“This is the best thing I’ve had in ages. Really, really good Jo. Thank you.” Damon caps of his sentence by shoveling the in the last heaping forkful of my signature cheeseburger casserole. It’s one of my favorite dishes to make since it is pretty cheap and easy to make. I make it for just myself all the time. I have never really cooked for anyone else. This is a first for me and I am kind of liking the compliments. It’s out of character for me to even give a shit. There is just something so damned familiar about him. Something familiar and comforting. I feel like I want to be around him. Like, maybe being around him will make things alright. Like it will make me alright. It’s fucking preposterous. I know that, but it’s a feeling that I can’t shake. I take another long gulp of my water and he follows suit.

“You’re welcome. I have never cooked for anyone so this is a first. Glad I didn’t screw it up.” I smile. What the fuck? Who cares if I screw it up? This is a one night stand. Plain and simple.

“Do you want to have coffee in the library?”

“Sure.” He quickly sets the coffee maker, and loads our dirty dishes into the dishwasher. I watch and wait. He looks so handsome. Those luminescent amber eyes have a way of cutting right through me and making me feel naked in the most incredible way. I have been itching to run my fingers through his dark disheveled hair since I first laid eyes on him. He pours our coffee and makes mine just the way I like it with cream and one sugar. He must have remembered from this morning.

“Coffee. Cream and sugar.” I take the cup.

“Thank you.” He offers his arm and motions for me to hook mine with his, and I do. My arm slips into the crook of his elbow and we ascend the stairs arm in arm. We enter his loft library and I set down my coffee to admire the space again. I love it in here. Damn I would kill to have a private library like this. I don’t usually kid myself with having wild dreams of being highly successful. I am quite the realist, but I can’t help but wish that someday I might end up lounging in a library of my own just like this one.

“I really love your library. I didn’t picture you as a book lover.” I glance over to him. Damn he looks good enough to eat.

“Why?”

“Oh I don’t know. I shouldn’t stereotype, but you don’t look much like a man who sits around and reads.” He shakes his head.

“I don’t. I never have enough time, but that’s not what I mean. I mean, why do you love my library?” What? Is he fucking dense? I work in a book store for crying out loud. That should be a big indication that I have a thing for books. I furrow my brows.

“I work in a book store. I don’t imagine I would work there if I did not enjoy it.” He arches a skeptical eyebrow and I can tell he wants to know more.

“Yes, but why would you want to work in a book store?” I help myself to one of the ultra cushy chairs and take in a deep breath. He sits in the chair across from me and props his feet on the coffee table between us. Against my better judgment, I decide to toss it out there. I have nothing to lose really. Though this guy is undeniably a catch, it doesn’t change my bottom line. This is a one night stand, and I don’t do relationships. It would not matter if I did date because I am nearly one-hundred percent positive that he doesn’t do relationships either. So, fuck it. I’ll tell him why I have a thing for books.