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I wasn’t doubting him.
I was doubting myself.
We circle in the dim light until we reach the fourth and final level. A sign signifyingPenthousehangs on the wall in front of a huge parking space. Balthazar glides in with room for at least two more vehicles on each side.
A sophisticated black luxury car sits on the far edge of his area. With tinted windows and shiny chrome, the sedan probably costs more than a lot of people’s houses. I guess the Maserati is his too.
Once we park, I wait for him to come around to my side the way he likes. I’m rewarded with another kiss before he guides me to the single elevator rather than the bank on the opposite wall. He presses his palm to the small screen and the doors instantly slide open.
“This is my private elevator. No one else can access it. Once we get upstairs, I’ll add your print.”
Various emotions spin in my chest. I’m pleased he trusts me enough. Beyond trust, I’m thrilled he wants me to come here.
Inside, I’m drawn to the window framing the city at dusk. Gold from the fading sun filters through the gaps between the hulking buildings around us until we reach the top floor. Higher than all the other towers, our view provides a spectacular glimpse of the remaining pink and orange hues in the sky.
I spin back to the front from thepingsignaling our arrival. The doors open right into his home. No wonder he has such security measures in place.
His hand squeezes mine before we enter a foyer with a white marble floor. A heavy but plain black table sits along one side. Otherwise, the area is bare.
Our footsteps echo in the empty space. Normally, the sound of his expensive leather shoes fill me with anticipation. I love his strength and determination. Here, the hollowness of the noise mimics the apartment.
No wonder he prefers my house.
The living room has big gray sofas facing a TV hung above a fireplace. The kitchen has fancy silver appliances and seemingly endless white cabinets. The dining room has an enormous brown table with ten high back chairs.
Not a single personal item such as a photo, artwork, or candle can be found anywhere in the entire house.
When he looks down at me and chuckles, I’m not sure what to think.
“I told you it was sparse.”
“You weren’t kidding.”
He throws back his head and laughs his hearty laugh that I know means I’ve pleased him. I warm all over and turn to face him, curling my free arm around his waist, giving him the biggest hug I can. “Thank you for bringing me here. Now I feel like I understand you better.”
He strokes down my hair and kisses the top of my head.
“That’s not good. I’ll scare you off.”
The tone doesn’t sound playful, and my stomach drops. I never want him to think that I don’t like him anymore. I jerk my head up to find him scowling at me. “That’s not possible, I swear. I just meant I want to take care of you too and make where you live feel like a home.”
His grip tightens on me in the good way and his eyes darken. “To make that happen, you’re moving in with me.”
A declaration not a question. For him anyway.
Am I ready to move in with him?
He practically lives with me as he describes our relationship. Even though his stuff isn’t in my apartment except for some clothing and a few toiletries. After I told him I like watching him shave, he showers there every morning so I can sit on the vanity next to him and chat.
The way that feels makes me want to scream yes. Instead, I just smile.
My hesitation elicits a growl in his chest, and suddenly I’m hoisted up face to face with him and my legs wrapped around his waist.
“What will it take to convince you?”
“I don’t need convincing. I just don’t want to rush into anything.”
“It’s not rushing if it’s what we both want.”
