Other than deliveries, the servants, or physical disabilities—Bryce once broke her ankle on a skateboarding dare gone wrong—only her mother used the elevator on a regular basis.
"Billie doesn't approve of sweat."
Adam, whether drawn into Calder's tale or resigned to the inevitable, followed without protest.
"Everybody sweats."
"Billie isn't convinced. I told her if she started taking the stairs, within a week, sweat wouldn't be an issue. Her lung capacity would increase. And, her heart would thank her."
"What was her response?"
"Shopping is her exercise. No sweat necessary."
"Huh."
Calder paused on the second landing.
"Huh, what?"
Brow furrowed, Adam scratched his chin.
"I wonder. Is your mother really as colorful as you paint her?"
"You think I exaggerate her quirks?"
"Your perspective could be skewed. Just a little."
She understood Adam's doubts. Billie was a woman like no other. A true original. The only way he would believe the unbelievable was with his own eyes.
The prospect of the inevitable meeting brought mixed emotions. Men fell like flies at Billie Benedict's feet. Calder wanted Adam to be the exception. If Adam was dazzled—
Calder gave herself a mental shake. Billie was Billie. And Adam? A little dazzle she could live with. He was only human. She wouldn't want him any other way.
Taking his hand, Calder started up the next flight of stairs. Such a simple connection. His fingers clasped with hers at once calmed and excited. A paradox. One she thoroughly enjoyed.
"When we were eight," she continued her story. "Bryce and I spent one rainy afternoon exploring the elevator's possibilities."
Expressly forbidden to enter unless accompanied by an adult, they'd been drawn by the unknown. The dangerous. The chance they might get caught only added to the excitement.
Up and down. Up and down. They giggled like looney thieves. Bryce's whispered imagery set the stage. A rocket ship to outer space. A passageway to an exotic underground world.
The novelty soon wore off. Their imaginations were powerful, but could only take them so far. Each time the doors opened, they weren't presented with something new. Instead, found themselves in the same place. Safely tucked away in their Upper East Side mansion.
"The magic was gone. Since then, I've stuck to the stairs. Good for the legs."
Approval filled Adam's gaze.
"Not bad for your butt either."
Because the compliment was sincere and came from the right man, Calder put a little wiggle in her walk.
"Here we are." She made a sweeping gesture. "My room. We came the entire way without a relative in sight."
"What about the return trip?"
"Worrywart."
"Wait."
When Adam stopped at the threshold, Calder sighed. If she didn't know better, she'd think he was an inexperienced virgin. Boy, oh, boy, did she know better.
"I left my change of clothes in the car."
"Seriously? I offer you a hot, soapy, sex-filled shower, and you're worried about clean underwear?"
"I'm a fool." Adam swooped Calder into his arms. Inside the bedroom, he slammed the door shut with his foot. "I'd offer to leave. But I haven't graduated to sheer stupidity quite yet."
"I knew my smooth lover was in there somewhere."
A point toward the bathroom was all the extra encouragement he needed. Shoes hit the tiled floor with a thud. Clothes flew in every direction. Adam had Calder's back against the shower wall. Steam rose around them as he sank to his knees.
Eyes closed. Head back. Calder let out a gasping moan of pleasure as she ran her hands over the slick, muscled flesh of Adam's shoulders. One hand at the base of her spine, the other played havoc with her senses. He teased the tender flesh of her inner thighs. Higher. Higher.
Oh. Yes! She thought she knew her body better than anyone. Adam proved her wrong. One touch. One kiss. A gentle swipe of his tongue. He'd become a master of what she liked best. Shafts of pleasure radiated through her body like a shot of electricity.
"Lovely."
"Lovely?" Adam's husky laugh made her blood sing. "Hold on. I'm about to make you forget the meaning of the word."
"Big words for a big—"
Calder's thoughts stuttered, then fell into oblivion. Big…? Man? Dick? Accurate on both counts, any witty quips would have to wait. Adam was right. She forgot the meaning of lovely. Forgot how to talk. Forgot everything outside the here and now.
Forgot everything—but him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
~~~~
ADAM BUTTONED HIS gray twill suit jacket. The jacket he'd left in the car. A pair of pants. And Italian leather shoes. Shirt, socks, etc. The change of clothes he always packed for a just in case event like today.
Somewhere between the time he fell onto the bed, with Calder, and the time he woke from a pleasure-induced nap, the garment bag and duffel had appeared in a neat pile. Just inside the bedroom door.
"I gave your keys to Hilly."
"Who? And, when?"
"Upstairs maid. When you dozed off."
The concept of a maid, upstairs or otherwise, was odd. Not exactly beyond Adam's comprehension. He read. Watched TV. Went to movies. However, Calder was the first person he knew beyond a business relationship who employed servants.
"I don't know how I feel about someone fetching for me."
While he dressed, Calder had disappeared into her closet. One dress in each hand, she walked out.
"You make her sound like a dog. We pay Hilly a salary—with excellent benefits. I asked her to walk across the street, open a car door, and bring a few items back to the house—activity hardly beyond her purview. Which one?" She held one dress forward, then the other. "Blue or yellow?"
Without a second thought, he nodded toward the yellow. The color made Calder's skin glow. His answer made her beam.
"Great minds." She blew him a kiss before she disappeared back into the closet.
Adam adjusted his tie in the full-length mirror. He'd acquired a certain amount of polish since his punk-assed youth. He rarely gave a thought to whether he fit in or not. A formal dinner? Piece of cake. The world wouldn't end if he used the wrong fork. While he'd rubbed elbows with some of New York City's biggest movers and shakers without the blink of an eye, money and power were Adam's ambition. Not his reason for living.
In the reflective glass, Adam took in the details of the room behind him. Details he'd missed while his mind and body were focused on other things. Calder, to be exact.
Simple. Classy. The kind of off-hand elegance that took years to develop. Or, as in the Benedicts' case, was born in their blood.
Fully dressed, Calder left the closet. Blindly, she slipped on a pair of earrings, a small smile on her lips. She'd done something simple to her hair. Flip and a clip—her words. Perfect. Ready to take on the world.
And all Adam wanted to do was throw her back onto the bed and mess her up. Mess both of them up. For the next week or so.
Suddenly, the source of the niggling unease in the pit of his stomach became clear.
"I don't care about your money."
Eyes like warm honey, Calder met his gaze.
"I know."
"No. Really listen to me. Hear my words, Calder."
Adam took her hand. The physical connection felt important.
"The maid. The house. The antiques. Hell, I didn't grow up around women who casually slipped diamonds on every morning."
Frowning, Calder's hand went to her ear.
"I wear other earrings."
"Diamonds aren't the point." Adam took a breath. Paused to clarify his thoughts. "For a second, I felt out of place."
"You aren't."
"I know. You live in a mansion." Adam shrugged. "Honestly, I like your mansion. And your antiques. And your maid
s."
Calder's lips twitched. He let out a sigh of relief. In spite of his less than coherent ramblings, she understood.
"Do you like my diamonds? And silk dress. And—"
"I like your lips more."
To prove his point, Adam kissed her. So sweet. And so damn soft. Reluctantly, he pulled away. But not too far.
"I need you to understand. Take away everything. I'd still be here." He cupped her cheek. "Because of you. Always you."
As close to a declaration as he could make—for now—Adam waited. Had he said too much? Not enough?
"Looks like we're heading in the right direction." Calder turned her head. Her lips lingered on his palm. "The same direction."
Adam said a little prayer of thanks. The same direction. Sounded good to him. No promises. No guarantees. At some point, they might decide to take different paths. Now? Tomorrow? They were exactly where they wanted to be. Together.
~~~~
OVER HIS PROTESTS, Calder insisted Adam eat something before he left for work. Naturally, Mrs. Finch fixed them a late breakfast. When she asked what he'd like, for the first time in his adult life, Adam worried he might blush.
"An apple is all I need. Really."
"I try never to send one of mine out the door without a full stomach."
Her smile smug, Calder's look dared Adam to argue. How could he? Mrs. Finch called him one of hers. With three words, she stamped him with her seal of approval. The casually delivered proclamation left him speechless.
"Fruit and toast for me, please." Calder piped up with her request. She poured Adam a cup of coffee. "Is everybody gone for the day?"
Mrs. Finch nodded.
"Bryce had her usual lumberjack special before she rushed off to parts unknown. Andi was in such a hurry she barely waved hello. Not that she would have eaten if she had the time. Breakfast wise, she's a lost cause."
"And Destry?"
"Pizza."
"We have leftover pizza?" Calder perked up at the idea. Before she could open the refrigerator, Mrs. Finch dashed her hopes.
"We had leftover pizza. Your sister sucked up every last pepperoni. Who knows where she ended up after? Somewhere in the city is my nearest guess." Mrs. Finch, filled with eager anticipation, heated up a cast-iron skillet.
"What sounds good, Adam? Pancakes? Eggs and bacon? Do you prefer sausage? Or something vegan. I might have tofu left from Calder's winter health kick. The stuff never expires. She, on the other hand, lasted two weeks before she rejoined the rest of us meat lovers. Scarfed an entire side of beef."
"A bit of an exaggeration." Calder laughed. "Though not by much. And don't worry about Adam. He's one hundred percent carnivore."
"Bacon would be great, Mrs. Finch."
"Eggs?"
"Scrambled."
A happy whistle on her lips, she went to work.
Eyes twinkling, Calder cleared her throat as Adam dug into his breakfast.
"Still wish we'd headed back to your place?"
"The food is fantastic, Mrs. Finch. Thank you." For Calder's ears only, he added, "And thank you. Smartass."
"My pleasure."
Under the counter, she squeezed his leg in what some might call a friendly manner. The way her fingers inched up his thigh? Beyond friendship. Way beyond. Luckily, Mrs. Finch had her head in the refrigerator, muttering something about what she would make for dinner.
With a shake of his head, Adam removed Calder's hand.
"Behave," Adam warned.
"Always." Calder battered her lashes. "I'm the original good girl."
Adam almost spewed a mouthful of toast over the gleaming marble countertop. Just in time, he tamped down the impulse. Swallowing, he sent Calder a look of disbelief. Had she forgotten their recent shower activities? Followed by the bedroom? And at one point, the floor?
The memories mirrored in Calder's eyes made him wish he could say the hell with work and enjoy a return engagement.
"Good?" he scoffed. "Don't sell yourself short. You're spectacular."
~~~~
ADAM WALKED CALDER to her office. She wanted to gather some notes for a meeting. The return walk, up the same five flights, was a perfect way to work off part of his bigger than expected breakfast.
When Mrs. Finch insisted he top the bacon and eggs off with a huge, fresh from the oven cinnamon roll. Who was he to argue?
"Anything interesting on your schedule?"
"Depends on how you feel about Greenwich Village. I have a client in the middle of a big renovation. You'd be amazed how often second thoughts set in. He can't see past the chaos. The expense. My job is to remind him how much he'll love the finished product."
Calder looked up from the stack of papers in her hand.
"Seems above and beyond."
"Just another part of the service I provide."
"The contract I signed didn't say anything about above and beyond handholding."
"I'll hold your hand anytime you want."
"Stay back." Calder formed her forefingers into a make-shift cross. "I recognize the glint in your eyes, fella. Neither of us has the time for another round of hide the sausage."
Adam chuckled. And kept his distance.
"Six thirty good for you on Friday?"
"Fine." Calder paused. "I hate to be such a girl."
"But…"
"What should I wear? Are your friends the casually dressy types? Or should I opt for something weekend chic?"
Adam knew Calder wasn't worried about her wardrobe. Give her five minutes notice and she could dress for any occasion with one hand tied behind her back.
"Are you nervous to meet my friends?"
The idea surprised—and charmed—him.
"Maybe. A little. If they hate me, I—"
"Not possible. Just be yourself, Calder. Believe me, they want to like you."
"And I want to like them," Calder assured him. "Still, for my peace of mind…?"
"A casual skirt. Jeans. A nice blouse. Any variation. Melvin and Tamara want to meet you, not your wardrobe. They won't care if you show up in a burlap bag."
"She'll care. Women dress for each other. Melvin might not notice if the heel of my shoe has a scuff, but Tamara will."
"I notice." Adam noticed everything about Calder. "By the way? You, and your heels, are immaculate. Always are."
"You, my friend, are the wonderful exception." Calder gave him a quick kiss. She scuttled away before he could move in for a prolonged embrace. "Now, go. I don't want to be the reason your nervous client has a breakdown."
"He's nervous. Not certifiable." Adam glanced at his wrist. Damn. "I must have dropped my watch in your room."
"You're welcome to look. Or, if you don't mind going without until Friday, I'll have Hilly do a thorough search. I'm sure your watch will turn up."
Hilly the maid? Mentally, Adam threw in the towel. If he wanted Calder, he had to get used to the way she lived. Would always live.
"Sounds like a plan. Hey."
Calder turned her head to the side, a question in her eyes.
"Stay safe."
"I will if you will."
The smile stayed on Adam's face as he walked down the hall. His good mood vanished when he spied Ingo Hunter. Lurking. The man had no business above the second floor where Billie had her bedroom.
"What the hell do you think you're doing up here?"
Guilt flashed across Hunter's face. Quick to recover his composure, his lips moved into a sly, cunning smirk.
"A better question would be, what the hell are you doing up here?
Prevarication 101, with a master class in manipulation. The best way out a sticky situation? Answer a question with a question. Though the technique annoyed the hell out of Adam, Hunter couldn't get the best of him. He knew what move to make next. The old accusation cloaked within another question.
"Did you need something in Calder's room?"
Hunter didn'
t flinch. But his right eye twitched. Ever so slightly. Enough to let Adam know he'd hit the nail on the head.
"Such a large house. My mind was occupied by other matters when I entered the elevator. I must have pushed the wrong floor."
The elevator was all the way at the end of the hall. If he'd made a mistake, Hunter would have realized his error long before he reached Calder's bedroom.
Adam didn't need to point out the obvious. He knew. Hunter knew. Soon, Calder and her sisters would know.
"Mistakes happen. Since I'm on my way out, I'll ride down with you."
A wise man would have cut his losses. Thanked his lucky stars he would live to fight another day. An arrogant man, certain of his superior intellect, didn't think he needed anything as mundane as luck.
Ingo Hunter, from the set of his shoulders to the glint in his eyes, reeked of arrogance.
"You didn't answer my question, Adam. Why are you here?" Hunter looked around. "Unaccompanied."
Adam didn't respond. Or wilt under the sheer will of Hunter's cold gaze. So, the older man adjusted his strategy to a more personal tract.
"Seems you and I have something in common."
"No. We don't."
"Come on. Just us guys. The Benedict women are a passionate bunch. I can attest to Billie's charms. But I've wondered about the rest of them. You can tell me. What's Calder like in bed?"
Adam saw red. And blue. And green. Colors he pictured on Hunter's swollen face after a thorough beating. With a deep breath, he didn't act on the impulse. As much as he wanted to wipe the smug smirk off the scumbag's face, he remembered where he was.
Some stains were almost impossible to remove. Adam would feel bad if his actions—and Hunter's blood—ruined the beautiful, obviously expensive, Persian rug.
No blood, Adam promised himself. Not today. But he couldn't leave Hunter with the idea the man was allowed to ooze his slime over Calder—or any woman—without some sort of retribution.
Adam's hand closed around the bastard's throat. Surprise replaced the smug expression. Genuine fear seeped into his eyes.
To emphasize the point, Adam slammed Hunter against the wall with just enough force to knock some of the pompous out of the windbag.
One Way or Another: A Friends to Lovers Contemporary Romance (The Sisters Quartet Book 1) Page 19
