Preying on You by Elise Holden Page A

own. Some days I miss living in a small town where everyone may
know my business, but it feels like home. So much of the city feels
foreign and cold, apart from him .
    But I don’t want to talk about the
weather. I want to stare openly at him, at the gap in the collar of
his dress shirt where a hint of muscle always peeks out at me. To
admire the fine cut of his pants that taper from lean hips and flow
down to impeccably polished high-end dress shoes. I want to wrap my
legs around him and bury my fingers in his tousled black hair and
not come up until I’m out of breath.
    Instead, I lean back against the
mahogany wall and watch the floor numbers light up one by one,
knowing I’m nearly out of time but am helpless to turn back the
clock.
    The scent of him is intoxicating as he
clasps his coat and leans next to me.
    “ Are you expecting
guests?”
    My eyebrow rises in surprise as I turn
to look at him. He laughs, and I feel those vibrations sink
straight into my abdomen.
    “ Sorry if that was a bit
forward. I just noticed you are carrying a bottle of
wine.”
    “ No.” I shake my head and
chuckle, at first relieved, then annoyed that I will be alone for
yet another night, even though it makes some part of me feel safe.
“Not at all. I will be dining alone this evening. Wine is something
of a passion of mine.”
    “ For tasting?”
    “ For drinking.”
    His lips spread into a wide
grin, and I find myself unable to look away. Four little words
dangle from the tip of my tongue, begging to be released… Will you join me?
    The elevator dings as it slows to a
halt, and I reluctantly glance up to see the number seven
illuminated. I feel the familiar sense of disappointment as the
doors slide open. The ride with him never lasts long
enough.
    “ Have a nice evening, Miss
Holden.” He places his hand on the door to ensure it remains open
while I pass.
    I lower my head and conceal my smile
as I step off the elevator. The instant the doors seal behind me, I
press my hand to my forehead and begin the routine
berating.
    Why don’t I talk to him
instead of simply exchanging the usual pleasantries? Invite him in?
Inquire how he knows my name when I don’t have a clue what his
is? He gave me the perfect opening for an
invite and I blew it! What is it about him that makes me forget everything I
have learned about men?
    Perhaps, therein lies the catch. He is
the epitome of a man; the perfect gentleman. Handsome. Obviously
well-off. Sexy. Those sorts tend to be the first to steal your
heart and leave you behind. I’ve learned that first hand. What
seems to be too good usually is.
    With a sigh I turn left and head for
my condo at the end of the hall. Its location provides a
spectacular corner view of the city, as well as privacy. Both of
which I value highly.
    Slipping my key into the
lock, I enter and close the door, pausing only a moment to lament
what could have been while I place my coat on the rack. Maybe tomorrow , has
become my daily assurance. I set my hat on the dining room table. I
kick off my black, high heels before entering the kitchen to grab a
single wine glass and bottle opener.
    I was not lying when I told my mystery
man that wine is a passion of mine. It is also a necessary ritual,
a way to unwind, but it is not the only highlight of my
night.
    As I round the couch and look to my
side table, I see a voice mail message lit on the screen of my
iPhone; the one I use only for my secret project. Another true
confession has arrived from a man or woman willing to bare all for
the sake of personal closure. Betrayal is never something you
forget. It has touched nearly every person I know in one capacity
or another, leaving a wound behind that refuses to ever truly
fade.
    Affairs. Abandoned at the altar. Fear
of commitment. Marriages broken over a confusion of sexual
identity. Replacing a partner with a younger version. The list is
endless. I have learned in my own life the sting that deception
leaves behind, like a vile