Diana stepped out of the elevator directly into her apartment. As soon as she felt the cool air of home, she let out a sigh. The day had topped out at 99 degrees, and she could still feel the clammy, stinky sweat that had accumulated under her clothes during the day.
She dropped her keys onto the end table and lifted first one foot, then the other, and removed her high heels. She sighed, relieved to finally be free of the shoes, and dumped them on the floor next to the elevator. She had the penthouse, and the elevator was private. There was no chance of anyone stealing her shoes. She let her stocking feet sink into the plush rug of her living room, soaking up the softness after a day of hard tile, asphalt and industrial carpet.
Once her feet finished singing the praises of deep-pile carpet, she turned and walked toward the window. She turned on a lap as she passed the table, the lights in the kitchen already on. She stopped in front of the window and looked down at the street. She brought both hands up, laced her fingers behind her neck and pulled. She groaned as her fingers pressed into the tired muscles, and she wished there was someone, anyone, available to give her a massage.
She slid her hands forward to the collar of her Oxford shirt. She idly twisted the top button between her index finger and thumb, then slipped it through the hole. It felt like releasing a choker, and she pressed her palm against the base of her imprisoned throat. She slid her hand down, into her shirt, and brushed her fingers over the flat part of her chest. Droplets of sweat formed between her fingertips and her skin, and she brushed them away before taking her hand out.
On the street below, she watched two people exit the apartment building across the street and walk toward a parked car. She moved her hands to the waistband of her skirt, hooked her thumbs under it and then slid them around to the button at the back. She undid the button, tugged the zipper down and pushed the skirt away from her hips. It collapsed down her legs, brushing her thighs and calves with brief, feathery kisses.
She stepped out of the skirt, bringing her closer to the window. She reached up and pressed one hand against the glass, using her other hand to undo the buttons of her blouse. She undid them slowly, taking time between each one. When she finally reached the last button, she shrugged out of the shirt and let it fall away behind her.
In her bra, panties and stockings, she should have felt exposed in front of the window. But the more clothes she lost, the more comfortable she felt. She had spent the entire day going from one meeting to another, from one crisis to another, and the stresses had piled onto her shoulders like lead weights. Now, alone, half-naked, she could feel the weights being lifted from her.
