And there, rising over green moss, is a single bloom of probably every flower genus they sell in Portland. Hyacinth, orchid, gardenia, peony, amaryllis, calla lily, rose…
“I didn’t know which one was your favorite.” Aiden’s warm breath tickles my cheek. It’s just air—his air—but my knees start wobbling. He pulls me against his front, his lips fluttering over my jawline to my ear.
“So?” he whispers.
“Hmm?”
“Favorite flower?” He kisses the soft spot behind my ear. I shiver.
“Umm…”
He chuckles and pulls away. “Maybe it’s too soon to combine thinking with kissing.”
I flush the color of the amaryllis.“Roses,” I breathe.
He raises an eyebrow. “Roses?” There is a hint of humor in his voice.
“What’s wrong with roses?”
“Nothing. It’s just such a common choice for such an uncommon woman.”
I want to kiss him—hard like he kissed me. So I start babbling. “Well, my favorite breed is Aeternum romantica. They’re very rare because they have very little pollen. They could do okay in a warm terrarium, which of course was invented by botanist Nathaniel Bagshaw Ward in 1829—” Stop! Stop right now!
Aiden’s sculpted lips are twitching with a smile.
“Thank you for the flowers,” I mumble.
“Thank you for the botany lesson.”
“So, can we talk about this painting?” I ask to upgrade myself from geek to semidesirable muse status.
He gives me a full, dimple-in-the-cheek smile. “Yes, we should. But first, we have your graduation lunch. Moot point since you didn’t go to your graduation, but it was already planned.”
I make an effort not to gape. Or drool. Oh, these twenty-four hours are getting better and better. “If I had known you’d be there, I might have gone.” But if I had gone, would his control have slipped enough for him to kiss me? Probably not. Another reason why it was a brilliant idea.
He leads me to a breakfast bar and a woman in a white apron appears to serve us. Aiden introduces her as his housekeeper, Cora Davis. She is in her late forties, with a kind, sweetheart face and short, chestnut hair. She sets out our lunch of wild salmon with fennel-and-apple salad.
“The new room is ready, sir,” she says, and after a nod from him, she leaves with a smile.
“The new room?” I ask while Aiden uncorks some wine with a name that is one paragraph long. I couldn’t repeat it if I were at gunpoint.
He smiles. “Yes. For your painting.”
“You created an entire room for my painting?”
He shrugs like this should be obvious. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“I have a specific idea in mind.”
“What’s the idea?”
“A fantasy.”
His voice is soft but something about the word—desired but never real—makes my stomach twist sharply. Just like he will always be for me. Except, without my numbered days, I’d want more than a fantasy. Would he?
“Javier will love it,” I say to move away from the dark thought. “It will be his first domain.”
I meant to lighten my mood but Aiden puts down the wine bottle and looks at me, his eyes midnight blue. The change is so sudden that it makes me gasp.
“I’ll ask you this once today despite our embargo.” His voice has lost all its seduction and is now back to cold. “What is your relationship with Mr. Solis?”
It takes me a moment to find words. I can’t look away from his dark eyes. For some reason, I have a fleeting sense of danger.
“Javier and I have been best friends for the last four years,” I manage. “But he’s more than that, he is family. The Solises saved my life after my parents’ accident.”
He nods slowly, and his eyes start tracing my jawline, my throat—almost like a search. As they do so, they lighten with that turquoise glow I’ve come to expect, even know.
“My apologies, Elisa.” His voice is now gentle. “The question is none of my business.”
Something about his words frightens me a lot more than his dark gaze. “I don’t mind,” I say, my voice cracking.
He raises his hand very slowly and brushes the back of his fingers along my lower lip, down my throat. Lightly, like a warm breeze. But my body responds with vengeance. My pulse starts breaking through my skin. Goose bumps erupt everywhere. He smiles.
“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he says, tracing my collarbones with the tips of his fingers.
“I’ve seen worse,” I breathe. “Nitroglycerin for example.”
The dimple forms in his cheek. “I’m still sorry. It’s very difficult for me to control my reactions around you.”
I know somewhere deep in my brain I should ask many questions. But the only one I can form is, “Why?”
He sighs and drops his hand. “Embargo,” he says, pouring some wine and handing me a glass.
How can I argue with that?
I take a deep, steadying breath and clink his glass with mine. “To embargoes, then.”
He chuckles now, shifting his chair closer to mine, our arms almost touching.
“And to the women who broker them.”
Chapter Sixteen
For Love’s Sake Only