Page 24 of Blind Date
“I suppose a drink on your terrace would be nice.”
The corners of his mouth curved upward. “It would be very nice. Ben, take us home.”
The car pulled up to the curb at 17 East 93rdStreet. I waited for this to be wrong. I had a vision in my head of a tall glass tower on Park Avenue with a penthouse at the top. Instead, his home was a brownstone with a fancy dark brown door and etched glass. It threw me, and I hated that it did.
We climbed out of the car and walked up the three steps to the porch. Weston keyed a code intothe pad by the door, and I heard a soft click. He held the door for me while I stepped in first. Following behind, he reached to the left and silenced the security system.
His place was huge with ten-foot ceilings, limestone floors, and multiple levels. I followed him into the kitchen and stood in awe at the size and the design. Walnut cabinets, marble countertops, and multiple state-of-the-art appliances with a marble island that sat in the center. Over by the large windows was a table that seated four, a gas fireplace, and double French glass doors that led to a terraced garden with a table and chairs for entertaining.
“Wow. This is one hell of a place,” I said.
“Thank you.” He smiled.
“How big is it?”
“The house is 7,370 square feet with 4 bedrooms and 8 bathrooms.”
“May I ask why a bachelor needs all this space to himself?”
He chuckled. “I bought the place in an auction for a price I’d be a fool not to pay.”
“So, I guess auctions are your thing then,” I smirked.
“I guess so.” He handed me a glass of wine.
“I don’t mean to sound rude, but if that’s the terrace you’re talking about, I’m not sure there’s really a view.”
“That isn’t the terrace I was talking about. Follow me.”
We stepped inside the elevator, and I shook my head.
“What?” he asked.
“You wealthy people and your elevators.”
“Would you rather have climbed up five flights of stairs?” His brow arched in a sexy way.
“In these heels? No.”
“I didn’t think so.”
The elevator opened into a small hallway on the fifthfloor. Straight ahead were double doors that opened to the primary suite.
“Is this whole floor your bedroom?”
“It is. And this is the terrace I was talking about.” He opened the French doors, and we stepped outside.
“Wow.” I stared at the view as the city lit up the night.
“I knew you’d like it.”
We sat in the chairs that faced the city. I tipped the glass to my lips as my belly fluttered. Here I was, with a sexy man, on his terrace off his bedroom, in his 7,370 square foot home, and I didn’t know how to process it all. I’d never experienced anything like it before.
“Why English Literature?” He glanced at me.
“When I was twelve, my parents took me to Maine for vacation. It rained the entire time. At the bed-and-breakfast we stayed at, Romeo and Juliet sat on the nightstand beside my bed. One day, when we were stuck inside because of a storm, I picked it up and started reading. I couldn’t put it down. Once we returned to New York, I headed to the library and checked out more English lit books. I fell in love because I realized that literature wasn’t really about the books. It was about people, their mistakes, their heartbreaks, and their hopes and dreams. I was one who could read the books and think outside the box about them. I wanted to share my thoughts with others, and the best way to do that was to teach them. So, I became an English Lit teacher. I have a gift.” I smiled.
“And what gift would that be?”
