Jodi fumbled with the door for a second and Marcus watched her breasts sway as she unlocked the door. The thought of the soft flesh made his mouth water and he reminded himself again of who she was.

“Come on in,” she said, opening the door, “Just set those boxes on the table, I’ll put them away.”

Marcus set his burden down on the entry table and looked around the small loft apartment, leaving his bag on the floor by the door.

“Go ahead and sit down. I’ll put this stuff away. Can I get you something to drink or anything?” Jodi picked up one of the boxes and headed towards the kitchen area.

“No, I’m fine, thanks. Nice place you have here.” Marcus stood in the living room and looked around.

A stark scene met his eyes. The room was huge, soaring to high bare ceilings and painted almost entirely white. Several skylights would fill the room with sunshine during the day. The unfinished walls were brick, several large pipes ran the length of the wide beams, and the dazzle as Jodi turned on a few lights was quite amazing.

It was modern, daring, and not what he’d expected. The kitchen was open to the rest of the apartment, the only walls enclosing what he suspected was the bathroom. Her bed was almost hidden by a waterfall of white sheer stuff strung on a rod across one end of the room.

He looked around curiously. Almost every surface was bare. No magazines lay half-open on the single coffee table. There were no trinkets or dust-catchers cluttering up the surface of her bookcase. There were books, but not many. Some CDs. A small sound system, which looked expensive, took up one shelf.

There was no television.

There was, in fact, nothing to tell him anything about the woman who lived in such simplicity. Nothing but an assortment of brilliantly colored pillows, scattered like the remains of a seriously deranged peacock on her couch.

Marcus was intrigued. He noticed two framed photos hanging side by side on the blank whiteness of her walls. “Holy crap! Those are Ansel Adams prints. Where’d you find these?”

Marcus stepped closer to the framed black and white pictures “Damn, these are signed too.”

“Yeah, I saw them at an art gallery in New York. Couldn’t resist them.”

Jodi stood next to Marcus sipping a freshly poured glass of something bubbly. She held it to her chest and stared at the pictures with him. “I love the way he uses contrast to set a mood.” She pulled one foot behind the other and rubbed her calf with the top of it in a gesture that seemed almost nervous.

“I like his work. Mine has more of a dark feel to it than this.” Marcus turned towards Jodi.

She was now barefoot and her head reached his shoulder. Her hair smelled of that herbal fragrance from her shampoo and he breathed it in. Marcus hesitated. He didn’t speak much about his hobby. It was a very personal and discreet interest that he rarely shared.

“Your work? You mean you take photographs? Landscapes and stuff?”

“Um…do you have all the pastries put away? I don’t want to keep you from things.” He changed the subject.

His photographs were an artistic outlet. They weren’t the types to show in art houses, they weren’t the types shown in magazines. To him, his photos were his personal eye into someone’s soul. He didn’t mind taking pictures for friends but the standard family pictures didn’t turn him on. He liked the more intimate settings. With only a certain few people.

“Yeah, it’s all put away. I’m just going to kick back and listen to some music and probably soak my feet. They’re killing me.”

Marcus looked over to her beige chair and the matching ottoman in front of it, and then looked back to Jodi. “They really hurt? You know I can help you with that…”

Her expression changed. He could read it very clearly. Ah, the “move”. I knew he was finally going to try something.

He ignored it. “Go sit down and I’ll massage your feet for you. I learned how to do it a long time ago in Germany.”

Marcus put his hand on the small of her back and led her to the chair watching her backside sway beneath her skirt.

A nice ass runs in this family, for sure.