“Is that it?” he asks, softly.
I force myself to nod, and the disappointment and cutting grief in his eyes makes me want to blurt out that that’s not it at all. That I miss him, that I’m mad at the whole world because I don’t understand why he’s not with me even though I understand, I understand perfectly.
“Anyway, call me if you have any questions.”
I head to the warehouse and get to work. I’ve been so busy with the launch, the crying spells are coming less frequently. I feel more in control, less as if someone else owns my destiny, more like I’m steering my own boat.
I suppose it helps to get approached by so many men on Match.com. Though I haven’t agreed to any more dates as of yesterday, it helps to be reminded that I am sexy and attractive to the opposite sex.
But I still cry early in the morning and late at night, unable to grapple with the reality of having Aaric so close, having been so close to being with my soul mate and losing him in the end.
To know his kisses won’t ever be mine again, his touch won’t ever know me or drive me wild like it did.
“You’ll get over him,” Jensen says, when he meets me at the warehouse, where I keep opening boxes of the first collection.
We’re busy unpacking, and sweat is coating my skin when the man haunting my dreams—my backer, my fantasy man, the love of my life and the only man I’ve ever loved—walks into the warehouse.
Like a king, confident, gorgeous, and unnattainable.
And he steals my heart from me all over again.
I spot him instantly—tall and powerful, in black slacks and a white shirt, tieless—and I’m transported twelve years ago to him arriving in his mechanic’s suit to help me lug boxes at Kelly’s.
My damned eyes, it seems, haven’t had enough weeping, because the sense of loss I felt when my parents died, when Kelly’s was taken away, and when the man I love left me comes back with a vengeance when I watch him lift one of the boxes and prop it over his shoulder only to look at me.
Dejà vú all over again.
I blink back the moisture and look away, and keep opening boxes so hard I almost cut myself.
“Hey, watch it,” Jensen calls from far away, laughing.
Aaric is still standing before me, waiting, starting to scowl at me.
“You okay?” Aaric asks, his gaze deep.
“Yes.”
“Good. Be careful. Where do you want these?”
I see him with the box on his shoulders and stare stupidly at him.
“You came?” I gasp.
“You needed me here, didn’t you?” He raises his brow in challenge, looking cocky and a little bit more handsome than I’d like.
“Yes, but I thought you were teasing me,” I counter.
“You’ll know when I’m teasing you, bit.” He sets the box down, moving closer, taking a lock of my hair and looking down at me. “You’d be laughing very, very hard,” he warns.
“Ha.” I pretend not to believe him. “You’re not a funny guy.”
He tsks at that, looking disappointed at my revelation. “Damn bad.” He looks at me thoughtfully for a moment, causing my heart to keep pounding harder and harder. “But hey, I’m a hell of a box lugger.”
He props the box over his shoulder and chuckles as he moves it to where I’ve been pushing boxes across the room. I wonder what it would feel like to kiss that smile on his lips.
I swallow and avoid making eye contact. “Over by the windows. But you don’t have to move them, I can just open them here and put the clothing on the racks.”
Christos makes the box seem small and weightless as he lugs it across the room, then he comes back and reaches for my cutting knife and starts slicing boxes open.
I try not to look at his hands, at any part of him, even the tattoo I can see working under the white shirt he wears.
He moves effortlessly and fast, like only a guy who’s actually worked with his hands for years knows how to move.
Minutes later, a dozen men appear. Christos instructs them to open the boxes and set the clothes on the racks, and though I thought Jensen, Sara, and I would take ages to finish, we’re done in a few hours.
“I suppose we’ll have time for the salon tomorrow night after all,” Sara bemusedly tells me. She doesn’t try to hide the reverent amazement on her face.
I glance at Aaric. “Thank you for helping.”
He looks at me for a long moment with a twinkle in his eye, then he winks. “Still a hell of a box lugger.”
I can’t get away fast enough, because even his smiles hurt to see now.
Christos
Present day
I sit alone in my brownstone, the city noises outside as loud as usual, my eyes on the clock on the nightstand. I sit on the edge of the bed with a drink in my hand. I picture making love to her at 1 a.m.
I remember that first night, here in my bed, when I brought her here the first time.
Setting my drink aside, I head to the bathroom to wash my face. I’ve got scruff I haven’t bothered to shave. Reluctantly, I scoop up some shaving cream, run the razor along my jaw, then splash lotion on my face before I head for bed and sit there watching the time. Picturing her in her bed.
My little bit—
Frustration simmers in my veins.
God. What the fuck is the matter with me?
I can’t let this girl go.
I am going to be a father. I lost a child once, and it nearly killed me. The grief and guilt I felt has been a regret that’s weighed heavy on me for years. I still pay Leilani life support, even though we never got married, simply because that child should have been born. Should have had a father, a loving home.
I have another on the way; and still, letting go feels wrong.
As if I’m betraying her, and me. Us.
I sit in bed and remember the first time I brought her over.
How I sat in my bed at 12:58 a.m. and stroked Bryn’s hair. She’d curled up on her side, her cheek on my chest, her hand close to my cock. Hell, if that didn’t make things harder for me. I was ripping through my slacks and battling the urge to scoop her up, lower her down on me, and make fucking love. I’d been running her hard. Not only to teach her. But to prolong the times I saw her.
I couldn’t resist teasing her, but I’d behaved. I was sick of behaving that night. My exhaustion wasn’t work related, it was related to the non-stop, relentless throbbing in my gut to grab her to me, kiss her to pieces. I wanted to finish what we started on the way to my place that night. Yeah. Maybe I just didn’t give a shit. Maybe all I gave a shit about was the girl with the soft brown eyes, the teasing smile, and the burning desire. I wanted to grab her, kiss her, hold her—get lost in her. I wanted her to promise me she’d never doubt my intentions again.
I sat there, fighting my battle, when I heard her breathing change. She shifted when I stroked my thumb over her lips. They parted, and the alarm started buzzing.
Her eyes opened. My chest knotted up when I saw the fear in them. Wide-eyed, scared, she looked at me, and her eyes lost the scared look as I reached out to my phone and shut off the alarm.
“1 a.m.,” I said, gently.
She looked at me, starting to breathe a little better.