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When I asked him what we were doing there, he said, “I’m buying you romance novels.”
“What, why?”
“Because you probably haven’t bought them in over a year.”
“Well, yeah, but I don’t —”
“Just because you met a villain who broke your heart in real life doesn’t mean you can’t trust the heroes that live in the pages of your romance novels. It’s not your fault that guys made of thunder and thorns exist in the world. It’s mine for not being careful with a girl made of candies and cream.”
I couldn’t say anything after that.
I didn’t know what to say after that.
I did end up buying a bunch of romance novels though. Which he paid for. At which point, I did say something but all he said was, “I said I’m buying you romance novels, didn’t I? So this is what it looks like.”
And again I fell silent, unable to comprehend what to say to him.
Which is how I spent the entire dinner AKA business meeting.
Not saying a single word.
He didn’t say anything either. In fact, he looked kinda pissed off at times, which discouraged me further from saying anything. That and staring at me intensely.
And now we’re a minute or so from my apartment.
I need to do something.
I need to find a way to start the conversation and get the ball rolling.
I can see my apartment building, for God’s sake. There are the wide stairs that lead to the massive front door made of glass. And it’s coming closer and closer and just as we’re about to reach those stairs, I stumble.
Or I make myself stumble.
I also make myself gasp and exclaim on purpose, “Ow!”
And I was going to do more, to give a more convincing performance that I actually just hurt my ankle — I’m going with my right one; totally random — but I don’t have to because he’s already there.
To catch me.
And then he goes ahead and does me one better: making sure that I’m steady on my feet first, he lets go of my arm and bends down. He then puts his one arm behind my thighs and the other goes around my shoulders, and before I can even blink, he picks me up and I’m off the ground and in his arms.
And then he’s bounding up the stairs and getting inside the building.
Meanwhile I’m still processing the fact that he just plucked me off the ground like I’m a fallen flower, like I weigh absolutely nothing at all, and now he’s carrying me in his arms, striding across the polished floors, bridal style. All the while still carrying that heavy tote filled with books.
I mean this is insanity.
He is insane.
All I did was let out a little — and fake — painful squeak and he took that way too seriously.
Fisting his t-shirt at his chest and his shoulder — because really I don’t know where to put my hands — I look up at him. “You didn’t have to —”
He keeps looking ahead as he crosses the lobby. “Stay still.”
I try to squirm instead to get free from his hold. “No, really. I’m fine. I —”
He squeezes his arms around me, pressing my body into his chest. “Stay. Still.”
And I have to bite my lip at his harsh command.
At the hard contact with his body too.
Hard and heated.
Extra corded.
I think the latter is probably because he’s carrying me and all his muscles are taut and flexed right now. Not that they usually aren’t, but as I said, extra corded. But I stop admiring his muscles and how my curves fit against the arches of his pecs and insist again that I’m fine and he tells me to stay the fuck still.
Which is when I finally realize that me squirming the way I am is making things even more difficult for him.
So I keep my mouth shut and let him carry me.
I don’t even make a peep when instead of taking the elevator, he takes the stairs. For the record, I live on the fourth floor, but by the time we reach my apartment, he’s barely out of breath and hasn’t even broken a sweat. In fact there’s hardly any signs of exertion on him, and despite my guilt, I can’t help but admire his strength. I can’t help but press a little bit closer to him and rest my cheek on his chest and listen to his steadily beating heart.
Gosh, athletes are miraculous, aren’t they?
Actually no, he is miraculous.
Him.
And no one else.
Oh my God, Tempest. Stop being a ho and focus.
Right.
Okay.
When we reach my door, I don’t waste even a single second in retrieving my key and opening it. Because strong or not, he needs a break. I need one too. I need some physical distance from him so I can think.
However, I don’t get that until we’re well inside and in my kitchen.
