I rolled my eyes and tried to push him off of me. “You’re making fun of me now.”
He held his ground, both physically and conversationally. “I’m dead serious. Do you want me to buy you a company? Or an island?”
“Stop it.”
“No. I won’t.” He tilted my chin up to meet his eyes. “Anything you want, Alayna. It’s yours. And since you don’t seem to know that, I’ll have to work even harder to make sure you take advantage of my wealth.”
Again, I tried to push him away. “I don’t want or need to take advantage—”
“Now stop.” He moved his hand to caress my cheek. “I know you don’t. You never have. But I’ve told you before that you own me. Whether you take advantage of it or not, I’m yours.”
I started to protest again, but he continued. “And thereby, all I own is yours.” He met my eyes with stone-cold sincerity. “There are contracts that can guarantee that, you know.”
I swallowed. Gulped, actually. The kind of contracts he was talking about…joint ownership…those were hints at wedding bells if I’d ever heard them. Petrified and a little bit thrilled, I tested the waters. “That’s some pretty serious stuff you’re implying.”
“I’ll do more than imply if you let me.” His voice was quiet but genuine.
My heart pounded in my chest. He couldn’t say I love you, but he could promise me the moon? He got intimidated when I expressed my feelings through a song, but he could offer a lifetime?
We weren’t ready for that. I wasn’t. He wasn’t, even if he thought he was. “I think I’ll just take a nice piece of jewelry for now,” I whispered.
I waited with bated breath for his response, hoping I hadn’t hurt his feelings.
It took a second, but he smiled. “Then it’s yours.”
Wanting to lighten the mood more, I added, “Also, some more books. And did you really say a car?”
He shook his head in disbelief. “You don’t want a car. You don’t like to drive.”
It was true that I wasn’t fond of being behind the wheel of a car. But there were other places that driving occurred. “No, I like to drive. You just never let me.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You’re not talking about cars anymore, are you?”
“Nope.” I reached my hand down to circle his cock that was still semi-aroused. I stroked him, once, twice.
He groaned and flipped me so that I was on top of him. “How about you drive right now?”
I straddled him, positioned myself over his cock and slid down. “It kind of seems like I already am.”
Chapter Eleven
We returned to the city Sunday evening, rested and deliciously sore. At least, I was. I was also more excited than ever about our relationship. Still, as eager as I was to get back to our home and our lives, a sadness accompanied our arrival. Hudson and I had made great strides at connecting while we were alone. Could we hold onto our progress back in the real world?
I worried that the answer was no. Especially when, after setting the suitcase in our bedroom, Hudson headed straight to the library to get some work done. I was asleep when he went to bed, and he didn’t wake me. Just like that, our vacation was over and we were back to life.
The next morning, I woke before Hudson left for the day. I sat up against the headboard, watching him as he laced his belt through his slacks. “I’m glad I caught you.”
He lifted a brow. “You caught me? I was under the impression that I’d caught you.”
I tossed a pillow at him. “I mean right now. I’m glad I caught you before you left.”
He put his jacket on and turned to give me his full attention. “Why? Do you need to talk to me?”
“I don’t need to. My days are just better when they start off seeing you.”
His lips slid into a smile. He came to the bed, placing one knee into the mattress and pulling me into him. “I feel the same way. Completely.”
I wrapped my arms around his neck and played with the hair at the back of his neck. “Let’s try to make sure we start it that way more often, okay? And when we go to bed, the same thing.”
He leaned his forehead into mine. “I didn’t want to wake you, precious.”
“We never want to wake each other. Let’s get over that. I’d rather lose sleep than lose what I have with you. And sometimes I feel like with our work and day-to-day lives, we slip away from each other. This weekend reminded me how good it feels to be the center of your world.”
His expression grew warm. “You’re always the center of my world.”
I melted. Would he always be able to make me feel this good? I had a feeling the answer was yes. As long as he took the time to tell me. As long as I took the time to listen. “Well, then wake me up and tell me that before you go from now on.”
“Done.” He captured my mouth, kissing me sweetly. “You’re the center of my world, precious. Every minute of every day. Even when I’m not with you.” He brushed his lips against mine. “You make it so easy to fall so hard.”
He remembered the words of the song I sang him! My heart flipped in my chest and my eyes grew misty. I clutched onto him. “God, I love you.”
He lingered another moment, his gaze fixed on mine.
A rush of…something…swept through my body. It was impossible to pinpoint the exact emotion, and I suspected it was a combination of a whole lot of stuff—melancholy and lust and love and adoration.
But, even with all the good stuff, under all that, there was a steady pulse of dread.
He narrowed his eyes, studying me. “What is it, precious?”
“I don’t know.” How could I explain this unwarranted feeling that the beautiful thing we had was right on the edge of shattering? I brushed my hand across his cheek. “Sometimes, when you go, I’m left feeling off kilter.”
“Trust me, precious, the feeling is mutual.”
I thought about his response long after he’d left, wondering what he’d meant. Maybe he hadn’t realized that my statement wasn’t exactly a compliment.
Or maybe I had him just as off balance as he had me.
Mira tugged at the waistband of the blue floral A-line I was wearing. I couldn’t see myself in the mirror from where I was standing in the dressing room, but from what I could see, it looked pretty damn good.
“Turn,” she demanded.
I spun half-heartedly. I was tired of spinning, frankly. It was nearly three and after trying on dozens of outfits, we still hadn’t found the perfect one for her reopening. Scratch that. Mira hadn’t found the perfect outfit. I’d found several.
“Hmm.” She studied me with narrow eyes. “I love this one, but it’s not as good on you as I thought it would be.”
I swallowed back my sigh. “Maybe I’m not a very good model.” I suddenly had a ton of appreciation for those who modeled for a living. I loved clothes. I loved trying new clothes on. I did not, it turned out, love being poked and prodded and scrutinized by a feisty fashion expert.
Mira shook her head. “That’s the thing. You’re too gorgeous and this dress dulls you.”
Dulls me? That was a new one.
“There’s too much material,” she went on. “It’s like I’m trying to hide beauty.”
“Whatever.”
“There’s got to be something else.” She rifled through the dresses on the rack that I had yet to try on, which was not many. “All of these have the same problem. We need a perfect balance between the dress and you. We need one that shows more skin.”