Page 21 of Possessive Ink

“Nothing more important than this. I’m not a stupid man. I know how to recognize what’s a priority, and right now the only plans I have today are to spend the day getting to know you better, then having dinner with you and my family tonight.”

“I can’t just stay here all day,” I blurt.

“Why not?”

“Because that’s weird.”

“There’s nothing weird about quality time, Princess. I’ll enjoy giving you my undivided attention and having yours,” he says, his voice honey sweet and addictively seductive. “Why don’t I give you the tour?”

“The tour?” I question, struggling to find my voice. Who is this man? Who says things like that? Who even offers someone their undivided attention anymore, or ever? Life is distracting. I’m perpetually distracted. It’s why I’m so forgetful. My head is a million varieties of chaos, and this man…this beautiful man is offering me his undivided attention and asking for mine, and I want to say yes. I want to see if I can make him the only thought in my head for a little while, just to see how that feels.

Pushing out of his seat, he towers over me, and I tip my head back and look up at him. From my position on the couch, I have the perfect view of all the tattoos on his arms. His body is a canvas, a beautiful canvas.

He holds out his hand to me, and I stare at it before placing my fingers in his and letting him gently help me to my feet. I expect him to let me go and put his palm on the spot on my back that is already tingling with anticipation at his touch, but instead, he entwines our fingers together and tugs me forward, pointing out parts of the building they had modified to make it a usable living space.

The living room and kitchen are all open plan, so he leads me through them and toward the back of the loft.

“This is Felix’s room. Don’t judge him for his basic taste. He’s sensitive to touch, feel, and vibe. Consistency helps him sleep, so he’s been using the same brand of sheets since we were kids. I’ve tried getting him a hundred nicer kinds, but he refuses to sleep on anything else,” Atticus says, pushing the door that was already ajar open wide and revealing a bland, personality-less bedroom.

Felix is an artist, yet his bedroom screams…boring. But instead of commenting on how uninspiring I find the space, or how unlike the person I met downstairs this room is, I simply peer inside, then nod.

“This is the guest bathroom,” Atticus says, tugging me away from Felix’s room and toward a beautifully decorated bathroom with floor-to-ceiling cream marble tile, a white toilet and basin, and black faucets and accessories.

“And this is my room,” Atticus says, pushing open the only other door and leading me into an opulent bedroom with the biggest bed I’ve ever seen positioned against the wall.

“Has Felix seen your room?” I ask.

Chuckling, Atticus nods. “He said it was deafeningly loud.”

“Loud?” I question, wondering if he had gangster rap playing at full volume at the time.

“He said the bed is too soft, the sheets too smooth, the light both too bright and too dim. The rug is too furry, the headboard is too high, the bathroom is too slippery, and my closet has too many rails in it,” Atticus says, ticking each item off on his fingers as he tells me, a wide smile spread across his sexy full lips. “My room is his idea of hell, and his room is mine.”

“Who is the oldest between you?”

“Me, by six minutes.”

“Six minutes?” I question. “You’re twins?”

“Yep. And we have younger twin brothers too.”

“Wait,” I gasp. “There are two sets of twins in your family?”

“Yes. Felix and me, then Tori is in the middle, then August and Jude.”

“Wow, you have four siblings?”

“I do. Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

I shake my head. “Nope, it was just my mom and me.”

“Was?” he asks, picking up on the past tense.

Exhaling shakily, I nod. “Yeah, she died a few years ago.”

His gaze softens as he steps into me, not letting go of my hand as he pulls me into his body, cupping my cheek. “I’m sorry, Princess.”

“Thanks. I miss her.”