The Ground Rules Part 37

"I want to go check out the bathroom. I'm sure it's fabulous," I venture as I jump to my feet.

When he joins me in the washroom, I'm glad to see the energy between us has shifted.

The s.p.a.ce is sterile-sleek, clean surfaces abound. I'm intrigued by the toilet, which seems to float on the wall, the toilet handle sticks out of the walnut finish. There's no tank, no bottom. I've never seen a toilet like this-I'm fascinated.

"Where's the tank?" I ask, intrigued.

"It's built into the wall," he explains, seemingly amused by my fascination.

"And what keeps it up?" I ask, not waiting for an answer. "I'd be afraid to come crashing down."

He laughs. "A little thing like you," he says. "You'd probably have to be a thousand pounds to bring that toilet down."

"It's kind of freaky."

"You haven't been out much, have you?" he teases.

"You've noticed?"

"A little."

I laugh inwardly at the sound of our discussion. This is just what we needed-a conversation about a toilet-non-s.e.xual, not intimate at all. Things were getting way too intense back in the bedroom.

I take in the rest of the bathroom-it is purely innovative. Two square, stainless-steel sinks sit side by side under a seamless mirror, which almost melts into the wall. The gla.s.s enclosed shower is accentuated with a dramatic mosaic backsplash-the tiny tiles making up an image of an oriental tree.

"I love the shower. What a nice touch."

"I can't take the credit, I'm afraid," he confesses. "That goes to our designers."

There are about a zillion shower heads, including a large overhead one, and a digital touch pad on the outside wall with LED display.

"That is one fancy shower. It looks complicated."

He laughs. "It is."

The large sleek soaker tub looks very inviting. "You and me, later," I say with a sly grin, "in that thing."

"Maybe," he says with a devilish smile. "But I think you might enjoy the shower more."

"Oh...would I?" I say. "I'm more of a bubble bath kind of girl."

"Trust me...you would like this shower."

I'm not sure exactly what he's saying, but he's turning me on, nevertheless.

I grab his shirt and pull him to me. "Well, let's try it right now," I venture with my s.e.xiest voice.

He kisses me...another sensual, soft kiss. But then he pulls away again.

The man is driving me absolutely bonkers.

The intercom buzzes just as I'm about to beg.

A lady's voice tells him the catering crew has arrived.

"Please send them up," he says.

And I know I won't see any action anytime soon.

The crew arrives and the atmosphere becomes chaotic and loud. After we offer our initial h.e.l.los, they set up in the kitchen-boxes, crates, stainless-steel food heating contraptions, and dishware. A plump, middle-aged lady with sharp bangs seems to be in charge, barking out orders.

"Do you need anything from us, Rhonda?" Weston asks.

"Nope. I think we're all set," she tells him, smiling at both of us. "You two pretend we're not here."

The two a.s.sistants, a young man and woman, travel up and down the gla.s.s-encased staircase. I haven't even been to the second level yet, and I wonder what's up there. They seem to know what they're doing and where they're going-I gather they've been here before.

"You entertain a lot?" I ask, wondering if he's brought other women here before.

"Yes. We've had a few parties here. Mostly when the units first opened...showings, for promotional and marketing purposes."

"Let me guess," I say. "This is all being covered by the company? Isn't that an inappropriate use of company funds?"

"Who are you?" he jokes. "My accountant?"

"What's upstairs?" I ask, curious.

"Do you want to see?" he asks, taking my hand. I love it when he takes my hand. Unlike Gabe, Weston is not the most touchy-feely person, but when he does touch me, he usually lights me up.

He leads me up the stairs, and I follow eagerly. When we reach the landing, I am awestruck. The contemporary theme continues up here, warm shades and soft lighting. A window looks out to a wonderful view, and that's when I'm reminded we're in the penthouse.

"It pays to be the boss," I say casually. "This place is fantastic."

He smiles as he brings me into his den, furnished with a sleek walnut desk and white leather desk chair. Multiple large, flat screens cover the desk and a large TV stretches along the wall. Everything is meticulously ordered, groups of objects forming perfect lines and angles, books and display pieces arranged flawlessly.

I slide my finger along the edge of his desk, not daring to touch anything. "You must be the most orderly person I've ever met."

"Yes," he admits with a sigh. "I'm not sure if it's a virtue or an affliction, to tell you the truth. I feel much calmer when everything's in order."

I contemplate his words, wondering what kind of effect this arrangement of ours has on him-it is anything but simple.

"And...you and I," I say, my words soft, "that's not quite orderly."

"It's a great source of stress, to be honest," he confesses, taking a seat at his desk. "But also a great source of pleasure," he adds with a sly smile.

"I mess up your life a little, don't I?"

He laughs. "You have no idea."

I love his laugh. When he smiles, he seems more relaxed, more human, more approachable, and I have the urge to hug him and hold on forever.

"Do you want to see the rest?" he asks, getting up from the desk.

He leads me to the kids' bedrooms, which are immaculate, a far cry from my girls' rooms.

"My children have barely set foot here," he admits. Although I realize this isn't his main home, where he spends the majority of his time with his family, I still feel privileged to be able to see a small slice of his life.

Then, he leads me to the terrace-it's wonderful-a little piece of heaven nestled amongst the myriad of buildings surrounding it. We're surrounded by greenery, topiary type trees, large stainless-steel heat lamps, and sleek, contemporary outside patio furniture in shades of black and beige. There's even a matching lounging canopy bed, fully dressed in plush-looking, white linens.

The crew is busy at work-the young woman is setting the white linen covered table. The night is warm and there is a small pleasant breeze. I'm thrilled by all this-what a wonderful idea...dining under the stars.

"This is amazing."

"I was hoping you'd like it."

"Of course I love it," I almost gush. "I'm sure all the ladies love it."

He raises an eyebrow. "You might not believe this, Mirella, but this is a first."

"Oh...is it?" I ask, not quite convinced. "You've never had a romantic dinner like this out here with anyone?" I ask. "Not even with Bridget?"

"No."

Wow.

The food is wonderful.

We start off with a deliciously tangy, homemade vegetable soup. The crew, dressed in white, is very efficient and professional, and very discreet.

Despite the heating tower close to us, the air is slightly cool, and I'm glad I'm wearing a sweater. Weston seems at ease in his thin dress shirt. But then, I'm convinced his blood runs hotter than mine-every time we come together, his skin is sizzling. I long to reach out to him as I look at him sitting across from me. He's so near, yet he seems so far, untouchable-I can't very well jump him with all these people walking about.

"When does the crew leave?"

"A little impatient, are we?" he whispers with a wicked smile. "Patience is not a quality you have."

"That's funny. Some people think I'm the most patient person in the world."

"Well, not when it comes to s.e.x apparently."

"You just enjoy teasing me, don't you? You've barely touched me at all, all night. Maybe you just don't want me as much as I want you."

"Trust me, Mirella," his says, his lids heavy. "I want you."

And his words almost make me melt.

The young woman appears and serves our main dishes. "Chicken with lemon sauce and capers with angel hair pasta and vegetables," she tells us in a delicate soft voice. Although it all looks very delicious, I'm not very hungry...for food anyway.

"Thank you, Jessica," Weston says and she smiles at him. She seems a little fl.u.s.tered, and I'm not sure if it's because he's her boss, or if it's because he's impossibly gorgeous. I would be willing to bet my next paycheck on the latter.

"What does it feel like to have women everywhere falling under the spell of your charm?"

He laughs. "I've never thought of myself as charming," he tells me, cutting into his chicken. His smile lingers-he seems to find my comment very amusing. "In fact, I've always been rather stand-offish. Once initial pleasantries are done, I don't offer much of myself."

"Well, it's a good thing," I tell him, enjoying a sip of wine, "because you would have a million women falling in love with you."

He looks up from his plate and contemplates me in silence for the longest time. And I fear I've stuck my foot in my mouth. I really shouldn't have said that-it implies that I, myself, have fallen in love with him.

"Well, they might be a little smitten with me...but I would never return the sentiment," he deadpans. Just in case I didn't get that he's emotionally unavailable, he needs to drill it into me again.

I get it. You're not mine. You will never be.

And I don't want him to be. I'm a happily married woman. But sometimes, this pesky jealousy threatens to completely unhinge me.

I'm failing miserably at this casual s.e.x thing.

An uncomfortable silence sets in as we eat our meals. The food goes down, but I don't quite taste it. Why couldn't I have kept the conversation light and fun? It was light and fun. But somehow, it took a sharp turn.

I really need to constantly remind myself of the fact that this arrangement is just about fun, excitement, and s.e.x.

It's not about love.

"What's with the bed?" I ask with a sly smile. That canopy bed has been in my field of vision all through dinner, filling my subconscious with thoughts of s.e.x and Weston...naked.

A slow smile stretches across his face. "That's where I plan to play with you a little, after dessert."

Oh my...please let's skip dessert.

"Who needs dessert really?" I joke. "Just empty calories."

He laughs. "You really need to work on your lack of patience, Mirella. And besides, those extra calories ensure those curves I love so much."

"You're going to force me to have dessert, aren't you?"

He nods at me, a grin stretched across his face. Jessica clears our plates and asks us if we're ready for dessert.

"Oh...you have no idea," I say. "Make it quick please. I just can't wait."

Weston and I laugh, and Jessica looks at us with a strange expression, obviously not privy to our inside joke.

"I'm serious, Jessica. Bring it as fast as you can, please," I call out as she makes her way back to the penthouse.

Weston laughs, clearly amused.

"I love the way you make me laugh." The motion of his long finger sliding up and down the stem of his wine gla.s.s arouses me. Everything about him arouses me.

"I'm glad I can amuse you," I say, my voice cool, trying to manage my out-of-control libido.

"You don't even try," he adds. "It's just the way you are. Your mannerisms and quirks are quite charming."