Page 139 of Falling for the Grumpy Bad Boy

48

CLEMENTINE

After Rocco brought us a complimentary limoncello and we’d lingered over our wine for as long as we could justify, Rhett walked me out into the cool New York evening. The city felt different tonight, more vibrant, more alive. Or maybe that was just me, buzzing with happiness and wine and the intoxicating reality that this incredible man was actually mine.

“So,” he said, stopping on the sidewalk and turning to face me. “I have a confession to make.”

My heart skipped. “What kind of confession?”

“The kind where I admit I’ve been thinking about taking you back to my place all evening, but I don’t want you to think that’s all this is about.”

I stepped closer to him, my hands finding the lapels of his coat. “And what if I told you I’ve been thinking the same thing?”

His eyes darkened. “Then I would say we’re on the same page.”

“Good,” I whispered, standing on my tiptoes to brush my lips against his. “Because I’m not ready for this night to end.”

The ride to his apartment was charged with anticipation. We sat close together in the back of the limo, his hand resting on my thigh, my fingers tracing patterns on his palm. Every touch felt electric.

When we pulled up to his building, I couldn’t help but let out a low whistle. The glass and steel tower stretched up into the night sky, all modern lines and expensive-looking architecture.

“This is where you live?” I asked as he helped me out of the car.

“Home sweet home,” he said, though something in his tone suggested he didn’t entirely mean it.

The lobby was all marble and gold, with a doorman who greeted Rhett by name. We rode the elevator to the thirty-second floor. I always suspected he would be a penthouse guy.

I wondered just how attached to that idea he was. I wanted a home. A backyard and flowerbeds.

His apartment was stunning but completely sterile. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a breathtaking view of the city lights. The furniture was all sleek lines and neutral colors, grays and blacks and whites that would look great in a doctor’s waiting room. Everything was perfectly placed, professionally designed, and utterly lacking in personality.

“Wow,” I said, trying to keep the surprise out of my voice. “It’s beautiful.”

“You hate it,” he said, reading my expression correctly.

“I don’t hate it,” I said quickly. “It’s gorgeous. Very sophisticated.”

“But?”

“But it’s like a stranger lives here.” I turned to look at him, noting the way he was studying my reaction. “It doesn’t feel like you.”

“No,” he agreed. “It doesn’t. I bought it furnished from the previous owner. Some tech mogul who was relocating to Silicon Valley. I’ve been living here for three years and I’ve never changed a single thing.”

That explained a lot. I walked over to the massive windows, taking in the view of the city spread out below us. “Why not?”

“I don’t know,” he said, coming up behind me. “Maybe because I didn’t think it mattered. I’m barely here anyway. I practically live at the restaurant. This was just a place to sleep.”

“And now?”

His arms came around me from behind, pulling me back against his chest. “Now I’m thinking maybe it’s time to make it feel more like home.”

I leaned into him, feeling the solid warmth of his body against my back. “I could help with that, if you want. I have opinions about throw pillows. And plants. Candles.”

“I’m sure you do,” he said, pressing a kiss to my neck that made me shiver. “But right now, I’m more interested in your opinion on the bedroom.”

I turned in his arms, meeting his dark gaze. “Lead the way.”

The bedroom was more of the same, sleek, expensive, impersonal. But I barely noticed the décor because Rhett was looking at me like I was the most precious thing he had ever seen.