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The plan was for him to arrive at my condo at seven, equipped with some wine, before we went out for a late dinner. But my conference ran late, and since I was the last speaker, I couldn't even duck out early. At six-fifteen, I high-tailed it out of the University parking lot, possibly leaving behind some rubber. Partially undressing in the elevator on the way up to save time, I made it into the scalding shower at six-thirty, hastily shaving my legs and conditioning my honey-blond curls into obedience. At a quarter to seven, I emerged from a cloud of fragrant steam to shimmy into my favorite strapless Little Black Dress. When Dan rang the buzzer at 6:55, I was scrunching mousse through my hair and trying to loosen up. As he knocked on my door, I was leaning on the wall to slip on my crimson skyscraper stilettos, remembering I wasn't wearing a stitch of makeup.
But I forgot that fact when I opened the door. Dan's eyes widened slightly when he saw me, roving to the little creases in the top of my dress where the fabric hugged my braless breasts and slender hourglass figure. My dress revealed my shoulders and toned arms, and the bottom hem brushed against my lower thighs as I leant to give him a kiss on the cheek in welcome. The momentary feel of his body against mine made my pulse quicken and the blood rush to my cheeks, then lower, lower down.
If I'd known then that, by letting him step over the threshold into my private sanctuary, my life as I knew it would irreversibly change, I think I'd still have invited him. He just looked too delicious, standing tall in my hallway in a dark blazer, the top few buttons of his white shirt casually undone to reveal a small patch of masculine fur on his bronzed skin. As he reached out to hand me the bottle of red wine clasped in one of his large hands, his sleeve crept up his wrist, showing his silver Swiss Army watch and just a bit of arm hair.
As you can probably imagine, chemists (and most scientists, really) don't really get that much action. Most of our days are spent in the lab, trying to discover the next groundbreaking truth or miracle or innovation that will somehow change the world. I've never met a male chemist who was attractive and available, and even if I did, I wouldn't ever sleep with him, because it would be unprofessional. Now, with Dan's rugged sexuality oozing into the recesses of my personal space, my feelings of deprivation were magnified a hundredfold. Suddenly, I transformed into a foxier, velvety-voiced version of myself.
I led him into the kitchen to find some glasses, hoping he was enjoying the view of my hips swaying from side to side, my legs looking longer and more toned in my stilettos. I set about finding a corkscrew, trying unsuccessfully to stop staring at him in my peripheral vision when he rested against the counter, right next to me, his presence magnifying the chemistry between us. I screwed out the cork and doled out the pinot noir in two large-bowled wine glasses to let it aerate (a trick anyone is bound to pick up after attending a requisite hundred University-sponsored wine-and-cheese events).
Leaning back against the cool marble-top kitchen counter, I handed Dan one, our fingers brushing together at the stem. He gave me a look that caused my insides to liquefy, and I almost dropped the glass on the floor. There was something profoundly enigmatic about him, as though there was an eclipsed side, one not befitting a typical investment banker. As a scientist, I'm trained to have superior observation skills, and there was something about Dan that just didn't compute. I wanted to know more.
"What do you banker types do for fun?" I asked, raising my eyebrow inquisitively. "You don't seem much like the kind of guy who likes to hang out in the office all day and night."
Dan paused for a moment, then smiled. "So now you think you've got me all figured out, huh?" he asked, cocking his head to the side.
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