Going Down

“It’s going well, thank you. I’m settling in and finding my way around. Their elevator is not as beautiful as yours, though.”

I wanted to talk about him, not me. Was I being obvious?

“There aren’t many quite so beautiful.” He stroked one of the metal struts as he spoke, and the action did bad things to me, making the heat between my thighs build, fast.

“I heard your music last night, while I was in bed. It was beautiful.”

He inclined his head, accepting the compliment gracefully. Humor lit his eyes. I felt as if he knew what I’d done while listening to that music. Why did I think that? Because I wanted him to know? Something about the man made me feel decadent and wanton. I wanted the space between us to disappear and for him to touch me.

“Do you live alone?” I asked.

“Yes.” No hesitation.

I nodded. His gaze held mine. We were circling each other, the mutual interest overtly reciprocated. When the elevator jolted to halt I gasped aloud. I’d been taken unawares, my attention fixed on him as it was. He stepped over to me and steadied me with one hand beneath my elbow.

“Thank you,” I whispered breathlessly.

There was some kind of commotion in the reception, a delivery.

“May I offer you a drive?” he asked, before he even broke contact with me.

Once again I had to refuse. My colleague was determined to guide me through the Metro for the rest of that week.

By Monday, however, I wanted to be able to say yes.

The following day was Friday, and as I left my apartment I figured I could ask Armand what I should do during my first weekend of free time in Paris.

Alas, there was no sign of him. I waited by my door, lingering while I put my keys into my shoulder bag. He did not appear. I checked my watch. It was a quarter to eight, exactly the same time I had left my apartment on the previous days.

I hovered expectantly by the elevator but he still didn’t appear. Then I noticed that the elevator was there on my floor, as if it had been left there specifically for me. I shook the odd notion off and flicked the latch up, heaving the metal gates open. It was about time I tried it out for myself. In the evenings I’d jogged up the stairs to shake off the workday, but I didn’t want to take on the stairs now.

The gates were heavier than I’d expected but once they got going the oiled wheels sped them on. Of course Armand was so much stronger than I, he made it look easy. As I locked the internal gate I realized I’d also missed the chance to ask his advice about my free time. Perhaps he’d gone away for the weekend. The thought made me realize just how much I’d enjoyed meeting him. It was such a good start to the day, being confined in La Cage with my sexy landlord.

As the elevator made its slow descent I felt almost forlorn, not having seen him. Silly, really, but I couldn’t help it. He was such a thrilling man to be around. Why was that? I wondered. His sexual magnetism, yes, but there was something else. As I stood in the metal cage, alone, it occurred to me that it was his air of utter self-control. He was a confident man, subtly commanding, too.

A shiver ran through me; a shiver of arousal. Would he be like that as a lover?

Yes, I just knew it. He’d be masterful.

I reached for a metal strut and held on, my senses running amok, my body stimulated by wild thoughts alone. I glanced at the staircase as the elevator passed through its spiral, imagining him walking down the steps, looking in at me as he did so. Even though he wasn’t there, his presence haunted me.

When I retuned to the apartments that evening I noticed that Armand’s Mercedes was parked opposite, and the window was wound down. As I got closer my breath caught, because I saw his reflection in the wing mirror. He climbed out of the car, tossing a pair of sunglasses onto the seat before closing the door.

As I glanced his way he smiled and waved, then stepped across the road, joining me as I arrived at the steps up to the apartments. Had he been waiting, hoping to catch me? If it was a coincidence, it was uncanny.

“Good evening, fourth floor neighbor,” he said.

“Good evening, fifth floor neighbor.”

While we walked across the black-and-white checkered hall, side by side, it occurred to me that this was so much better than having seen him this morning, and I could ask him about the weekend after all.

“Shall we climb into La Cage together?”

Was it just his delicious French accent that made that sound so damned sexy, or did he mean it to sound like an overture to something entirely different than riding in the elevator with him? The suggestive undertow in his statements kept me on edge whenever we spent those preciou

s few minutes together.

I nodded. “Although I’ll have you know I managed it alone.”