Best date ever.

The food was fantastic (I managed to save Izzy some calamari) and our conversation was eye-opening. I felt I learned so much more about Zane, making him start with his birth up until now. He was an open book which I greatly appreciated. The only glitch had been when I’d asked about his baseball career and why he hadn’t gone pro at which he replied it was a story for another time, so I let it go.

I told him about my upbringing, letting him know I came from wealth which got me a look I couldn’t decipher, his eyes flashing for just a second, and I saw his body move back maybe an inch. As a people reader, I knew there was something behind his withdrawal—maybe he disliked rich people—but things had been going so well, I decided to broach the subject later. But, seriously, I felt so much better at how we’d shared stories of our lives with one another and felt it was an awesome first step we’d taken.  

Oh, and the Christmas lights were beautiful! After leaving the restaurant, whose lights were absolutely magnificent, we drove east to take in Bellevue Botanical Garden which the brochure said was adorned with over half a million lights which were in different animal, plant and flower shapes. I loved it!

We arrived at Zane’s house around midnight, a very nice four-bedroom home with wood floors, two fireplaces, a revamped kitchen that was fantastic and a deck that looked out into a forest. I’m not even kidding. There were trees everywhere! The whole lot was beyond lovely.

He parked in front and after walking down steps, we went inside the front door which had a huge, oval etched-glass window where he turned off the alarm. The foyer was gigantic as well, where he took my coat hanging it on a hall tree and suggesting I leave my purse—I’d switched out my oversized tote bag for a cute clutch for the night—but I declined since I had a clean pair of panties in it, just in case I changed my mind about sleeping with him.  

Anyway, going forward, we entered a family room that had a beige couch and loveseat, both looking very cushy and inviting. There was a framed photo of the Seattle skyline over the fireplace and a huge TV on the wall to its left. Several potted plants sat near the French doors that went out to the deck, and when we walked to the left, that amazing kitchen with stainless appliances and dark wood cabinets wowed me. The more I looked around, the more I felt the touch of a woman—a gorgeous mirror on one wall as well as a rustic sign that stated, “God Bless This Home” and those plants were clear giveaways—and I wondered how long it’d been since they’d separated, hoping that was the case or I’d be taking my panty-filled clutch and leaving asap.

Holding my hand, he led me into a den that was just off the kitchen where a huge desk with a computer on it faced another flat screen TV on the opposite wall. When I saw the imprint in the carpet of what I knew had been another desk, my suspicions were confirmed.

Looking up at him, I asked softly, “How long ago did she leave?”

He gave me a small smile knowing I’d caught it. “Little over a year.”

“Did you love her?”

He nodded. “I did. It just wasn’t right, though.”

“Why?”

He let out a breath. “She came from money and wanted the best of everything.”

Ahhh. Now I understood his reaction earlier when I’d mentioned my background.

He shrugged. “I tried. But cops are never gonna be in the upper echelon of moneymakers. And even though I’ve invested smartly and have made quite a bit, it seemed never to be enough.”

Taking my hand again, he led me back through the kitchen into the living room and down a hallway past three bedrooms. We next went down a staircase (a bi-level home!) into another living room then down another hallway which led to the master bedroom.

“This house is huge!” I declared.

He didn’t say anything. Instead, he took my purse and placed it on a dresser, then held me in his arms before kissing the heck out of me. And repetition be damned, the man could definitely kiss! I was so wrapped up in that kiss that I didn’t even realize he’d unzipped my dress until it fell to the floor around my feet.

As he looked at me standing there in my heels, bra and panties—both blush-colored too, of course—there was that gold spark in his eyes again, and I let out a moan as my body screamed, “YES!”

I knew I needed to tell him my caveat for the evening, but instead I stood in the sex daze he’d put me in waiting to see what he’d do next, which was to walk slowly around me, his eyes roving over every last inch as he stroked his chin. Oh, my.

“You’re fucking stunning,” he mumbled as if he were in awe of me.

Holding my shoulders, he guided me to the bed where I sat, then kneeling in front of me, he lifted first one foot to take off my shoe then the other, his hands caressing my ankles as he did, his lips grazing over the insides of my calves. When he pressed his thumb into my instep lightly massaging my foot, I let out another soft moan. Wow.

Next, he stood and took my hands pulling me up with him.

“The bathroom is in there,” he nodded to the right. “There’s an extra toothbrush in the top drawer.” Nodding toward a dresser, he announced, “I’ve got t-shirts in the middle drawer if you want to wear one. I’m gonna go close up the house. When you’re finished, get in bed. I’ll be right back.”

I watched him turn on a lamp beside the bed then walk toward the door, picking up my dress as he did and placing it neatly on a chair by the door before turning out the main light in the room and leaving. God. How sweet was he!

Then suspicion reared her ugly head making me wonder if he was only being nice because I’d said I wasn’t going to have sex with him and he was just trying to butter me up. At that thought I told myself to shut up because either way, whether we had sex or not, he was being nice and I liked it.  

In the bathroom I found the toothbrush, used it, then spotting moisturizing facewash—a leftover from his ex-girlfriend?—I used it also, removing my makeup. Deciding to leave my hair up, not wanting to mess with it, I finally headed back into the bedroom, donned a shirt from his drawer, pulled back the bedcovers and got in. A few minutes later, he returned and upon seeing me, his face went soft again. Then I sat mesmerized watching as he disrobed, putting his jacket on a hanger, the tie he tossed onto a chair. His shirt went into the hamper then he sat on the bed and took off his shoes and socks.

At that point, I wasn’t quite sure what to do. I’d never really spent this type of time with a guy. So I just watched. And, hey, if the man wanted to give me a striptease, hell, I was all in, even though the silence was a little unsettling. He stood and after removing his undershirt which also landed in the hamper, he was down to just his slacks. I stared at the somewhat large tattoo he had across his chest just under his sternum that was in Latin and read Verum Autem Ex. From my limited knowledge, I knew Verum meant truth, Ex I thought translated to “from” but Autem had me confused. His eyes slowly came to mine and he smirked before disappearing into the bathroom.

Boy, that was definitely a tease, all right.

I heard him brush his teeth and wash his face then opening the door, he turned off the light and walked to the bed in nothing but his boxer briefs. And, damn damn damn, that body of his was something else. He was all hard-packed muscles, a Greek god with abs for days, perfectly formed pecs and strong shoulders that justified my metaphorical sobriquet. He was a walking literary device!

I snorted as he stood by the bed, which made him raise an eyebrow.

Shaking my head, I explained, “Too many years of grammar.”

 “You laughing at me?”

“God, no. You’re hot! I mean, you’re built, uh, your body is, um, very, um, nice.” 

He pulled back the covers and asked, “So you’re nervous ‘cause you thought I was gonna announce that I wanted to preposition you?” I groaned at his bad joke and scrunched up my face. He laughed. “Come here.” Lying back on his pillow, he held me against him and I lay my head on his bare shoulder. “I’ve got two reasons for having you here.”

“If you say it’s clause you like me, I’ll throttle you.”

He barked out a laugh and pulled me tighter to him, kissing the top of my head. “You’re something else, babe.”

No. He was something else. And such a pleasant surprise. All that hotness and smart and funny too. Who knew?  

He was quiet for a moment and at my questioning glance, he explained, “Okay, first, I don’t want you alone at your apartment with your roommate. You’re there, I’m there. I’m not there, you’re here.” Cutting me off from saying something all women’s suffrage Ya Ya Sisterhood, he said, “I know you can take care of yourself. It’s not that. I just have a feeling he’s bad news and I don’t want you around it.”

I relaxed against him again, smoothing my fingers over his chest hair—not too much, not too little but just right—thinking maybe he was right while I waited for his second reason.

“And second, I need you to see that I want you for more than a fucking booty call. So even though I’ve got a raging hard-on right now, I’ll refrain from ravishing your gorgeous body.”

Oh.

“Okay,” I whispered.

I kissed his chest thinking he was probably one of the noblest men I’d ever met. But damn. His saying that made me really want him now.  God, I was ridiculous.

We lay there for a few minutes before he broke the silence. “What’s your middle name?”

“Jane. Yours?”

“Jillian Jane Jordan. Trey J. I like it,” he announced making me giggle. “Mine’s Arthur.”

All giggling ceasing, I went up on my elbow. “Arthur?”

“After my grandpa.”

“ZAP? Your initials are ZAP? Really?”

He waggled his eyebrows. “Yes, ma’am.”

Still on my elbow, I asked, “What does your tattoo mean? Truth something.”

“The truth will out.”

I saw his jaw tic and knew there was something behind it. “Meaning?”

He shrugged. “The truth will out.”

Huh. Okay then.

“Favorite book?” he asked.

“Jane Eyre.”

“Ah, total chick book.”

I rolled my eyes. “Yours?”

“The Caine Mutiny.”

“Ah, total dude book,” I teased back. “Movie?”

“Damn. So many good ones,” he said. “Hard to choose.” I waited as he thought about it, wondering what he’d go with. “Okay, Showgirls.”

I snorted but when he didn’t say anything, up on my elbow I went again to see him trying to hold in his laughter. “You dork! I was thinking, now, here’s this highly intelligent man and he picks that?”

“Highly intelligent, eh?” he said, suddenly popping up and rolling me to my back where he kissed my neck.

“Okay, just kind of intelligent,” I said with a snicker and let out a yelp when he gave me a horse bite that made me get goosebumps everywhere.

“Mmm, liking this t-shirt on you,” he pulled back and said looking down at my chest which I knew from my goosebumps my nipples were hard.

God. Just his looking at me made me want him, and my back arched up involuntarily as if my breasts were begging him to touch them. Lord.

His eyes sparked gold and he murmured, “You’re a fucking temptress. You really are a mermaid.”

He lay back with a huff and I couldn’t help it. I started laughing since I wanted to huff too, my self-imposed no-sex rule totally backfiring, it seemed.

A moment later, he looked over at me and grinned before saying, “My movie is The Godfather, hands down, best saga ever. Although there’s this movie on Netflix called Zombeavers that my brother Drake likes…”

I laughed again. “Zombeavers? Do I even want to know?”

He chuckled. “Oh, yeah. And when you meet him, ask if he wants to watch it. You’ll become instant friends.”

“Why do I get the feeling that you’re setting me up?”

“Smart woman.” He snorted. “Okay, your movie?”

We both lay there looking at the ceiling as I thought for a moment, and I realized picking one would be like asking a mother to choose which of her children is her favorite. “Oh, gosh. I have too many! I love, love, love movies! In no particular order, Mean Girls, Dirty Dancing, Pretty Woman, Grease, The Devil Wears Prada, 13 Going on 30, 10 Things I Hate About You, The Notebook, Easy A, The Holiday, Love Actually, The Proposal. Um, When Harry Met Sally, A Walk to Remember, Sixteen Candles, Bridget Jones. Sex and the City, Juno, The Way We Were. Um…”

I thought I heard him mumble, “Holy shit,” but I was too busy listing more.

“Steel Magnolias, Bridesmaids, Twilight, well, the first one wasn’t great but Edward was so hot! She’s the Man, Pitch Perf—”

“Okay. Jesus. I get it. You like movies.”

I whacked his chest with the back of my right hand. “I do! Nothing wrong with that!”

He instinctively drew his arms up at the elbow to protect himself, mumbling, “Damn, woman,” making me roll my eyes. We both laughed and a moment later he inquired, “Favorite poem?”

My head snapped in his direction. “You like poetry?”

Giving me the side-eye, he admitted, “Some of it’s okay.”

“The Rime of the Ancient Mariner.”

Now it was his turn to go up on an elbow. “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner?” he asked, eyebrow akimbo. I nodded. “That’s a terrible poem.”

Then I was on my elbow. “No, it isn’t! It’s haunting. And beautiful.”

“It’s archaic. And pointless. And in the words of my senior English teacher Mr. Edwards, ‘It’s utterly dreadful.’” He snorted which kind of pissed me off.

I sat up, my legs curled to the side. “It’s not dreadful. It’s ominously stunning.”

He gave another snort which led to more pissedoffedness on my part. “’Ominously stunning.’ It’s about crime and punishment.”

My mouth dropped open. “It’s about redemption!” He screwed his face up at me as if I were totally clueless. “It’s romantic!” I claimed.

Now his mouth dropped open. “Romantic? Are you kidding me?”

“Yes! I mean, no! And, yes, it is romantic!”

He sat up too. “They hang a dead albatross around his neck. The albatross he shot! How is that romantic?”

“Did you know some species of albatross mate for life? I think that’s beautiful! And romantic! And I hope I find my albatross someday!”

He burst out laughing and I wanted to punch him. “The albatross is a sign of bad luck! And you think that’s romantic?”

I glared at him for what seemed forever, trying to get where he was coming from. But I couldn’t.

“Babe. I understand where you’re coming from.” He’d read my thoughts. “I can see that it might be considered romantic in the fact that it’s searching for the ideal.” He nodded. “Yeah, I can see it.”

Twisting my mouth in annoyance and crossing my arms over my chest, I let out a breath. “I guess I can see where you might be right.”

The half smirk made an appearance. “Did we just have our first fight?”

Damn. We did.

He put his hand on one of my arms trying to unwrap them from around me. “Hey, come here.”

I let him pull me down with him and we lay there in silence.

He kissed the top of my head and said against it, “Note to self: Jillian is passionate about an old poem. And birds. Don’t forget the birds.”

This made me start giggling and I pinched his stomach.

“Ow!” he hollered and pulled me to lie on top of him. “We good?”

I looked into those gorgeous amber eyes of his that twinkled with mischief—God help me—and nodded. His head came off the bed and he kissed me long and hard.

“Ready to get some shuteye?”

“Yeah,” I said, suddenly tired.

He gave me another quick peck turning us to the side saying, “’Night, babe.”

“’Night, honey.”

And we drifted off in each other’s arms.