She felt light-headed. Like everything around her was moving at the speed of sound while she stood stock-still, trying to take it all in.
“I’ll want and need you to be flexible, because when I get home every day, I want you here. Which means that I’ll stay in touch with you and you’ll do the same with me. My schedule varies. Some days I’ll be home early, and those days I’ll let you know. Others I’ll be late. If I travel—and I don’t have immediate travel plans—I’m going to want you with me. Is that something you can deal with?”
She sucked in a breath and then smiled shakily. “Do I have a choice?”
He paused a moment. “No. Those are my expectations.”
“Well, then I suppose I’ll be home when you are,” she said lightly.
He breathed out, his shoulders dipping slightly in relief. As though he’d expected her to refuse. She wondered what he would have done if she had balked? Tossed her out? Or would he have tried to reach a compromise?
He’d readily admitted his need of her. He wanted her, no doubt. But how inflexible was he really? She was curious, but she wasn’t ready to push back. Not yet. Not over something she had no real issue with. If and when the time came when he posed something she couldn’t embrace, then she would test the boundaries of their newly forming relationship.
“Just so I understand your . . . expectations . . . you basically want me here when you are. Or where you are. And you want me to tell you where I’m going and when and where. And you want me to check in with you frequently.”
It didn’t sound that demanding to her. It sounded reasonable. She didn’t want him worrying about her. Didn’t want to be a distraction for him. If he worried—and it was obvious he did—she wanted to do whatever she could to alleviate that stress.
“Yes,” he said, his eyes growing more intent. “But, Josie, you need to understand. You make it sound light. It’s not. I will be pissed if you flake. This isn’t an ‘oh sorry I completely forgot to tell you where I was going’ thing and laugh it off. I expect you to tell me everything.”
“Okay, Ash,” she said quietly. “I get it.”
He nodded. “Now, there are things you need to know about me. I don’t want this shit coming up later and surprising you or making you feel awkward. It’s better if you know everything from the start so you can deal and it doesn’t become an issue down the road.”
She lifted an eyebrow. He sounded so serious. Like he was about to drop some earth-shattering bomb on her. She wanted to joke and ask him if he was about to admit to being an ax murderer, but he was too serious and he wouldn’t appreciate her attempt at levity. So she remained silent, waiting for what he had to say.
He shifted upward, grimaced a moment and then leaned forward so he could shove a cushion between his back and the arm of the sofa. She sat forward so he had room but then he promptly snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her solidly back to him so she was once more nestled against his body.
“Any serious conversation we have is going to be with you in my arms so I’m touching you,” he said. “Never you across the room from me. That is not going to make me happy. Warning you now that if you get pissed and we’re having a discussion, you won’t be putting distance between us.”
She smiled against his chest and nodded. That sounded fine to her. One of the things she had disliked the most about Michael was his aloofness when it came to her. The distance—emotional distance—between them. Michael was more of a sit-down-across-the-room-from-each-other-and-discuss guy. For that matter, the only time he ever touched her was when they were having sex. He wasn’t demonstrative or affectionate. And Ash couldn’t seem to keep his hands off her for two seconds. She liked that. She liked it a lot.