Chapter Eighteen
The grey skies and heavy rainfall in Seattle are a stark contrast to the early summer sunshine we left behind in London some sixteen hours ago.
“I want to go back,” I mutter, putting up the umbrella the flight attendant just handed to me before I get off the plane. Thunder rumbles overhead. Of course we’d land back in the middle of a rare frigging thunderstorm.
“Come on, woman. Stop complaining.” Aaron nudges my back and I sigh.
“Okay, but if I ruin these shoes in all those puddles…”
“I’ll buy you another ten pairs. Now go.”
I laugh and walk down the steps, the damp air making me shiver through my thin cardigan. Note to self: check destination weather before getting on a plane.
Aaron rests his jacket over my shoulders with a kiss to my cheek. I smile gratefully at him and lift my umbrella for him to come under. He raises his eyebrows, but I give him a hard, no-nonsense look.
Not that I’m averse to that white button-down shirt getting wet, of course. I’m just not prepared to deal with the inevitable man flu if he gets soaked.
We hurry into the airport and speed through our checks. I shake off the umbrella before lowering myself into our waiting car and drop it by my feet.
“Well, that’s my shoes ruined.”
“From a little rain?”
“That’s not a little rain. If I’d have known it was raining, I wouldn’t have worn these.” I lift my leg and flash him my black Louboutins, the iconic red underside showing as I do.
Aaron’s strong fingers grasp my lower leg and he lifts my foot higher. I slump back in the chair, pursing my lips, unimpressed, and he kisses my ankle.
“I like these. I’m definitely replacing them. They’ll match that red thing you bought.”
I roll my eyes. “You and the red thing.”
“I like you in red. You look like the temptation you are.”
“Like a great big chocolate cake in front of a dieting person?”
His lips quirk. “If you say so, Dayton.”
I smile and tug my foot from his hold, righting myself in the seat. Arriving back in Seattle is a blessing and a curse. The blessing falls in knowing that we’re both on the same page about this relationship. Well, mostly, anyway. We know it’s real. There’s no money, no obligation, no forcing. Just very real, very consuming feelings.
That’s not to say that this will be easy. Obvious things aside, a relationship is based on more than sex and love. Those things can’t make a relationship. They can make it better, oh yes, but they can’t make it something strong enough to go the distance. Sex and love don’t make a relationship something real enough to last forever.
It’s the little things that do that. Like Aaron said in Vegas, it’s the little things that mean the most. The things you pass on by because they’re seemingly irrelevant although they’re really the most important things.
Love is how the other person likes their coffee on a morning. How long they put their toast in the toaster for. How they like their throw pillows on the sofa to be arranged. How hot they have their shower water. How many bubbles in the bath.
How they always leave empty glasses on the bar in the kitchen, and how they know exactly how you take your coffee. How they know how many candles to light around a bathtub before you get in, and how chilled your wine has to be before it’s an acceptable drinking temperature.
We still have so much to learn about each other, and while I know there’s no rush, I want to know these things. I want to know if he prefers butter or jelly on his toast on a morning and if really he prefers tea over coffee, which I suspect he does.
I want to know if he changes the temperature of the shower water to my preference of red hot instead of a normal hot. I want to know every little thing I don’t.
Because at the end of the day, when it gets hard and you’re in the middle of the room shouting at each other over something trivial, you won’t remember the huge declarations of love. When you’re sitting against your bedroom door crying because you hate fighting, you’ll remember the way he smiles at you over breakfast and the way he trails his thumb down your spine to make you shiver.
You’ll remember all the crazy little things that remind you that, no matter what, no matter how difficult or impossible it may seem, there’s no one else in this world more perfect for you than he is.
“What are you thinking?” Aaron strokes the inside of my wrist with his thumb.
I roll my head to the side and smile. “I’m thinking I’m really glad you hired Mia Lopez.”
He leans forward and kisses me with his own smile playing on his lips.
And I am. In all honesty, I’m completely glad he hired me that night. Regardless of the events since, staying and seeing it out was the best thing I could have done.
I can’t control love. I know this. But I can control how much of an impact it has on my life. I can control whether or not I choose to let it be my life. And that’s what I’m doing. Instead of letting it spiral crazily inside me, instead of fighting it, I’m embracing it.
I’m giving Aaron my all, and he’s giving me his.
I look out the window. “Um, this isn’t the way to my house.”
“I know. You’re staying with me tonight.”
“Demanding again, Mr. Stone?”
“Requirement, Miss Black.”
“You’re getting awfully requirement-happy lately. Are you aware of this?”
His eyes crash into mine, the lust there tugging at my own desire, and his lips curve into a dangerously sexy smirk that makes me want to kiss it off him.
“Oh, I’m very aware. My cock is also aware of its numerous requirements. Requirements you will be finding out more about very, very soon.”
“Sounds promising.”
“I never joke about f*cking you, Miss Black.”
“Is that so?” I run my tongue across my bottom lip. His eyes follow the movement, and he cups my chin, pulling my face to his.
“There’s nothing funny about making you come, Dayton. Nor is there anything funny about having my cock so deep inside you that you can’t feel anything but me.”
My desire flares like a lit match. It engulfs my body as his words strike up any number of thoughts about the way he moves inside me, and I swallow hard like it’ll counteract the aching in my core.
“I agree. It’s a very serious matter,” I manage, trying to keep a straight face.
Aaron stares at me until we reach his apartment building and we get out. He places a hand on either side of my waist, steering me toward the elevator, and lowers his mouth to my ear.
“A very serious matter I intend to take care of tonight. Perhaps twice.”
My mouth goes dry. Holy f*ck. Yes. Please do.
The elevator doors open and he unlocks his apartment door, pausing slightly before opening it. I look at his hand then him. As if my eyes on him flicks something, he pushes the handle down and the door swings open.
I step in before I realize that anything is different. And freeze when I see it.
My coats are hanging on the hooks in the hallway. Some of my throw pillows are strewn across the large U-shaped sofa, and my books have filled the bookcase that curves behind it. I stroll into the bathroom without speaking, and sure as shit, my stuff is in here too. My toothbrush. My shampoo. My soap.
I yank open the cupboard doors beneath the sinks and find all my of my beauty products lined up—exactly the way I had them in my own bathroom. My towels are hanging on the rails next to the bath, and my favorite Yankee candles are sitting in the windowsill.
What. The. F*ck?
Slamming the door behind me, I walk into Aaron’s bedroom, ignoring my other candles on the side, and shove my way into his closet. My clothes are hanging next to his. My shoes are lined beneath them, from boots to heels to sandals, and the box holding all my nail polishes and extra makeup is sitting on the shelf above the rail.
The large canvas of us he showed me in his office apartment is hanging on the wall in here, and when I walk next door to his office, there are another two pictures. One framed on the desk, one on the wall.
I cover my eyes with my hand, my chest tight. It takes a lot for me to take a deep breath and not scream at him when I walk back into the main room.
“Either someone who has belongings exactly the same as me has taken residence in your apartment or you’ve moved me in.”
“I’ll ease your mind and confirm the latter.”
I put my hands on my hips. Don’t shout. Don’t freak. Don’t go—
“What the f*ck, Aaron? You said you didn’t do anything stupid! Jesus! I told you I wasn’t ready for this! I can’t f*cking believe you’ve moved me into your apartment without even asking me!”
So much for not going crazy.
“I wasn’t lying when I said I hadn’t done anything impulsive. I did it after.”
“Oh, and that makes it all better, does it? It’s totally f*cking okay because you didn’t lie to me about it. Oh my god!” I run my fingers through my hair. “How the hell did you even get into my house?”
“Your best friend has a spare key.”
“You roped Liv in on this?”
“I may not have been completely honest when I told her you’d requested some of your belongings be moved here.”
I exhale through pursed lips. “You and I? Not f*cking talking right now.”
I spin on my heels and stalk into the spare bedroom, ready to face-plant the bed and scream into the pillow. But of course, I can’t. Because of course he’s turned that into a lingerie room. My lingerie room. With space for all my new stuff.
And it’s organized perfectly. Just how I had it. As if he’d been in and taken photos before everything was transferred.
I leave the room again. Aaron’s leaning against the bar, a steaming mug in hand, his eyes following me.
“What do you expect me to do with my house? Am I supposed to sell it now?”
He shakes his head. “No, absolutely not. Without meaning to bring up our previous conversation, my apartment isn’t exactly where I imagine living with you in the future.”
Ah, yes. That conversation.
“So, what? I’m supposed to pay a mortgage on a house I’m not even living in?”
“You’ll find that an amount covering the rest of your mortgage repayments was deposited into your account this morning for you to pay it off.”
“F*ck no.” I stalk across the room and jab my finger in his chest. “That is my house, and I’m not letting you pay it off. I’m calling the bank tomorrow and having it sent back to your account. I will pay it off.”
Great. Now there’s another one hundred and twenty-five thousand I have to find for Naomi.
Aaron curls his fingers around my wrist and lowers my hand. “By all means, sweetheart, have it transferred back to my account. You’ll find it’ll be back in yours within the hour.”
“You’re not paying off my house,” I say through gritted teeth. “I don’t need or want you to.”
He leans across the bar, his mug hitting the surface of it with a gentle clunk, and tugs my face toward him. “And one day that will be our house, just like this will be our apartment, and our company, and our money. I know you like to do things yourself, but start getting used to me doing them for you because it’s going to happen a lot more often.”
“I am so mad at you right now that I don’t even know what to say.” I knock his hand from me and walk into the bedroom, letting the door slam behind me.
The bedroom.
Our bedroom.
I kick off my shoes and leave my clothes in a heap before climbing into bed.
Our bed.
Huh.
***
A mug of coffee is waiting on the nightstand when I wake up. I steal a look at the clock on Aaron’s side, blinking when it reads eight thirty p.m. I’ve slept all afternoon?
Damn jet lag.
I inhale the rich scent of the coffee before taking my first sip. It’s still piping hot, and my eyes flit to the open bedroom door. I can’t hear anything—no television, no music, no low rumble of his voice.
I place the cup back on the side and grab some shorts and a tank from the closet. Seeing my clothes next to his is a little surreal, and now that I’ve cooled off thanks to my unplanned nap, I can’t deny the flutter in my stomach at the sight.
I can’t deny that a part of me loves the fact I really do get to wake up next to him every morning and fall asleep in his arms each night.
When I find him in his office, he’s sitting at the desk, hunched over, his fingers moving at lightning speed across the keyboard. He must be totally engrossed in what he’s doing, because he doesn’t move as I curl up in the corner of the sofa.
I open one of the books I took from the front room during my search for him and drop my eyes to it. As I turn the pages, I know that he’s registered my presence. He can’t not—unless there’s someone else who comes into his office on a regular basis and reads while he works.
Still, he doesn’t turn. He continues his tapping, clicking, whatever he’s doing. So I don’t speak either, and we settle into a comfortable silence that somehow kills the remaining tension between us.
And this is…nice. Both of us here, not speaking, doing our own things. It’s comforting in the oddest kind of way, not least because I’m not used to being in the same room without interacting with him in some way. Whether it’s talking, touching, kissing—we’re always doing something. But here, we’re individuals together.
After several chapters, I hear the click of the laptop closing. I peer over the top of the book, and Aaron joins me on the sofa. His black shirt stretches over his shoulders, and his hair is all mussed like he’s been rubbing his fingers through it repeatedly.
I turn my attention back to the pages to finish the Chapter, feeling his eyes on me the whole time. I slip the bookmark from the back cover and use it to mark my page.
Aaron reaches out and runs his hand down my thigh. “Did you sleep well?”
“Your mattress is awful,” I reply. “If you were going to bring my stuff over, you could have brought my mattress.”
He smiles. “I agree. Your mattress is much comfier than mine. I’ll rectify that tomorrow.”
“Good.” I nod and set the book on the floor next to me. “When did you do it? Move my stuff here?”
“The day after Tessa’s wedding.” He moves up the sofa and lifts my legs over his. His arm settles across the back of the cushions and he threads his fingers into my hair, gently running them through to the ends. “I know you told me you weren’t ready, but then we had that conversation about the future about the things you’re not ready for being the things you want the most.”
“And you’re using that as an excuse.”
“No. Not an excuse. The first reason.”
“And the second?”
He runs his fingers down my cheek. “The look in your eyes when you told me how much you needed me to tell you I love you. I didn’t realize it was so important to you until then, and it was that moment that made me realize it’s important to me to tell you every single day. The only way I can do that—and show you at the same time—is if you live with me.”
Well, how the f*cking hell am I supposed to argue with that?
That’s right. I’m not. So he’s going to get away with it.
Goddamn it.
“Do anything like this ever again and I might just have to kill you,” I murmur when he leans in for a kiss.
“Understood.” He sweeps his mouth across mine. “Liv only packed the basics, which is apparently more than I imagined considering your whole closet is here…”
I smirk.
“So if you want to, we’ll go back tomorrow and get anything else you need.”
“Does anything else include food? Because, y’know, if I’m living here, I’m gonna need some real food.”
“Empty your cupboards if that’s what you want to do.” He grins. “It’ll save me from having to go grocery shopping.”
“I don’t believe for a second you go grocery shopping.”
“Occasionally. As proven by the lack of food in my kitchen.”
I make a ‘hmph’ sound. “That will change, Mr. Stone. We’re going to set some ground rules.”
He sits back, his lips twitching. “Fire away.”
I sit up straighter and tick off on my fingers. “Grocery shopping happens once a week, with both of us. Ah, ah! We’re in a relationship now, and multimillionaire or not, we’re going to do relationship things. Understood?”
He nods.
“Good. And that also means that, unless there are unavoidable circumstances, not including deliberately scheduled meetings, you will be home for dinner every single night because I will be cooking it.”
“You can cook?”
“No, I’ve survived for the last three years on water, raw meat, and Cheetos.” I roll my eyes. “Of course I can cook. I spent my childhood in the kitchen with my mom.”
“Why haven’t you cooked for me before?”
I look at him blankly. “You’ve never asked me to.”
“Fair point. Can you cook tomorrow?”
“I suppose. And back to the rules.” I give him a pointed stare. “Living together does not give you the right to hide my shorts. Yes, I found them in the closet, and yes, I’m keeping them. They’re comfy. No arguing.”
“I like it when you go all bossy on me.”
“Well I can’t have you making all the decisions, can I? If I did, I’d be married and pregnant by the end of the month.”
His lips twitch again.
I hold up my left arm and tap my skin. “Implant. Don’t get any ideas.”
“No ideas.”
“Good. Let’s keep it that way.”
He leans in again. “But you know about that being ready thing—”
I press my finger against his lips. “The implant has a year left, and perhaps if you don’t piss me off too much, we’ll revisit this then. So for now, tuck those little dreams back in their little box, because it is not up for discussion. Are we clear, Mr. Stone?”
“Crystal, Miss Black.” He slides his hand beneath my shorts and tugs on my bottom lip with his teeth. “Now, are you done with your requirements—uh, rules?”
“Uh, um, yep.” I breathe what passes for words as he brushes his nose down my neck.
“Good.” He stands and lifts me. I wrap my legs around his waist, and he walks in the direction of the bedroom. “Because my cock has a requirement you need to fulfill. Right now.”