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What in the world am I going to do if he stays?
CHAPTERNINE
“Where would you like me to put it?” My stomach tightens with mortification as the words fall from my lips. I search the room for a proper place to set the box and hope she didn’t recognize the sexual innuendo in that phrase. Thank goodness her grandmother bolted moments ago; I’d hate for her to think I’m an immature creep.
Wren appears unfazed, turning her head from left to right, scanning the room, then attempting to take the box from my hands. I don’t let her. It probably weighs more than her.
“Those books belong in my reading nook upstairs, but you can leave the box here.” She points to an empty space by the couch, but I shake my head and march toward the stairs.
“How do you expect to get it up there?” I say, lugging the box to the second-floor landing into a small space with eclectic furniture and plenty of natural light. “These feel like hardcovers. You’d have to carry three books at a time. There’s no reason for that when I can do it now.”
Wren follows, thanking me as she zips by, quickly making space near a half-empty bookshelf. “They’re good here. I won’t have time to organize them until later this week.” She smiles, holding her skirt as she squats on the floor and helps me shove the box into a corner.
My gaze instantly falls on the sight of her bare thighs peeking past the ruffled hem of her white dress. My head dizzies with lust. I bite back a groan, stifling the crippling hunger that’s plagued me all week. I would have returned the next day if I'd had my way. But schedule conflicts prevented a quick reunion. As torturous as it was, I’m grateful to be here now. I’ve counted the days, hours, and minutes, imagining the moment I’d step through her front door and put my cards on the table. Her grandmother and friend’s presence prevented me from taking her in my arms and dragging my tongue down her neck.
It’s probably for the best that they were here. Wren seems like a cautious girl, and I don’t want to ruin things by moving too fast. She’ll most likely turn me down. I expect she’ll usher me to the door as soon as we head downstairs. But Wren is worth more than a moment’s humiliation. I’d rather suffer the shame of her rejection than leave, never knowing what might have been.
“Ford? Are you okay?” Wren pats my calf from her place on the floor. As she tilts her head back, a soft ray of sunlight catches the blue in her eyes.
I study her face, my gaze traveling from the dark locks brushing her forehead to her plump heart-shaped lips. Freckles dot the bridge of her nose and scatter across her high-set cheekbones. She steals my breath without even trying and renders me too stunned to speak.
“Ford?” Wren stares blankly, her mouth open as she waits for me to reply.
Minutes have passed, and I haven’t said anything of substance. Jesus Christ, I’m making a fool of myself.
“Sorry. I was thinking about something,” I murmur, wiping the sweat from my brow before Wren notices I’m not as smooth as I’d like to appear.
Wren drops her gaze to the floor, placing both hands on the shag rug beneath her knees. She pushes herself up, struggling to keep her skirt in place and lift her weight on one leg. Without thinking, I jump into action, clasp her waist and bring her to her feet.
“Oh, thank you,” Wren whispers, teetering left to right as she tries to regain her balance. I hold her steady, relishing the feel of my hand on her waist, desperate to envelop her in my arms and keep her there forever. Fortunately for me, she makes no attempt to move away.
“Do you have somewhere to be?” Wren lifts her trembling hand and lets it hover a centimeter from my chest, appearing too nervous to touch me. Rather than wait for her to build the nerve, I step forward and let the palm of her hand press against my chest.
“I’m sorry,” she gasps, stiffening her hand with panic before allowing it to relax against my shirt.
I shake my head and place my hand over hers. “I have nowhere else to be, but I can leave if you like.” I grit my teeth, instantly regretting giving her an easy out or seeming indifferent about staying. Unable to read her expression, I immediately change trajectories. “Something smells good.”
Wren takes hold of my shirt and closes her hand around the fabric. Her nails dig into my skin, and I fail to stifle my groan. The sound makes her jump, and she instantly releases it, smoothing the wrinkled cotton and mouthing a quick apology. There’s nothing to be sorry about. It felt fucking good. I want her hands everywhere she can reach.
And if she can’t reach something, I’ll bring it to her.
“Do you really think it smells good?” Wren shudders and then leans close for warmth.
I tense, knowing she can feel my erection. It’s gotten far too big to hide. For propriety's sake, I loosen my grip on her waist and offer her a chance to back away. Fortunately, she doesn’t take it. She makes no attempt to pull away or call me out for my inability to control my urges. I can’t—not around her.
Would she let me kiss her? I hope she does because I don’t think I can leave until I do.
Smiling, Wren lifts her gaze, her eyes beaming with excitement. “I made chicken Parmesan for dinner. It’s one of the few dishes I know by heart and my grandfather’s favorite. Would you like to stay? I made enough for two.”
My heart swells with love.Love? Yes, love. How did this girl cast a spell on me so fast? It’s too soon for her to cook for me. I haven’t earned it, and I don’t deserve it. But there’s no way in hell I’m saying no. “I would love to stay. Are you sure it’s not an inconvenience?” I shamelessly fish for approval, wanting her to admit she made it for me. It doesn’t matter if she didn’t, but I’d be over the moon if she did. My mother was the last woman to cook for me. And she died when I was ten.
Wren shakes her head and whispers, “Of course not. I made it for you as a thank you.”
“You don’t owe me any thanks, little bird. I hope you didn’t do it out of obligation,” I say because I need to know. This is moving fast and slow at the same time. For every step forward, one of us takes two steps back. There’s no rush. She can set the pace, and I’ll meet her at her comfort level, but I need to know I’m not delusional for believing something could happen between us.
“No, that’s not what I meant. I’m sorry. I made it hoping you’d stay for dinner because I like spending time with you. You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever met, and I’d like to get to know you better.” Wren looks away shyly and shields her red face from my view. Nothing could compromise her beauty. She steals my breath every time she looks at me.
“I’d like to get to know you better, too. And I don’t suspect you have ever met anyone like me. When your grandfather hired me, he told me you were twenty-two. That’s sixteen years younger than me. Are you comfortable being with someone that much older than you?” I prop my finger under her chin and lift her head, caressing her jaw and letting my hand encircle the back of her neck. Her head falls back, and her pale-blue eyes meet mine.
