Chapter 30
SAPPHIRE
“I brought a sticky lint remover.” I pull it from my bag and wave it in the air at Eli as if it’s a magic wand.
I thought that the man who is so uptight his butt cheeks squeak might want that to get rid of the cat hairs on his sofa and clothes after we leave because Ghost’s hair gets everywhere, even underwear.
Having observed Eli for several weeks now, I know he prefers things done a certain way and I was shocked that he would invite a cat into his home, which is spotless and gleaming without a speck of dust. He has an aversion to most things, but apparently not cats, although he may regret the decision if Ghost decides to rub himself between Eli’s legs like he did the first time they met; I watched the vein in his neck visibly pulse with annoyance.
That’s the reason I brought the lint remover.
In case of emergency, use lint roller.
Eli places his hands on his hips, transfixed by my ridiculous cat as he tilts his head this way and that, watching the bright flashing scenes playing on the television screen.
He’s completely unaware that I’m mesmerized by him.
Today, Eli is wearing casual clothes, relaxed in his own home, which makes him even more attractive.
The baggy gray sweatpants and the snug white T-shirt stretch slightly across his chest, emphasizing every contour of his broad shoulders and firm biceps, skimming his taut stomach, which ripples beneath.
As the sun hits the cotton fabric, it highlights every movement he makes, his heartbeat almost visible. He lifts his arms in the air and stretches lazily, gifting me a cheeky glimpse of skin, his sweatpants slung low over his hips.
He’s a temptation. I’m helplessly drawn in by every detail, including the outline of his cock, which is right there and keeps catching my attention.
I’m sure he wore them on purpose.
“Your cat is weird,” Eli says, completely bamboozled.
“I think he’s part cat, spider, and human,” I reply, unable to keep my eyes to myself as I lay the lint roller on top of the hallway table.
Get a grip, Sapphire.
I run my fingers through my beach-waved hair that I spent ages styling. I’m not really concerned about what anyone thinks of me, but today I took longer to get ready, wanting to look nice for him. Sexy. Hopefully.
I shift my attention to ogle Eli’s apartment—sorry, penthouse. It’s huge and overlooks the still-busy beach. I would give up one of my kidneys for the view alone.
“Why do you think Ghost is part spider?” Eli asks, confused, scratching the side of his head.
I point upward. “He can jump onto the ceiling fan in my living room from the sofa and then play up there for hours sometimes. He only does that when I’m out.”
“How do you know he does that?”
“Because I can see him on the surveillance cameras I have in the house. I check in with him sometimes to have a chat.”
“Wait.” Eli holds his finger in the air, his brows furrowing in the middle as he opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again as if he can’t understand what I told him, before asking, “Chat about what? The weather? How busy his day is?” There’s so much sarcasm in Eli’s tone that it’s almost ridiculous, but I like that he’s gone from one-word replies and grunts to how he is with me now.
“In fact, don’t answer that.” Then he follows up with, “And he watches television?” Eli’s voice is a mix of confusion and curiosity, his fingernails raking his scruff.
“Just cartoons. He likes Bluey too, but this one is his favorite.”
When I arrived, Eli looked at me as if I had four heads when I asked him to put KPop Demon Hunters on for Ghost because I thought it would help settle him in and feel at home. The only place he’s ever been to is my parents’ homestead.
That reminds me: I need to visit them soon. It’s been months since I saw them last.
“He behaves like a child.” Eli can hardly believe he’s watching a cat watch the television. Neither could I at first.
“He’s my baby,” I say absentmindedly, my eyes landing on one of Eli’s sculptures. “So, you collect art?”
“I do.”
I’d recognize a Wren Dubois bronze sculpture anywhere, and the abstract six-foot sculpture to the side of the elevator door is breathtaking.
Eli’s penthouse looks like something out of a home magazine.
His apartment is glamorous, littered with beautiful chess sets that look expensive, carved in marble and jade, with one-of-a-kind artwork and paintings on every wall, and it feels warmer than I expected, and far from the bachelor-style place I thought he’d live in, with no soul. But his home has it, in spades.
The rich orange glow of the sunset makes it feel even cozier, as if bathed in hot honey, with soft fabrics in deep autumn shades, teak-paneled walls, and teardrop chandeliers that enhance its elegance.
I feel like I’m in a movie.
“Your place is beautiful, Eli.” I’m like a kid in a candy store; I don’t know where to look next.
I audibly gasp when I spot an Endee Desree painting, my eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets from the shock.
It’s one of their earlier paintings and measures only three feet by one foot, but it delivers a punch: the colors are vibrant, almost alive; the trees seem to rush forward as if being pushed out of the canvas, with the branches creeping around the edges.
“I had an interior designer style it for me; I can’t take any credit for it,” Eli tells me, and I’m only half listening.
“Uh-huh.” My feet seem to have a mind of their own, and before I realize what I’m doing, I find myself standing in front of the painting, examining every brush stroke, as well as the composition and harmony of the colors used to create a balance of light and dark.
“Wow.” It’s incredibly moving.
“Dinner’s ready.” Eli’s lips whisper near my ear, making me jump back into the moment. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“You didn’t.” I turn my neck to come face-to-face with him, his nose level with mine. “You have an Endee Desree painting. On your wall,” I say with a dazed tone. Eli bought the painting that made me fall in love with the artist.
“Do you like it?”
“It’s one of my favorites.” The other one I love, of the girl with multicolored hair, is currently hanging in the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art. The painting Eli said looked just like me and was beautiful.
All along, he was trying to tell me he liked me, but I wasn’t listening. A tingle of excitement runs through me, my pulse taking on a life of its own as I stand here next to him tonight, on the verge of stepping into the unknown with him. It’s thrilling, the anticipation almost too much.
“Let’s have dinner,” he says evenly, not giving anything away.
“Let’s.”
Unexpectedly, he bends down and kisses my forehead, and I dip my chin, pushing my forehead closer and leaning into him. There’s so much tenderness in his touch that it shakes me to my core and makes me tongue-tied.
Me?
Tongue-tied?
Never.
But when it comes to Elijah Hart and forehead kisses, I’d happily roll over and let him rub my stomach the way he did to Ghost when we arrived. I’d even purr for him if he asked.
In silence, he slips his fingers into mine, removes his lips from my skin and guides me to the table, where he pulls out a chair for me then takes off to finish dinner once I’m seated.
As he busies himself in the open-plan kitchen overlooking the dining table, which is large enough to feed an army, the only sounds are from the low hum of the oven, and the music from K-Pop Demon Hunters fills the room.
I’m too stunned to talk because this feels so natural, me here with Ghost, and Eli cooking for me.
“I hope you like mac and cheese.” He opens the oven, then puts on some oven mitts and reaches inside to pull out a red stone pot, the melted cheese on top crackling and popping and scenting the air with aromas that make my stomach rumble and my mouth water.
I’m starving, and it’s not just for food. I want him.
“Mac and cheese is perfect, Eli,” I assure him as he strides toward the table, then joins me around it.
He went out of his way to make me something I can enjoy, and that means a lot.
“Does Twinkletoes need to eat?” Eli sets the casserole pot down on the trivet between us.
I take notes, watching him as he removes the mitts, lays them neatly one on top of the other, then pushes them to the side and lines the wrists along the edge of the table.
Mm. He does that with his phone too, and other items, like the ones he has on his desk, but I ignore it and ask, confused, “Twinkletoes?”
“Ghost.” He turns his head to look at Ghost, who is still perched on the edge of the sofa arm, sitting poker straight like he’s king of the castle. He hasn’t moved an inch, as if hypnotized.
Twinkletoes. I like it. “I fed him earlier. He’ll be fine. Cat milk before bedtime, though.” I mumble my last words under my breath, drawing circles with my fingertips on the brown tinted glass tabletop. I’m not being presumptuous; he did ask me to bring an overnight bag.
“So, you’ve decided you’re staying over?” Eli asks, sounding curious.
“If you want me to,” I breathe, almost too scared to fully commit.
He replies without hesitation. “I want you to.”
“Then it’s settled.” I pick up my wine glass and take a sip, expecting red wine, only to discover it’s fruity and non-alcoholic, and I throw him a look.
A sheepish grin spreads across his face, and he shrugs like a mischievous child caught in the act. “That’s what you were drinking yesterday between glasses of champagne.”
Cranberry juice is my favorite. I’m not used to someone paying this much attention to me. It’s nice.
“You’re too kind.” And considerate and attentive, all the things I could ever wish for in a man.
“And you’re hungry. I could hear your stomach growling from the kitchen.”
“It was not,” I snap back to cover my embarrassment.
Eli cups his hand around his ear to listen, and just as expected, my stomach rumbles again, causing a laugh to escape from my lips.