Sway With Me(2)

A small smile tugged up the corners of her perfect mouth as she also seemed to come out of some kind of fog. The entire elevator filled with the scent of vanilla as she hesitantly stepped inside and stood next to him, so close their shoulders almost touched.



He’d always preferred the smell and taste of chocolate, but without a word, she’d converted him to a vanilla man.

“Floor?” he asked, his body pivoting toward hers. The energy crackled between them. Well, at least on his end.

“Um . . .” Her face scrunched up as though she’d forgotten. She rubbed her hand across her cheekbone then motioned to the lit button on the elevator panel. “I’m going to the fifth floor, too.”

Trying to stare straight ahead, he couldn’t keep from peeking at her from the corner of his eye. She reached up to her head and removed a rubber band and a few pins, sending her thick, straight hair tumbling down her back. For a moment, Ryan lost all sense of reality, fantasizing about winding it around his wrist as he lowered his mouth to suck on the sensitive spot between her neck and shoulder. He instinctively knew her hair would feel like warm silk.

She tipped forward and tossed her hair over her face, twisted it into a rope, then proceeded to do something girly. When she raised her head, he was amused to see she now wore a neat bun pulled so tight that her eyebrows arched. He preferred that messed up, wild look she had going on to this overstarched formal one. If she was his, he’d—

The elevator door slid open, interrupting his fantasy. “After you.” He waved his hand, insisting she disembark first.

She smiled shyly. “Thanks.”

Okay, so he wasn’t a perfect gentleman. He couldn’t avoid checking out her ass as she sashayed off the elevator, her heels clicking on the tile of the hallway. He followed behind, only tearing his gaze from her body because he had to read the sign to figure out which way to go for the attorney’s office.

After this moment, they’d part ways. The notion to ask for her phone number flitted through his mind, but with everything going on right now, he didn’t have the energy to properly devote to a relationship . . . And this woman didn’t look like one-night-stand material. If he had to take a wager, he’d bet she was a flowers and chocolates and late nights in front of the fireplace kind-of-girl. The exact kind he didn’t have time for these days.



But, if all went well, the news he’d hear today from his uncle’s estate attorney would change his life. Once he paid off his law school debt and restored his bank account to its former glory, he’d have all the time in the world for dating. Too bad he hadn’t met her some other time, some other place. But, as he’d learned two years ago, fate was a fickle bitch.

Their gazes locked and they each awkwardly pointed out the direction of their destination. Realizing they were both headed to the left, he smiled and enjoyed the extra seconds with her strolling side by side down the hallway. He kept expecting her stop, but she continued walking with him to the end of the hallway, all the way to the attorney’s office suite.

The shiny metallic sign showed George Pappas, Esq. shared space with four other attorneys. Obviously, she was here for one of them. At least it gave him a couple more minutes to spend with her. Maybe fate had decided to throw him a bone. What kind of idiot would turn it down?

He pulled open the glass door, allowed her to pass, and followed her into the lobby. There were a few brown leather chairs around a small glass coffee table and a horizontal walnut bookcase with pamphlets on divorce and estate planning. A receptionist’s desk cluttered with files, pens, and loose papers, but currently sans receptionist, sat at the back of the lobby directly across from the chairs. In lieu of a person, they’d provided a bell with a sign written in purple marker stating: “ring my bell.” Classy.

While he rang it, the beauty collapsed onto one of the chairs as though she’d walked a thousand miles. She demurely crossed her legs at the ankles and dropped her huge purse on the floor with a loud thunk.



He crossed the room and sat next to her, pleased to reacquaint his senses with her vanilla scent. “I’m Ryan Sullivan.” He held out a hand and when she accepted it, he noticed her long, ringless fingers. Unable to resist, he swiped his thumb across her skin to see if she was as soft as she appeared. She was.

“Portia Dubrovsky.”

“Portia? Like Ellen’s wife?”

She smiled, showing off her perfectly straight white teeth. “Portia like the heroine of Merchant of Venice, but yes, also Ellen’s wife.” She laughed, deep and rich like a full-bodied merlot running thick down his throat.