Kate
I haven’t heard from Jim since yesterday, and I’m finding I want desperately to talk to him. I mean, I want to know if he’s learned anything about the case. But I shove all that aside to focus on the matter at hand: a meeting with my board of directors.
The board takes the news of the stolen gifts better than I thought, but they are obviously disappointed. I share with them all the things Jim and Clear Security, as well as SFPD, are doing. Stephanie is quick to say that with Jim on the case, she knows they’ll find the prizes.
As we’re walking out, she pulls me aside. “I wasn’t kidding,” she says. “With Jim working on this, we’ll be fine.”
I can’t help but be hopeful. “That’s exactly how I feel. He’s done some great work. Plus, the lead detective on the case is the parent of one of our winners, so there’s a lot of attention being focused our way.”
“That’s a good thing.” Without a beat, she continues. “So, can I take credit for the matchmaking?”
“Wha—what?”
She smiles. “You and Jim. You seem rather cozy.”
“I just met him on Saturday. I called him after the break-in because I knew we needed help.”
“He’s pretty hot.”
I nod, trying not to give anything away.
She evaluates me a moment and leans in. “If I was single and straight, I’d be all over that man.”
I smile. “He is pretty hot.”
She squeezes my arm. “Keep us posted. I’m sure we can get creative if it turns out we’re going to need to reorder.”
All the way home on the bus, I debate whether to call Jim. I want to know if he’s learned anything, but really, I just want to hear about his day and tell him about mine. I don’t even know if that’s of any interest to him. It’s a bad idea. I should play coy. I should pretend it doesn’t matter if we don’t talk for a while. I’m cool. I can do this.
I walk into my apartment to find a note from Liz: I’m staying at Zack’s tonight. Call if you need me.
I pour the dregs of the bottle of pinot noir into my coffee cup and lose the battle with myself.
Me: Hey. How was your day?
Jim: Good. How was your board meeting?
Me: They took the news well but mostly because Stephanie guaranteed you’d find the gifts.
Jim: No pressure.
Me: I’m sure you’ve been under pressure to perform before.
I smile as I press send. I don’t know if he gets my double entendre, but I can’t help myself.
Jim: Never. I’m always up for the task.
Me: Always?
I bite my lip. He gets me. I shiver with excitement.
Jim: Particularly when the motivation is right.
Me: I hope the motivation is right with this.
Jim: Without question.
I grin. I’ll end up inviting him over if I don’t change the subject. I need to slow myself down or I’ll go charging in, and it will be a one-and-done type thing, and then things will be awkward—just like I thought at the beginning.
Me: Any news?
Jim: Other than thinking Saturday is far away? No. We’re slowly chipping away at our leads.
Me: Looking forward to Saturday?
Jim: It’s time alone with you, right?
Me: I’m not really into a group thing. I mean, it’s good in theory, but with all those limbs trying to find their place without a bloody nose, it sounds too complicated.
Jim: I truly LOL’d. I’m glad you’re not into the group thing. I wouldn’t want to share you with anyone.
He likes me!
Me: *blushing*
Jim: I think the group thing is more of a party trick anyway. You either can or can’t do it. Like those that can touch their tongue to the tip of their nose. What is your party trick?
Me: I can move my hips in a figure eight like the Polynesian dancers do.
Jim: Really? I wouldn’t mind seeing that.
Me: We’ll see. What’s your trick?
Jim: I have a magic tongue.
I laugh so hard that I think I pee my pants.
Me: Really? What, you can lick your eyebrows or something?
Jim: I wouldn’t want to scare anyone. I’m sure we could arrange a showing.
Me: Please see above. I meant it about not being into the group thing.
Jim: Who said anything about a group? I offered to show just you.
Me: Point taken. What else would you show me?
Jim: So many things and so little time.
Me: Why? Are you moving?
Jim: Never.
Chapter 11
Kate
It’s almost seven on Saturday, and I’m starting to have second thoughts. Maybe this outfit isn’t nice enough. I’ve put on a black pencil skirt and a white button-down shirt with a large belt and chunky silver jewelry. I like that Jim’s tall so I can wear my boots. They’re the most expensive shoes I own, and they have a significant heel that shows off my backside.
I groan. I’m trying too hard. But I don’t have time to change. I refuse to be the stereotypical female and make him wait.
Right at seven, the door buzzer sounds. I push the intercom. “I’ll be right down.” I grab my purse and coat and descend the four flights to the street. He’s standing with his back to the door, and he already looks stunning.
“Hello.”
He turns and his eyes sweep over me. He’s in a dark suit, obviously tailored, with a white shirt and light blue tie.
“You look positively beautiful,” he tells me.
I’ll never tell him I changed three times before settling on this outfit. The first dress made me look like I was going to prom, or maybe just trying too hard with a strapless sweetheart neckline—too much boob. I need to keep this sort of professional, right? Sure.
“A bit of a step up from the T-shirt and jeans?”
“You look good no matter what you wear.”
I blush at the compliment. He leads me to a waiting car—with a driver. I’m a little surprised.
“I don’t drink and drive, and I thought we might want to enjoy a few drinks,” he explains.
“Sounds good to me. Where are we headed?”
“Waterfront Café. Do you know it?”
“Only by reputation.”
“Good. I think you’ll like it.”
My pinky finger brushes his, and the touch sends electric jolts to my core.
“I understand reservations can be tough to get at Waterfront. This is exciting.” I chatter when I’m nervous and that’s exactly what I’m doing. Good grief. “Have you learned anything new since we last spoke?”
“I only confirmed what I already knew, so I guess that means I’m going in the right direction.”
The drive is short. We arrive at the restaurant, and the valet opens the door and extends his hand.
“Thanks, Lucas,” Jim says to his driver. “I’ll call you when we’re ready for a ride home.”
“Yes, sir.”
Jim puts his hand at the small of my back and escorts me into the restaurant.
The hostess greets him immediately. “Mr. Adelson, welcome.”
“Thank you.”
“You have twenty minutes until your reservation. Would you like to go to your table now or enjoy a predinner drink at the bar?”
He looks at me. “Are you okay with a drink?”
I nod. “Of course.”
We take a seat at the bar. He orders a whiskey, and I order a peppermint martini. “Maybe this will make me less nervous.”
His hand touches my thigh. “You’ve nothing to be nervous about. We’ll have a nice dinner and maybe a walk after.”
I don’t know how he does it, but he puts me right at ease. “What are your plans for Christmas?” I ask.
“Probably work. We have a holiday party up in Tahoe in two weeks, but the day itself is quiet. We’ll still have a few things going on with clients, but rarely is it too crazy.”
“You don’t go home?”
“This is home for me these days. What about you?”
“If we’re lucky enough to have the party on Christmas Eve, I’ll probably be sleeping in. The families will bring in potluck dishes, and we’ll augment with a caterer since it’s become so big. I’m sure I’ll be at the rec center cleaning up late. I don’t mind. The kids’ excitement is such an adrenaline rush.”
“You really light up when you talk about these kids.”
“Each year the number of students increases, and this the first time we’ve had so many.”
“These kids are really lucky to have you.”
She shrugs. “Well, thanks. I’d like to think someone would step up to fill the gap if we didn’t.”
“You’re very optimistic. You have something really special here.
Our drinks arrive. My martini has a candy cane attached.
“That looks very festive,” Jim says.
“It’s my drink for the season.” I lift it in toast. “To the kids.”
He clinks his glass against mine and repeats, “To the kids.”
I take a big swig of my drink, and it helps calm my nerves. After a few minutes, conversation becomes easier.
We spend the next few minutes getting to know one another. I like that Jim is so comfortable with himself. And I really like that he gets my sense of humor. It seems to fall flat with so many.
The hostess comes to take us to our table, and I’m impressed when they show us to an intimate booth near the windows. The view is spectacular.
“Let me know if the window gets too cold,” he tells me.
A waiter places black napkins on our laps, and we hear the specials. Then he departs, leaving us with our menus. The lights are soft and allow us to see outside.
Jim reaches for my hand. “You know, I often take this view for granted.”
“Me, too.” People travel from all over the world to see the Golden Gate Bridge and experience the cable cars. I love it here, and I can’t imagine living anywhere else.
“What’s your favorite thing about The City?” he asks.
I walk him through the litany of things you can do here. “But truly, my favorite thing is how easy it is to get to Napa or Yosemite or Carmel. In the same day, you can experience snow in Tahoe and put your toes in the warm sand at the beach.”
We order dinner as we laugh and tell stories of our experiences here in San Francisco. My favorite is when he explains how one of his clients, whom he doesn’t name, was being pursued by a group of women. They kept breaking into his condo and showing up at his workplace, and they were doing it almost as a group. Jim’s team couldn’t figure out how they were getting the information on where the guy was. Then they finally realized the guy’s mother was the person telling the women how to find him. When Jim confronted her—an old Italian woman—she told him, “I want to be a grandmother before I die.”
Dinner is outstanding. I am melting over the sautéed scallops. Jim’s got grouper prepared with some sort of sauce.
“No french fries with that?” he asks.
I grin. “Nope, it comes on a bed of potato puree.” I lean in and carefully look around to make sure there is no one listening. Just above a whisper I ask, “What’s the difference between mashed potatoes and potato puree?”
He shrugs. “Looks the same to me.”
“Tastes the same, too.”
His mouth curls in amusement, and I realize I’m having fun tonight. Without a second thought, I place a scallop on his plate and take a forkful of his fish. I moan at the light taste of his meal. It’s like heaven.
I look at him, and he’s gazing at me as if I stood on the table and shook my ta-tas in his face. I may have gone too far taking food off his plate without asking. I know I took an unwanted french fry the other night, but some people are super territorial about having things that have been in someone’s mouth on their plate. I’m a little shocked at myself.
“Wow, that’s really good.” I’m trying to cover my error.
Without missing a beat, he grins and eats the scallop on his plate. “The scallops are pretty spectacular. I’m not sure which one I like better.”
Phew. “Thank you for dinner. I don’t usually get to enjoy restaurants like this, and it’s a great treat.”
“I hope we get to do this more often.”
I reach for the bill when it arrives, but he covers it with his hand and shakes his head. “I said I would be buying.”
I haven’t been on a date in a long time where the guy didn’t expect me to at least pay half. But Jim covers the bill and helps me into my coat. Who is this guy? I’ve never had anyone do that for me. Wow.
When we step outside, the fog is thick, and it feels as if it’s misting, but I don’t care. I just like being with him.
“How about a walk?” he asks.
“I’d like that.”
He reaches for my hand and leads me along the waterfront. The air bites and chills me to the bone. After a little while my toes are frozen, but I’m still not ready for tonight to end.
“Your teeth are chattering. I should get you home.” He runs his arms up and down mine, trying to create some friction heat.
“That’s not necessary. I can grab a rideshare.”
“I’ll take you home.”
“You don’t need to call your driver to come get me. I feel silly having you do that.”
“Well, I do need to get home myself. But if you don’t want my car to take you, I’ll call us a rideshare.”
He gives me a look that tells me not to push it. And I don’t. There’s something about him that makes me feel safe.
The rideshare pulls up and drives us to my building. When we arrive, Jim gets out and holds the door for me. Harry, our local homeless man, is sitting in my doorway. I can tell Jim’s uncomfortable with this. I put my finger to my lips and angle my head to the side, and he follows me. I use the code for the garage, and we walk inside. “That’s just Harry. He’s here when he can’t get a room in one of the shelters. It’s wet and cold, so we don’t mind him hanging out in the vestibule.”
“This is not a safe neighborhood.”
“It’s not that bad,” I insist. “And I can’t afford anything better.”
“I’m not sure I’m comfortable with you staying here tonight by yourself.”
I smile. “Is this your way of asking to stay with me?”
He smiles and shakes his head, but he makes no move to go.
It is his excuse, and he smells so good—a combination of citrus and male. I know I may regret it later, but I can’t help myself. “I have some whiskey. Would you like some?”
“Sure.”
He sends the rideshare on its way, and we walk up the three flights to my apartment. He’s not even winded when we get to my front door. I open the door just as I remember that my bed is laden with all the outfits I tried on earlier tonight. The apartment is chilly, but I hardly notice.
“Nice place,” he says.
“It isn’t much, but it has two bedrooms, and the heat works most of the winter.”
He takes a seat on the couch, which didn’t seem small until he sat down. I pour him a whiskey and myself a vodka. As we drink slowly, I feel like a dam has burst inside me, and before either of us realizes it, we’re making out like teenagers. It’s alternately slow and sexy, and hard and fast. My pencil skirt begins to frustrate both of us.
He breaks the kiss. His hair is messed up, and he looks so sexy with his shirt open halfway down his chest and his tie askew.
He’s breathing hard. “Do you want me to leave?”
My mind tells me that’s a good idea, but my body says the opposite.
“Let’s go back to my room,” I whisper.
He stands and extends his hand to me. I lead him to my room. Clothes are everywhere.
“I couldn’t decide what to wear tonight,” I mutter in embarrassment.
“You would have looked beautiful in a potato sack.” He unbuttons my shirt and begins to kiss from my shoulder up to my ear, and I think I’m going to come before he touches me.
“Only if it was for pureed potatoes.”
He cracks a smile and continues unbuttoning my shirt. “The hint of the lace on your bra has been teasing me all night.”
I unhook my belt and slip out of my skirt. He kneels in front of me, hooking his thumbs in my thong and moving it over my hips. He slowly unzips each boot, and I step out of them. He takes a deep breath, no doubt smelling the pheromones oozing out of me.
I’m standing before him naked, and he stands and takes me in. A line has been crossed, and there’s no going back. We give in to the moment and kiss so passionately that we’re out of breath for a few seconds. It strikes me at that very moment what has been missing in my life over the last few years: chemistry. Hot-blooded chemistry.
We continue to kiss hungrily. I clear the clothes from my bed and lie down. He lies on top of me partially dressed—he’s lost his tie and his shirt, but he’s still wearing his pants. I clutch at his chest hair, sending him into an ecstatic state. He devours my breasts, kissing all over my body and working his way down to my love triangle. I’m wet already, and my musky scent seems to drive him mad. He sucks my pussy and laps up my juices. A violent orgasm rips through my body as I hold him by his hair, pinning his tongue inside me. He doesn’t stop, and I continue to convulse as my juices fill his mouth.
“You taste so good.”
I lie there as he laves my breasts with kisses, and I come down from my euphoria.
“Roll over,” he demands.
I do as I’m told, and I hear him behind me.
I pick up his light, clean, soapy scent, and I feel his hands caress down my back and over my upturned ass, then explore my thighs. His gentle touch drives me insane. He avoids my core, and each time he comes close, I lean into him, but he doesn’t give in. I’m going to be climbing the ceiling soon. The scent of us begins to combine, warm and urgent.
I hear clothes falling, shoes thumping, and then something that sounds like hands rubbing together. Gently, he moves my thighs apart. His hand goes between my legs, my sex held like a delicate objet d'art. He blows a warm breath onto my slit, and my clit responds. He strokes and rubs, and I moan my encouragement for him to continue. I want so badly to turn and beg him to fuck me. He must know it, because of my moans.
Now his fingers part my folds and explore how wet I am. I’m drenched.
I hear foil ripping, which is a relief. I wouldn’t do this without protection, and not having to argue is so much better. A quiet snap of latex makes my nipples pebble. The thought of him inside me is almost more than I can handle.
He walks around the bed and moves near my head. I'm face to face with the biggest cock I’ve ever seen, but instead of being frightened, I feel another wave of wetness drip down my thighs.
“You’re so beautiful when you come,” he says. “Tonight, we’re going to see that look of ecstasy on your face so many times.”
What the condom is covering looks well suited for that task. He’s hard. Unquestionably erect.
He disappears behind me again. For a moment, I can't think, much less breathe. He pries me open, and his face meets my flesh. He's licking and slurping and devouring me like I'm the finest, juiciest peach. I admit it isn't quite what I expected, but it’s a small relief.
Those big hands seem to have no problem holding my ever so plush hips, and he opens me wider. He spreads my legs apart with his and takes a deep breath. So do I. He lines himself up—I think, it's hard to tell from this angle—and then I feel him: thicker than he looks and harder than I could imagine.
He seems very adept at what he's doing. The opening act brings me close, and he's determined to see it through. I'm trying to help, provide some tactile feedback of my own, but he has other ideas. My ass bounces against him as he pounds into me. It feels almost primal. What I want is just what he's doing. All airs and pretense are abandoned in favor of hedonistic pleasure.
I can't hold myself up any longer. He has actually fucked me into the mattress, and I know we want the same thing.
Without withdrawing, he pulls me to the edge of the bed. I'm still face down, and now my breasts can take a respite from swinging in time to him pushing into me. He entwines his fingers in my hair and pulls me up. His balls have tightened now. I feel them higher against me than before. The thought is fleeting. My own release is beginning to take hold.
My nipples are hard points, and the heaviness of my breasts lets me know for sure it won't be long. He changes my position. I always thought my hips were far too broad for this. It appears I was wrong.
His legs are on both sides of me, holding mine tight together. It takes a few tries, but he gets inside me. I want to scream, moan, cry out his name. At least part of that I can't bring myself to do, so I bury my head in the pillow, push my ass back, and take him. I let my fantasies play movies in my head—I am sexual. I am desirable. I am free.
He's back between my thighs and pulls me close. He wraps his arms around me and holds me. I still can't hold myself up, but this time it's because my orgasm is sapping my strength. My contractions grip him inside me. I am almost there.
Somewhere fireworks explode, and I think I’m yelling his name so loud they can hear me five miles away, all while he only grunts his pleasure as he empties himself.
He collapses on top of me, rolls over, and pulls me in. We’re both gasping for air. My core is on fire and wanting more.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
My stomach drops. He’s going to leave.
“I couldn’t hold back,” he says. “Our first time should have been slow and sensuous. I promise to be better next time. But I’ve been wanting to do that since I saw your picture on the internet before I volunteered.”
I’m stunned, but too tired to dissect his meaning. I kiss him, our tongues enjoying a slow dance. We fall asleep in each other’s arms until we can muster the energy to go again.
Let It Snow by Nancy Thayer
