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Fucking her before our flight? No, I do not mind at all, but that’s not what she asked me. She wants me to take the suitcase with me now, not later. Perhaps she doesn’t want me to have an excuse to come back to her bedroom. If she only knew how much I want to give her an excuse to keep asking me back. Holy hell.
“I got it,” I say, and when I move toward her and the suitcase again, she steps aside and out of my reach, proving once again she’s brainsandbeauty.
Because if she had stayed in my path, we’d both be on that bed right now. If I stay in this room much longer, we will anyway.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Tyler
I snap up the suitcase from where it rests on the bed and it’s an easy lift, too easy for as long as we’re going to be gone. “We may need to be there through the weekend and into next week.” I rest the case on the edge of the bed, thinking about a weekend with her, or will it be avoiding her?
“I’m prepared,” she guarantees. “My clothes and shoes take up less space than yours, so it might seem like I packed less than you, but there’s plenty there, I assure you. And I have another overnight bag in the bathroom. But your car isn’t exactly jumbo size anyway.”
“I hired a driver and we’re traveling in a large SUV. Pack another bag if you need it.” I walk toward the door, the exit calling to me the way a cold shower is right about now.
She surprises me then and calls out, “You really did everything possible to avoid being alone with me.”
Damn it to hell, what is she doing? I pause in the doorway, reminding myself that control is golden. I don’t pretend to believe she stopped me because she wants me to fuck her here and now, or anytime at all. Contrary to where my head is at, I believe Bella simply wants reassurance that all is well between us. That we can function as we once did—boss and employee—and the world will be as she knows it.
I could tell her what happened between us was a mistake. Or that I regret touching her. And I do, but not for honorable reasons. Because now I can’t stop thinking about being between her legs again.
“Not enough,” is my only reply before I exit the room, and I’m walking down the stairs and I don’t stop there.
I exit the house into what is a chilly February late afternoon. The temperature isn’t the cold shower I need right about now, but I’ll take any help calming my body I can get. I walk to the rented SUV and the driver quickly accepts the suitcase. My cellphone rings and I snag it from my pocket to find my mother finally calling me back.
“Did you know?” I demand, answering the call and walking toward the porch, away from the driver.
“What did I miss?”
“Considering you’re still in Europe, what haven’t you missed? Thewill,Mother. Did you know the bullshit Dad put in his will?”
“Oh, good Lord. What did he do now? I feared he might pull some stunt. Judging from your tone, it didn’t sit well.”
She feared. Translation: she knew. Damn her. Why would I think my own mother would warn me?
A man’s voice murmurs something in the background and my mother giggles like a schoolgirl. I’ve had enough. I hang up and text my attorney:Any update?and wait for a reply.
It doesn’t sit well that I dropped the paperwork related to the will to him hours ago at this point. When Gavin doesn’t immediately answer, I walk inside the house and find no sign of Bella, which means I’m still in wait mode. I walk to the arched doorway leading to the living room area I could merely glimpse from the entryway before now.
It’s an older home, a house with a long history, every brick and board holding a story or secret about the past you may not know, but you feel its presence. If only the walls could talk and tell us what has been and should never be again. If only history didn’t repeat itself, which is exactly what I do not want to happen in my life.Allison isn’t Bella, I remind myself, but I am haunted by her death.
This old house, restored to its glory in a classic yet modern way, is what stirs these feelings, I know, and with good reason. It is much like the home my grandparents left me, where I keep my wine cellar, where Allie lived. It was part of her employment, not part of our relationship, a perk I wrote into the job description before I met her, for self-serving reasons. The wine in the cellar is safer when a staff member has it on their radar constantly.
Allie died in that house.
Ironically, so did my father.
But this house isn’t that house. This is Bella’s house, and it’s all about classic beauty, pulled together with the façade of effortless skill. But in truth, this house’s beauty was a labor of love that required hard work, skill, and dedication to achieve.
It’s simple perfection. It’s Bella.
“I’m ready.”
At the sound of her voice, I rotate to find her standing at the bottom of the stairs in a tan sweater, matching jeans, and suede boots, a bag on her shoulder. It’s not the first time I’ve seen Bella in casual wear. We’ve certainly run into each other on the weekends and a few times on the weekends at Cupcakes and Books, both of us hunting down Dash. This is, however, the first time I went from admiring how hot she is to trying to figure out how to most efficiently undress her.
It’s a damn good thing we’re flying commercial. If we were flying private—me and her alone—nothing good would come of it besides pleasure. Those clothes she just put on would come off at thirty thousand feet. If we made it that high with our clothes in place.
Holy hell, I need to fuck this burn for Bella out of my system with someone else that isn’t her. And for the love of God, why the hell does that hold no appeal? Why can’t I imagine myself making a call and flying one of the women I have an understanding with to LA? Becca would be on her knees in aheartbeat, saying, “Yes, sir” to every demand I made.But I want Bella. On her knees. On my lap. On my damn face.
