Page 60 of The Voicemail

My heart pounds and some stupid part of my brain screams that it doesn’t want to give him up for good.

“If you let me, though, I’d like to make love to you. To show you that you aren’t just a warm body. You’ve always meant more to me than that.”

Damn it if his words don’t melt me. I relax against him and nod, and I realize the decision is already made.

“Not here,” he whispers. “Come with me.”

He takes my hand and leads me out of the office. Following him is probably a mistake, but every atom in my body wants to see what he has to offer. I want him like I’ve never wanted anyone, but it’s worse than that. I need him.

When we reach his bedroom, he turns to me apprehensively.

“I’m always going to give you an out, Elena,” he says seriously. “That’s how much I care about you. There’s never a point of no return with me. The second you say ‘stop,’ it’s over.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, before stretching up to kiss him.

His thumb caresses my cheek as he kisses me back slowly, passionately, somewhere between ravenous and adoring. He pushes his door open and pulls me inside, into his private space.

I don’t take the time to look around. I barely take the time to breathe as I follow him into the dark of his bedroom. He doesn’t turn on the light. He knows the way without it. He guides me to the bed, and I trust him.

He kisses me like nothing else in this world matters. Like there isn’t a psychopath trying to get to me, or a million secrets buried between us.

My hands find the front of his shirt. I pull at the buttons, clumsy and impatient, and he lets out a quiet breath against my mouth.

“There’s no rush,” he murmurs. “We have nowhere else to be.”

He kisses me softly, tenderly almost. It’s such a contrast to the man I’ve gotten to know. The Alex I’ve been dealing with is all sharp edges and barked commands. Here, in the dark, there’s softness and vulnerability. Even so, my cynicism can’t help but wonder if it’s an act.

His hands slip under my shirt, and he traces long, purposeful circles over my skin like he’s trying to memorize me. When he finally pulls it off over my head, I forget what my skin feels like without his hands on it. I don’t want another moment where he isn’t touching me.

Except when his fingers ghost over my stomach, I’m sharply reminded of the baby. Just another secret between us, but this one is mine. It’s the only thing I’ve kept from him. The only thing he can’t bulldoze over or break into. This is the only thing that’s truly mine. At least for now.

I hesitate, and he stops. Even in the dark, I can make out his expression.

“Do you want to stop?” he asks in a husky voice.

I shake my head, then say, “No,” just in case he can’t see me as well.

“I just need a minute,” I say truthfully. “This is all a little overwhelming.”

He nods. “Whatever you need, Elena. I’ll give you anything.”

I step into him and pull his face down to mine. His mouth is warm and his lips are already a little swollen from our kisses.

He gently lays me down on the bed, so careful and sweet. When the last of our clothes are finally gone and his mouth has found every inch of skin that brings me pleasure, he hovers over me, lining himself up at my entrance.

I pull him into me willingly, greedily. He keeps up those slow, purposeful movements, and I feel it. That thing between us he couldn’t quite name. As much as I’ve tried to fight it, I’ve fallen for him. Maybe this moment is proof that he’s falling for me too. Every slow thrust means something now. Every sound I make is a confession I didn’t plan to give.

When we finish, it’s together. When we come down, it’s with his arms around my waist, pulling me against his chest. I listen to his heartbeat and relax against him as his breathing grows deeper. Only then do I realize that, in all the tenderness, he never told me his theory.

That’s when I should leave. I know it is. I should cut my losses and admit that this was just another mistake. Except my body feels so good and my limbs feel so tired. So, I rest my eyes, just for a moment.

When the sun streams through the window the next morning, I know immediately that it’s wrong. It’s coming from the wrong side of the room. The wrong window. The wrong bed.

I feel so comfortable and so whole that I try to fight it. If I just stay here, surrounded by Alex’s scent, wrapped in his sheets, maybe I can ignore the cracks in the already shaky foundation. I open my eyes slowly and stretch carefully. He’s still lying next to me, his body heat almost too much. My stomach is already churning.

I ease out of bed and move quietly around the room, hunting for my clothes. I find my pants and my bra, but my shirt has vanished. I search as fast as I can, then spot the corner of the fabric. It’s somehow been pushed under the bed.

I crouch down to grab it, thinking I’ll just sneak away. Unfortunately, my curiosity gets the better of me. Under my shirt is a pristine wooden box. I slide it out carefully and take a peek, just hoping for some insight into his inner life.