He smirks—and I realize that’s where he got it.
“And this?” I point at another stone. “You got this at an auction too?” At his silence, I shoot him a disgruntled look. “Can you tell me something you didn’t get at auction?”
He removes his jacket and sets it aside. “I can’t recall.”
“God, are you interested in nothing where there’s no competition?”
“Competition makes every item here look all the better in my place.”
He smiles, and I’m laughing. “This?” I point at a pre-Columbian figurine made of jade. “Don’t tell me. Auction.”
“That was actually a gift.” His eyes somber, darken. “My mother gave that to me ages ago. It was part of a ring that belonged to her grandmother.”
It’s a small thing, set in an acrylic base, which summarizes its importance to its owner.
“Tell me about her.”
“She was very strong, very dedicated. She fought very hard to live. She was never ready to go, not even in the last minute.”
“She waved at me through the window, the few times I walked by.” I stare out the window, watching the streets outside.
He’s near—behind me. I sense him like a boiler of hot water standing close to me, and I almost don’t move for fear of being scorched.
“Are we going to talk about it?” he whispers, in my ear, slipping his hand around my waist.
“I don’t know.”
I turn and meet his gaze.
“Are you going to marry her?”
He looks down at me with the barest shadow of surprise in his expression over my question. “I’m 32 years old. I want a family of my own.” He narrows his eyes, tilting his head—rubbing my lips with his thumb.
“You do?”
He nods. “Never had a family. Not a traditional one. Just because I didn’t have a father doesn’t mean I don’t want to be one. I do.”
“With her? What if she’s not the one?”
“In marrying her, I’d be committing to her being the one even if it’s not a love match—and she would do the same with me. Isn’t that the point of getting the government involved?”
“What if you love someone else, and someone else loves you? What if you want to take someone else to bed, and she wants to take you?”
He’s silent.
His thumb on my mouth. Rubbing side to side.
“Why did you bring me here?”
“You seemed upset. I didn’t want you to be alone tonight.” He drops his hands and plunges them deep into his pockets as he looks at me, his voice becoming lower and deeper. “And I didn’t want to be without you tonight.”
I glance away, then back at him. “Thank you for believing in me,” I whisper.
“Thank you for bringing something to the table that’s worth pursuing,” he counters, his gaze direct. “I gave you the check because I want us to do business together. Don’t think for a moment I don’t.”
“That kiss was business too?”
He smirks. “No. That was for me.”
Squirming under my skin from the heat sizzling in the space between our bodies, I run my hands down my dress. “I won’t lie and say I haven’t thought about you and I. But it’s complicated. You’re in a relationship and we’re starting a business partnership. I’m not the kind of girl that goes stealing men from other girls.”
“I’m not stealable.” He grins.
“What does that mean?”
He just looks at me for a long moment. “Sleep with me.”
“Is that a good idea?” I gasp in disbelief at his suggestion. “I can hardly keep my hands to myself right now.”
“Spend the night with me,” he says.
“Aaric.”
He takes my chin and lifts my face, one eyebrow rising. “We can talk business.”
I swallow.
“Or we can actually sleep,” I hedge.
“I’m up for that.” His lips hike up halfway as he nods in consent.
“We can’t kiss again,” I breathe.
His gaze falls to my mouth. Is there regret there? Lust? Both? “I’m trying to take it slow with you, Bryn.”
“Christos…frankly, I don’t know what to make of this.”
“Like I said, I’m hoping to take it slow enough for you to feel comfortable.”
“Comfortable with what?”
“The idea of you and me being involved, bit. To us taking things to where we want them. Tonight I want you to sleep here—I can sleep in a separate room if you need your space.”
“I don’t want space. But I don’t want to regret anything…” I trail off.
Because I already know sometimes the regrets go both ways. Going home won’t guarantee that I won’t wake up without any regrets. With more what ifs, more mind-dream kisses from Christos.
“I suppose if I’m staying I should change. Do you have something decent I can wear?” I ask.
We walk into his bedroom—it’s too big and beautifully decorated to be anything but his. He leads me to the closet, motioning to the very end.
I am surprised to find a whole section of his closet contains women’s things. I would leave if he weren’t standing at the door watching me. “I’m not wearing Miranda’s stuff.”
“She leaves shit here. Grab anything else.” He pushes off the door frame.
“I’m not wearing her stuff!” I raise my voice so he can hear me as I stalk to the other side of his closet, undo my dress, then quickly grab a folded gray sweatshirt and slip my arms into the sleeves.
He stands by the bed and watches me walk into his room while he fiddles with his phone. His head snaps back attentively, and he freezes.
“What?” I ask.
He stares another moment longer.
“Just really like seeing you in my things,” he says. Low. A lovely smirk on his lips.
I smile, flushing head to toe.
“1 a.m., right?” he asks, glancing down at his phone.
I realize what he is doing and discreetly bite down on my lip while more heat bubbles up in my veins. I nod.
He sets his phone aside and pulls back the sheets in invitation.
He’s still dressed. I’m wearing nothing but my undergarments and his very large sweatshirt and his eyes on me—eyes that won’t focus on anything else.
God. He makes me feel sexy and that’s dangerous. I already feel sensitive when it comes to him. And I’ve never done something like this. This is a little too brazen for me, but I still cross the room and settle into his bed. I have no intention of misbehaving, but the truth is…
I don’t want to sleep alone tonight either.
He unbuttons his shirt, revealing his tattoo. It runs up over his shoulders and across part of his chest.
I’m no longer relaxed. Not one bit.
He climbs the bed with me, I hold my breath.
I feel his bare chest against me as he draws me toward him. His long legs still in slacks.
“I’m going to regret this tomorrow, aren’t I?” I cant my head up to his and shift to get closer.
“No.” His mouth presses to my forehead, and that tiny contact makes me groan. “God, I want to feast on you,” he says, against my temple.
His eyes gleam as he slips his hand to my hair and squeezes the back of my neck proprietarily as he ducks his head and takes my mouth beneath his, the kiss so hard and brazen it pushes the back of my head into the pillow and my senses into chaos.