24. Alba
TWENTY-FOUR
ALBA
I blinked. “What?”
“My daughter, Charlotte.”
“I know who your daughter is, Vaughn. But you said…”
“I think you should meet her.”
“But… why ?”
Vaughn frowned at me. “What do you mean, why? She’s my daughter.”
“And you want me to meet her?”
He stared like he wasn’t understanding. “You don’t want to?”
“No! I mean, yes!” I shook my head. “I want to. But I don’t understand… You want me to meet her?”
“Obviously.”
I cleared my throat. Nodded. “Yeah. Obviously.”
Inside, I reeled. Sure, he’d made me say those things when we were having sex. Possessive things. He wanted to be exclusive. But meeting his daughter?
I had to quickly rearrange my train of thought. I’d believed we were about to break up. I thought he was getting bored of me, that if I didn’t behave the way he wanted—by going to Arlo Noble’s gala with him—he would toss me aside.
But I’d said no, and now he wanted me to meet his daughter.
I had to clarify. “So, even if I don’t go to the gala with you, you want me to meet Charlotte?”
Vaughn frowned. “I’m not sure what one has to do with the other.”
I laughed, feeling fizzy and floating inside. “Right. Sorry.”
He wanted me for me. He wanted a relationship for me—even though I had no money, no connections anymore, nothing to offer him but some advice on how to dress himself.
And he still thought I was worthy of dating.
Him, the man across from me with the square jaw and the sparkling eyes and the broad, scarred hands and the construction empire.
He wanted me .
“Are you okay?”
I nodded, saved from answering when the door swung open and Ralphie reappeared to take our dishes.
He cracked jokes as he cleared our table, and I was able to settle myself down.
Still, when Ralphie insisted on giving me a tour of his greenhouse, my hand found Vaughn’s.
With his fingers braided through mine, we followed Ralphie and listened to his explanations about humidity and temperature and light.
He showed us his grow lamps and gave me advice on fertilizing various herbs.
I absorbed none of it—but I still couldn’t stop smiling. Finally, when our wine was done and Ralphie had been called back inside, I leaned my head against Vaughn’s shoulder and hummed as he wrapped his arms around me.
“Ready to go home?” he rumbled, lips brushing my temple.
I liked the sound of that. Loved the sound of that. Home—with Vaughn. Nodding, I tilted my head up for a kiss, and I couldn’t help the way my lips curled into a smile against his.
Ralphie sent us home with a container of his famous tiramisu, and we headed back to the darkened townhouse.
We made it three feet into the door before I jumped on Vaughn, wrapping my legs around his hips as he laughed and caught me.
His broad hands slid down to my ass, and the paper bag containing our dessert hit the floor with a dull thud.
Then my back was against the wall, and Vaughn’s lips were devouring mine.
The fabric of my dress rucked up between us, and cool air kissed the tops of my thighs.
Vaughn groaned, clawing at the fabric until he felt my skin.
Then he froze and pulled back. “Are you—” His fingers moved slightly. “Are you telling me you’ve been sitting across from me all this time with no underwear on?”
I smiled. “Surprise.”
The sound that came from his lips was pure, rough desire.
His hands shifted, and then a finger was inside me.
I gasped, rolling my hips toward him, clinging to him with my knees and thighs.
It was awkward, with his arm curled around my leg and my back pressed against the wall, but I didn’t care.
I clung to him, pushing at his jacket, trying to get access to his skin.
I wanted to run my hands over his shoulders, feel the prickle of his chest hair, soak up the warmth of his bulk.
My core was slick with desire—it had been since he’d held my hand and stood patiently by my side as his old boss rattled off feeding schedules for his plants.
And when we’d driven here, and he’d placed his palm on my leg, I’d imagined how it would feel to have him touch me through the silk of my dress.
This was better.
We made it to the couch in the next room. I laughed as I fell back against the royal blue cushions, my knees falling open as Vaughn tugged me to the edge. His jacket fell to the ground. His belt jingled. His cock sprang free. He produced a condom, his eyes dark with need.
Then he positioned himself in front of me—and thrust in.
I cried out. It was intense and burning and beautiful. My fingernails sank into the rich cotton of his shirt, tugging so hard the top three buttons came free. Vaughn grunted above me, hooking his arms under my legs to deepen the position.
I could feel him everywhere. I was trapped here, against the couch, my back bent and my head buried between two big cushions, and I didn’t want to be anywhere else. My existence was simply Vaughn and pleasure. Safety and heat and the sizzling lightning coursing through my veins.
“You feel so good,” he groaned, the rhythm of his thrusts gaining a needy edge. “Alba—princess—the things you make me want?—”
“I’ll go,” I panted.
He pulled back slightly, one hand on the back of the sofa, the other hooked around my knee. He batted at the couch cushions until he could see my face. “What?”
“I’ll go to the gala with you—oh!” I threw my head back as he drove himself deeper inside me.
“You will,” he said, snapping his hips.
“I will.”
“You’ll stand by my side,” he growled, his pace increasing.
“Yes—”
“You’ll make all those assholes wish they were me.”
I laughed, hands finding his sides, sliding up underneath his shirt so I could stroke the hard pack of his stomach muscles. “If that’s what you want.”
“I’m just telling you what will happen,” he said, a bright, almost boyish smile flashing across his features.
Then he shifted his arm to hike my leg up higher, and we both lost ourselves in the pleasure of the moment.
I came hard, bent like a pretzel on his fancy couch, and then locked my legs around his back when I felt him go stiff above me.
Vaughn’s lips ran across my temple, over the shell of my ear. He breathed hard, arms trembling as he held most of his weight off me, knees lowering down to the cushions. He swore, then kissed my cheekbone, then swore some more. I laughed, but it was mostly breathless.
“Sex with you makes me feel like I’m losing my mind,” he admitted, pulling back far enough that he could meet my gaze before pressing a soft kiss to my lips.
“I know,” I said. “Me too.”
He gulped. “I won’t—I won’t hold you to your promise. The gala—forget it, Alba. I don’t want to make you feel?—”
“I’ll go,” I said, stroking his face with my palms. He was still inside me, going softer with every heartbeat. I smiled, feeling grounded and light at once. “I want to go,” I told him, surprised to find that it was the truth.
“I thought you were hell-bent on refusing to go near that event,” Vaughn said, wry.
I smiled. “I changed my mind.”
His lips brushed against mine, then he moved to kiss the tip of my nose. “I’m afraid to ask why,” he rumbled, his cheek creasing as he grinned, his eyes tracing my hairline, my features.
I finally let my legs uncross and slid my ankles down along the back of his thighs, all the way down to rest them in the crook of his knees. I loved touching him like this. Feeling so connected, like our bodies already knew each other.
“You make me feel safe,” I whispered. “That’s why I changed my mind.”
Vaughn’s gaze slid up to meet mine. He shifted so he was holding himself on his elbow, then used his free hand to stroke the side of my head, his thumb tracing my eyebrow. He exhaled slowly, his eyes soft.
I felt raw and open, like I’d said too much. But it was the truth—I was safe here, with him. His gaze was steady as he watched me, his features intent. He opened his mouth and for a moment, nothing came out.
Then he replied, “You can change it back anytime.”
My heart did a cartwheel. Even now, when I’d given him what he wanted and promised to go to Arlo Noble’s event with him, he was giving me an out. Making sure I felt safe. Taking care of me.
I wanted to tell him I was falling in love with him—because wasn’t that what this was? This fizzy, too-big-for-my-chest feeling that made me want to smile and sigh and cry all at once? I wanted to say it out loud, to put a name to this ball of emotion that made me feel like I would explode.
But the last time I told a guy I loved him, it blew up in my face. Vaughn wasn’t James—I knew that. Still, I was afraid.
So instead, I lifted my head, wrapped my arms around his shoulders, and kissed him. Vaughn groaned against my mouth, settling his body on top of mine so I could feel all the weight and warmth of him. I sighed, happy.
I’d go to the gala with him. I’d go anywhere with him.
As the reality of the situation sank in, my eyes snapped open.
I needed a dress.