The Panty Dropper (Valentine's Love in the City Short) (3 page)

Well, I’m going to find out a lot about him. I raise my hand and form a fist.

Here it goes.

My knuckles tap on the door. Hopefully, the knock was loud enough for him to hear.

Literally, two seconds pass and the door swings open. He’s in dark jeans with a black fitted shirt. His sleeves are rolled up to the elbows. But the killer for me is that he has on a burgundy apron. Nothing says sexy like a man cooking me dinner while donning an apron.

I sense trouble and think I just heard a nail in the coffin of “I don’t sleep with someone on the first date” get pounded into the wood. He’s smiling and I smile back.

“Hey. Come on in.” He shuffles to the side to make room for my entrance while his eyes move over me.
Stopping at the shoes. “Wow, you look great.”

Monica was right. Damn her and these wicked pumps.

“Thanks. So do you. I love the apron.” I lightly brush my fingers across the part of the apron covering his chest as I pass by. He stiffens like the last time when I touched his finger. Seems like he’s sensitive to my touch. In a good way too. I pause after walking past him, waiting for him to lead me into his apartment.

Something about his smile has taken away the butterflies in my stomach. I’ve never felt this at ease on a first date.
Amazing since he’s The Panty Dropper. I think it’s the fact that I feel welcome here. Being invited into his home is different than meeting at a busy, noisy restaurant or club. There isn’t anything formal about tonight at all. Just two people having dinner, getting to know one another. How well is to be determined.

“Dinner is close to being finished,” he says turning toward me after shutting the door. “I have to confess that I’ve never cooked for anyone before.”

“Really?” I respond. “Should I be scared?”

“Probably, but if the sauce stinks then we can blame Ragu.” He laughs and I really like the sound when he does.

“Ragu has never let me down,” I confess.

As he comes to stand next to me, I feel his hand on the small of my back and it’s my turn to stiffen at a touch. He gently pushes against me as he walks out of the entry area. I purposely follow him slowly, this way his hand stays pressed against me. It feels heavenly. I believe I’m in all kinds of sweet trouble tonight.

We arrive in his open kitchen and living room area. The space is big and bright. There’s crown molding, high-end granite and shiny, stainless steel appliances. His place looks nothing like my rental just two floors below. Everything seems customized. I look at him confused.

“Your place is unreal. I don’t feel like I’m in my own building. How did you talk them into letting you do all of this?” I wave my hand across the whole room because everywhere I turn there’s something that seems out of the ordinary.

“Well, actually I own this apartment,” he answers me sheepishly.

“I didn’t realize that you could own an apartment here. I figured they were all rentals. How did you pull that off?”

“When I said I own this apartment, I really should say I own the building too.” Now he’s appearing even more embarrassed.

“So you’re my landlord then?” I say teasingly.

“I’m afraid so. And a very rude one too. I haven’t gotten you a drink yet. How does some red wine sound?” Oh he’s good, real good.

“You don’t want to talk about being the EM Properties, LLC, that I write my rental check to, do you?” I want to know more about him now as I’m totally intrigued.

“Have a seat at the bar. I’ll get you some wine and explain.”

“It’s just unexpected.” I follow orders and take a seat on the bar stool, hoping the jeans have stretched a little to make bending at the middle easier. And they have, thank God.

He sits a half-full wine glass in front of me. “You’re the only person in this building that knows my secret. Are you good at keeping them?”

“I’ve been told I’m like a vault, so I think you’re safe.”

“A vault? Meaning impenetrable?” I snort and he blushes. God, he’s getting more and more irresistible.

“Well, I wouldn’t say that.” I wink for fun. Turnaround is fair play after all. He smiles back so I know we’re good. “Does the onsite management know?”

“No one knows. Including the doorman and super.” He’s shaking his head. “With living here I prefer it that way. And as long as they receive their paychecks and are treated fairly, they seem okay. I have a manager contracted to be my go-between.”

“I’m actually amazed. I would’ve never guessed.”

“The whole ownership thing happened because of my job. I work for a real estate investment trust. I travel around the country looking for distressed properties to add to our portfolio.” He’s smart, successful and gorgeous. Add a genuine sweetness to the mix and I feel like the luckiest dinner guest of all time.

“I’ve never heard of a real estate trust.” I’m way out of my league here. I’ll need to concentrate to follow along.

“I won’t bore you with the details. But the partners at my company didn’t want to invest in this building, so I asked if I could buy it personally. They not only agreed, but helped me find financing.”

“You’re really young to be this successful. I bet your parents are proud of you.”

“I think so. Funny how that means more as I get older. Nothing like having my father say, ‘Well done, son.”

His sweetness might just be irresistible. I glance down at Monica’s red pumps and smile.

“My parents feel the same way. They’ve always supported my career decisions and helped me along the way. But it feels good to be totally supporting myself now.”

“Yes, it does. So I told you what I do; now it’s your turn.” I watch him move to the stove and check on something in the oven. I sip more of my wine before I answer him.

“I fly for my job. Literally. I’m a flight attendant.” I can tell I have his full attention now. He’s lowered the knife he was using to cut up the vegetables back down onto the cutting board.

“Really?
So you understand the travelling thing pretty well too.”

“Totally.
I’m gone around twenty-one days a month. Most airlines use fifteen days as a base, but I tend to pick up a few extra days here and there. Maybe someone’s child is sick or has something going on at school. It’s easy to find extra days.”

“Time wise, that sounds a lot like me. I’m on the road every weekday. Occasionally, there will be a property here in the Bay Area, though I can’t remember the last time that happened.
Maybe when I did the due diligence for this building.”

“So you’re all over the country?”

“Pretty much. One week I might be in New York, then the next week it’s Saint Louis.”

“Oh, I’ve had a couple layovers in Saint Louis. Great place for Italian food.”

“The Hill, right?” he asks.

I nod. “Best Italian food I’ve ever had.”

“The whole Hill area is such a unique community and unexpected for that city.”

Another sip on my wine and I’m done with my first glass. I’ve not had anything to eat since lunch, so I’m wondering if I should slow down.

“Your glass is empty. Can’t have that.” He grabs the glass before I can protest, and refills it to almost the top. Interesting...

“I bet we’ve been to a lot of the same cites.” I throw caution and likely my morals to the wind and take a drink of the wine. “Do you have a favorite?”

“It’s hard to pick just one. I have a few favorites, though.”

“Me too.”

He takes a big drink of his wine, finishing off his glass and pours himself another one. The red is flowing tonight.

“I really enjoy New Orleans. The food and people there are great. Do you fly into
there often?”

“I actually went to Mardi Gras last year. Talk about wild.” I notice him looking at my chest and I just know he’s wondering if I showed anything for beads.

He coughs and checks the oven again. Maybe I shouldn’t have said wild so enthusiastically. Damn alcohol. He probably thinks I’m easy now. A boy in every city kind of gal. Oh crap.

He pulls a casserole type dish out of the oven and sits it on the burners. It’s bubbling at the top and smells divine.

“It’s done,” he says laying aside his oven mitts. “I’ve never seen that side of New Orleans. I’m usually with business colleagues, so my trips have been more subdued.”

“Honestly, I only watched the crazy from the periphery. Let’s just say it was interesting.”

“I bet.”

I’m pretty sure he’s relieved after I tell him that I wasn’t a wanton hussy in New Orleans as his sweet smile has returned.

He goes to the refrigerator and brings a bowl to the counter. It’s a green salad with chopped up Romaine lettuce. I sip my wine as I watch him gather up the vegetables and toss them into the salad. He looks up at me and smiles so big I even see that sweet dimple appear. There’s just something unbelievably sexy about watching him cook. So I return his smile though I’d rather be kissing that dimple right now.

“I think we’re ready to dish up our plates. I made my favorite.
Spaghetti casserole. Like I said, nothing exciting.”

“But it looks and smells great.”

I watch him slowly remove his apron. Even the simple movement of him raising it over his head and straightening his shirt makes me want to stick a dollar bill as a tip in his pocket. He’s just that smooth.

I steady myself as I rise out of the chair just in case my lower half has gone numb from my tight jeans. All’s well as I make my way around from the counter bar to stand by Ethan. Even with my heels on he’s probably a good four inches taller than me. He looks me over again like he did when he answered the door. It feels inappropriately nice.

“I mentioned earlier that you look great didn’t I?” He’s playing with me now.

“A girl can never hear that enough,” I say while lightly touching his arm. This time I keep the connection and don’t pull away.

He stares at my hand and brings his eyes up to mine. They’re hooded and a darker blue than before. He’s definitely turned on. We both are. And before I know it, he’s gently spun me around pressing me against the counter’s edge.

He releases my arms and places his hands on each side of my face. His touch is warm and I feel his thumbs gently rubbing my skin. It’s sweet and enduring and my eyes remain fixed on his.

I lean into him as he leans forward. His eyes move to my lips and I know he’s going to kiss me. And he does...

Turning his head to the side, his lips softly meet mine. Our bodies are only touching via lips and his hands. I want to touch him too, so my hands find his waist. It seems like the best place to land. I feel the top of jeans and gently rub his skin through the shirt. Solid, there’s nothing soft about him.

His kisses become harder, more intense. The kind I can get lost in. And just when I think he’s about to draw me into his arms, he pushes back instead and his hands fall from my face. His lips are gone from mine, but their touch lingers like a phantom. And I know one thing’s for sure. That was the best first kiss I’ve ever had.

As we both catch our breath, I see his lips and I start to laugh. Not just a chuckle or snort, but a breath stealing, full-fledged laugh. I try not to but I can’t help it. My red lipstick... It was everywhere. Like, Ethan the clown, everywhere.

He seems confused by my odd reaction, as he should be, and all I can do is point to his lips as I laugh. Finally, he gets the hint and rubs his fingers across them. Now the red is smeared even more than it was, on his lips, face and fingers. I quickly grab a paper towel by the sink and wet it down.

“Ethan,” I spit out between laughs.

I take the wet towel and gently wipe the red off his face. He’s kind of laughing with me now, which is a relief.

“I’m so sorry,” I say after finally cleaning him up and calming down.”What a way to ruin a great kiss too.”

“So, great kiss, huh?”

“Very much so.”
I make sure our eyes are connected before I continue. “Likely the best first kiss ever.”

“Really?”
He’s all grins.

“Really,” I repeat like an echo. “I usually don’t wear red lipstick. It’s obviously a beauty hazard.”

“But it looks good on you.”

He glances down at my shoes and I suddenly feel the need to divert. Maybe it’s my hollow stomach. I’m not sure.

“We probably should plate up dinner.” I point to the stove. “It’s looking lonely.”

“You’re right. I got a little carried away. But when you touched me...” He stops without finishing.

“Hey. I enjoyed it a lot too,” I reassure him. “Maybe we can get carried away after dinner. No lipstick, though.”

“I like that idea.” He gives me a little bump with his hip as he walks by me toward the plates on the counter.
Stinker.

“Hey.” I give him a little punch on the arm as I walk up next to him. Funny we turned off the kissing, but we can’t keep our hands to ourselves. I hear Monica’s voice from earlier saying he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off of me, and I wonder what else she might be right about.

We fill our plates and head to his dining table. It’s set with black and gray placemats. They go perfectly with his plates. He even has cloth napkins set out for us. Very impressive and very metro. He sits at the head of the table and I sit to his left.