Read Online Because of You by Rochelle Alers - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Rochelle Alers
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with a solid thud. He stood at the curb a long time, long after the taillights from the limo disappeared into the blackness of the night.
Then he returned to the building, when the doorman opened the door for him. Shoving his hands in the pockets of his trousers, he waited for the elevator, his mind awash with the time heâd spent with Aziza Fleming. He was able to recall her every expression, the sound of her sexy voice, the color of her face that was an exact match to the exposed skin on her bare back.
However, what he didnât want to remember was how sheâd tasted, because the sexy lawyer was forbidden fruit.
He could look, but not taste.
Looking was safe.
Tasting was too much of a risk, and he didnât want to do anything that would risk or jeopardize their very fragile professional relationship.
Chapter 4
B racing his back against the tiles in the shower stall, Jordan closed his eyes as lukewarm water beat down on his head. He had a headache, his mouth felt as if itâd been filled with cotton and his stomach was doing flip-flops. It wasnât how heâd wanted to start the new year.
After watching the car with Aziza drive away, heâd returned to the penthouse and had tried to get into the mood of the festive holiday, failing miserably. Heâd switched from drinking champagne to downing shots. It had all ended when some woman tried putting her tongue into his mouth. Heâd gagged and forcibly pushed her away. He did remember finding his way to the bathroom in one of Brandtâs guest bedrooms where heâd brushed his teeth and rinsed his mouth before falling across the bed, fully clothed. The sun was high in the sky, the penthouse silent as a tomb when heâd ridden the elevator to the lobby where the doorman had hailed a taxi to take him uptown.
Groaning, he opened his eyes and pushed the button on the dispenser filled with shampoo. He went through the motions of washing his hair, then his body with a shower gel that complemented his specially blended cologne. It took two cups of strong black coffee and a slice of dry toast for him to settle his queasy stomach.
He felt like a caged cat, pacing the length of his home office until he called the garage where he stored his car and requested that it be parked in front. The temperature had dropped more than twenty degrees in twenty-four hours, and with the steel-gray sky and the forecast of rain mixed with sleet, he slipped into a ski jacket over a rugby shirt and jeans. Instead of running shoes, heâd selected a pair of rugged Doc Martens.
Jordan wasnât certain what had triggered his state of agitation but knew it wouldnât be assuaged if he remained indoors. Instead of leaving his apartment through the high-rise lobby where the doorman monitored everyone coming and going, he left through the side door that led directly from the apartment to a side street.
He hadnât realized until after heâd purchased the maisonette how much heâd come to value his privacy. Although he had an apartment suite in the Wainwright mansion, Jordan had never invited a woman to spend the night there. If they did sleep together it was either at her place or in a hotel. Never one to kiss and tell, he also did not advertise or flaunt his affairs, which was why it had surprised him when heâd kissed Aziza where anyone could see them. He knew heâd shocked his parents when heâd revealed that heâd been seeing Natasha Parker, but whom heâd dated or slept with was not their business.
He walked out to find Fifth Avenue a bustle of activity with post-holiday shoppers and out-of-towners crowding buses that ran along Central Park. Pedestrians withcameras stopped to photograph one another, using the park as the backdrop. Jordan turned down a side street to the east side rather than attempt to navigate the crowds strolling Museum Mile. The first day of the year had fallen on a Friday, which left Saturday and
Then he returned to the building, when the doorman opened the door for him. Shoving his hands in the pockets of his trousers, he waited for the elevator, his mind awash with the time heâd spent with Aziza Fleming. He was able to recall her every expression, the sound of her sexy voice, the color of her face that was an exact match to the exposed skin on her bare back.
However, what he didnât want to remember was how sheâd tasted, because the sexy lawyer was forbidden fruit.
He could look, but not taste.
Looking was safe.
Tasting was too much of a risk, and he didnât want to do anything that would risk or jeopardize their very fragile professional relationship.
Chapter 4
B racing his back against the tiles in the shower stall, Jordan closed his eyes as lukewarm water beat down on his head. He had a headache, his mouth felt as if itâd been filled with cotton and his stomach was doing flip-flops. It wasnât how heâd wanted to start the new year.
After watching the car with Aziza drive away, heâd returned to the penthouse and had tried to get into the mood of the festive holiday, failing miserably. Heâd switched from drinking champagne to downing shots. It had all ended when some woman tried putting her tongue into his mouth. Heâd gagged and forcibly pushed her away. He did remember finding his way to the bathroom in one of Brandtâs guest bedrooms where heâd brushed his teeth and rinsed his mouth before falling across the bed, fully clothed. The sun was high in the sky, the penthouse silent as a tomb when heâd ridden the elevator to the lobby where the doorman had hailed a taxi to take him uptown.
Groaning, he opened his eyes and pushed the button on the dispenser filled with shampoo. He went through the motions of washing his hair, then his body with a shower gel that complemented his specially blended cologne. It took two cups of strong black coffee and a slice of dry toast for him to settle his queasy stomach.
He felt like a caged cat, pacing the length of his home office until he called the garage where he stored his car and requested that it be parked in front. The temperature had dropped more than twenty degrees in twenty-four hours, and with the steel-gray sky and the forecast of rain mixed with sleet, he slipped into a ski jacket over a rugby shirt and jeans. Instead of running shoes, heâd selected a pair of rugged Doc Martens.
Jordan wasnât certain what had triggered his state of agitation but knew it wouldnât be assuaged if he remained indoors. Instead of leaving his apartment through the high-rise lobby where the doorman monitored everyone coming and going, he left through the side door that led directly from the apartment to a side street.
He hadnât realized until after heâd purchased the maisonette how much heâd come to value his privacy. Although he had an apartment suite in the Wainwright mansion, Jordan had never invited a woman to spend the night there. If they did sleep together it was either at her place or in a hotel. Never one to kiss and tell, he also did not advertise or flaunt his affairs, which was why it had surprised him when heâd kissed Aziza where anyone could see them. He knew heâd shocked his parents when heâd revealed that heâd been seeing Natasha Parker, but whom heâd dated or slept with was not their business.
He walked out to find Fifth Avenue a bustle of activity with post-holiday shoppers and out-of-towners crowding buses that ran along Central Park. Pedestrians withcameras stopped to photograph one another, using the park as the backdrop. Jordan turned down a side street to the east side rather than attempt to navigate the crowds strolling Museum Mile. The first day of the year had fallen on a Friday, which left Saturday and
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