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I think this, and I mean it, but then he kind of sideswipes me yet again.
We enter the elevator and I watch as he punches in a code before he pushes the penthouse button. I’m taken off guard by this elite location and I don’t know why—he’s highly successful—he deserves to live on that floor. Just like my father and just like my ex. I can’t pull back the comparison and I hate myself for it. I hate that I’m here with Dash, and those two men, who are nothing like him, managed to push their way into this elevator car. Dash catches my hips and eases me in close, our legs intimately aligned. “What’s wrong, cupcake?”
And of course, once again, Dash has read me like a book, and I chide myself for being incapable of keeping my emotions between the covers. “Nothing is wrong,” I say, not playing coy, not at all. There’s nothing wrong. Or nothing logically wrong. Nothing worthy of my feelings, that’s for certain. Certainly nothing worthy of speaking aloud.
His eyes, those intelligent eyes that miss nothing, narrow on me. “Try again.”
It’s a gentle nudge, but a nudge, that leads me to just say what is on my mind. “It’s really nothing. I just reacted to you being in the penthouse.”
“And that’s a problem for you why?”
“It’s not a problem. I mean come on, Dash. You’re rich, powerful, successful, and good-looking. What more could a girl want?”
“That’s not an answer. Why is that a problem for you, Allie?”
“It’s not,” I assure him. “How you handle those things is what matters.”
“And how do I handle them?”
“I don’t know how you handle anything, Dash. Not really. How can I know that?” Then because I’ve been honest with Dash because I need things that are honest in my life, I continue, and I say what I once would not have. “But I’m here,” I add, “and I wouldn’t be if I thought you let money and success make you forget that you’re just a man, and men, and women, are human. That means they’re capable of mistakes.”
I must hit a nerve for him now because his jaw hardens, his expression with it, and there is something in the depths of his stare, something I cannot, no matter how hard I try, name. “More flawed than you might think, Allie,” he says.
The ghost of a painful past lurks beneath those words, and I realize then that our connection is all about just that: pain. I find that I want to know what has hurt this man, but I know that I may never know anything beyond where our naked bodies take us this one night. This night though is ours. I press my hand to his jaw and speak the words that in every part of me, I want to believe. And I want him to believe them, too. “We’re all flawed, Dash. And inside those flaws is everything that makes us stronger.”
“And vulnerable,” he adds softly.
“A very famous writer once told me that being vulnerable is not weakness.”
He catches my hand and brings it to his lips. “It’s only weak if you allow that vulnerability to control you.”
Considering he’s confessed to a weakness for me, I’m not sure how to take this comment, but I read between the lines. He’s telling me that he needs to be in control. Before I can digest what that might truly mean, the elevator halts with our arrival. And the door opens to the penthouse floor.
CHAPTER FORTY
Dash captures my hand with his bigger hand and guides me to the door. We step into the hallway together and walk to the only door on the floor. It’s actually two grand double wood doors and Dash uses a code on a panel to clear our path. Once the apartment is opened, he motions me forward. All my bravado about being present and in the moment, boldly going where the night leads me, plunges down a steep hill. But the most unexpected thing happens. I draw a deep breath that vibrates with nerves, and look at Dash. His eyes meet mine, and there’s a warm invitation there that somehow makes me smile. And then he smiles and it’s this easy wonderful feeling between us that has me entering his apartment more than a little eager to see where his brilliance lives.
I step inside to find what is nothing short of an architectural masterpiece.
The ceilings are a half-moon shape with steel rails across them and an epic view of downtown as the centerpiece from everywhere you look. “Who designed this?” I ask, as Dash steps to my side, while I turn to admire the open kitchen to the rear of a dark cream-colored couch and chairs.
“Apparently some crazy famous architect contracted by the original owner. I just inherited that owner’s good taste. How about a drink?”
