Chapter Twenty
Josh
Gina Rad’s whining voice still echoes in my head, and a muscle under my right eye twitches like I’m having some kind of drug reaction. Who leaves, saying she understands, and then comes back three hours later to revisit the same topic?
God, I don’t bill her enough. I should charge her ten thousand dollars an hour for the migraine she’s given me. I head home half an hour earlier than usual because I need the break—and I want to see…
Klein. In my home.
I wait for my gut to react to the idea. Most of the time when I think of people other than my family in my place, I feel like a dog, fur bristling and snarling as it defends its territory. After all, my home is my fortress, where I can feel secure.
But with Klein, it’s more like I just found the last piece to complete a puzzle I’ve been working on all my life.
At the next intersection is a flower shop.
I’ve seen it many times before, but never had a reason to stop by.
I start to drive past, then notice a stunning bouquet of pink peonies.
Each blossom is huge—and the shade is eye-catching, like Klein’s soft, vulnerable lips when I laid my finger on them earlier.
I shift in my seat to ease the tightness, then pull over to the curb.
As I hand over my credit card to the florist, I realize I’ve never bought flowers for any of my exes.
The effort didn’t seem necessary, and they never asked.
Wining and dining and being seen were enough.
But imagining how Klein might react to the flowers sends a spark of excitement through me.
By the time I kill the engine in the garage, my chest is bursting with anticipation. She’ll blush. Probably smile, too. Will she place a kiss on my cheek? But such an affectionate gesture might be too much for her to try.
I step inside the house, holding the peonies.
Instantly, I’m hit with the mouth-watering aroma of yakisoba, which is one of my absolute favorites.
It’s such a homey meal with great flavor.
But it can’t be Akiko stopping by. She rarely does.
And even if she did, she wouldn’t touch anything in my kitchen, respecting my boundaries.
I move silently toward the kitchen, then come to an abrupt halt.
Music plays from the phone on the counter, plugged to a charger.
Axelrod’s lead singer croons about breaking free, and Klein is swaying to the tune and singing under her breath.
The other end of the wooden spatula in her hand glistens with a thick, glazy sauce.
She’s in one of my dress shirts, her shapely legs sexy below the hem, her bare feet with cute pink toenails shifting as she adds noodles to thin slices of pork belly, onions, cabbage, julienned carrots and beat sprouts in a sauté pan.
It’s a five-ply pan from the set hand-made in France, which I’ve never used.
Aunt Jeremiah said it was smart to hang them without ever cooking with them because that would ruin the sparkly finish and might even leave scratches on the surface.
But seeing Klein in the kitchen, looking so comfortable and using my things, is beyond gratifying.
She just…belongs here. And my favorite silk shirt on her?
My head says I should be annoyed. Nobody is allowed to put on my things.
If any of my exes had done the same, I would’ve kicked them out.
But my heart is… Well, if it were a cat, it’d purr and stretch, its eyes narrowed into satisfied slits.
The shirt marks Klein as my woman—mine. It’s more intimate than the ring. The rock shows the world at large that she’s taken. But the shirt shows who she belongs to in private—me.
She chopsticks up a couple of noodles for a taste. Her lips purse, making them look soft and kissable. “Perfect.” She kills the flame and checks the time. “Awesome. Still got a few minutes,” she says to herself.
She puts little jars of sauces into the pantry, then jumps. “Oh!” She places a hand over her chest. “You’re home early.” She actually giggles, and I blink at the sound. It’s unusual for her, but lovely.
Her eyes are slightly glazed. Is she tipsy? Lareina likely got some quality bubbly for the girls’ outing.
“Gina Rad finally left.” Klein still has a palm over her chest, pressing my shirt over her breasts. I don’t think she notices the silk is fairly thin, and I can make out the shape and color of her areolae and nipples. I’m never washing that shirt.
She winces in sympathy. “Was it as awful as you thought?”
No, your breasts are prettier than I thought. The response pops into my mind, but that isn’t the topic of conversation. It takes a moment before my brain remembers we were talking about Gina. “Oh. Yeah, um…worse.”
Klein’s face scrunches.
“But better now that I’m home with you.” I look into her eyes. Surprise and delight flicker in the violet depths, a flush creeping into her cheeks. She’s such an open book. How could anybody hurt a woman this sweet and vulnerable?
I hand her the flowers. “Here.”
Her teeth flash in a wide smile as she takes the peonies and hugs them carefully to her chest. It’s too bad the blossoms are hiding her breasts from view, but I absolutely adore her smile. “They’re gorgeous,” she says.
“I had to get them for you as soon as I saw them.” I run my fingertips along the edges of the velvety petals. “Soft and pretty, like you.”
She tilts her head and looks at me. “I don’t even know what to say.” Her eyes widen. “Oh…”
I wait a beat. “What?”
“It’s just…nobody’s ever bought me flowers before,” she says softly. “You’re the first.”
Part of me is preening that I’m the first to give her flowers and make her smile with joy.
But another part is outraged. What the hell?
I always considered Chad to be a piece of shit, but this proves it.
Instead of just gift cards, I should’ve thought to buy her some pretty blossoms, too, for National Employee Appreciation Day or her birthday.
Klein’s eyes are bright, full of a cheery affection that lifts my mood.
Suddenly her light dims a little as she continues to hug the bouquet to her chest. “Uh. I was going to change out of the shirt before you came home.”
I frown. “Why?”
“Well, I didn’t want you to be unhappy that I took the shirt. Fiona said it’s probably the least expensive one in your closet, but still… There was an incident with some spilled juice and I need to launder the dress I bought today.”
I can only imagine what Fiona must’ve told Klein.
My sister-in-law lied through her teeth, probably as a small, harmless revenge for my putting a bug in her purse that one time.
The shirt is one of the most expensive items I have.
Handwoven silk from Japan isn’t cheap. Not only that, it’s tailored and hand-stitched.
Still, I’m not upset because it looks fantastic on Klein.
“It’s fine. You’re my fiancée. You’re entitled to wear my shirts.
” Now I’m wondering if she’s wearing panties underneath.
She bites her lip shyly. “Okay. Thanks, boss.”
“‘Boss’?” I take a step forward. Her eyes widen slightly and she steps back, almost stumbling.
I take another step, and her butt hits the edge of the counter.
The peonies’ sweet fragrance fills the space between us.
I pluck the bouquet from her arms and place it on the counter.
“You really need to stop calling me that.”
“But…you are my boss…” She sounds a little bit breathless. Her breasts are rising and falling rapidly. The movements push her nipples against the silk, and all the blood in my head starts to travel downward.
I put my hands on either side of her, caging her and letting her feel my body heat.
She leans further back, which presses her breasts even more tautly against the shirt.
The view is too damn erotic, especially since she has no clue what she’s doing to me.
I want to find out how she’ll react when she realizes the effect she has on me.
I want to push her buttons. See if she’ll see me as a man rather than the “boss” she’s worked for over the last three years.
“Klein.” I say her name like it’s that of a goddess. “We’re engaged. Don’t call me boss again.”
“Then what do I call you?” Thoughts fleet over her pretty face, her violet eyes wide. I could stare into them all day long.
“Sweetheart. My love. My liege and master.” I quirk a teasing eyebrow. “Sugar cock.”
A choked laugh escapes her tightly pressed lips, then she bursts out laughing. Good. I love the sound—full of humor and joy. It makes me want to let go and join her.
“I don’t think I can do, um, Sugar…” She can’t even continue, her face red. “But maybe—”
I run my fingertip over her lips. They’re so full, so soft. My dick grows harder. I lean a little closer until I can feel her breath fanning my cheek, and the tips of her breasts brush against my chest. “Or you can just call me Josh.”
Her eyelashes flutter. Hesitation lingers in her gaze.
Then something like determination and grit firms her jaw. Her eyes dart left and right, then look straight at me, as though she’s ready for one of the most difficult tasks of her life. “Okay. Josh.”
She breathes out my name like she’s calling for a dream. The single syllable hits me more potently than the best whiskey. She’s never used my name before, and my head spins with the unexpectedly intimate and erotic impact.
I stare at her soft mouth. “Say that again,” I order her.
Her darkened eyes stare into mine. She licks her lips, her pink tongue darting across them like a skittish rabbit. A heartbeat. She inhales, then her throat works. “Josh.”
The second time is even better. My blood heats. “I want to kiss you, Klein.” Then I wait a couple of beats, giving her a chance to push me away if it isn’t what she wants.
“Okay…Josh.”
My control shatters. I dip my head, capturing her mouth. I keep my eyes open, wanting to witness her reaction to our first kiss. Her eyelashes flutter like butterflies, then close. She parts her lips, slips her tongue out to flick it over my mouth. My heart rate skyrockets.
I push my tongue inside her. She tastes like a woman and sweetness, dream and desires.
Like…celebration. It feels like I’ve been racing all my life to reach Klein.
She’s hot under my mouth, almost feverish.
Her hands grip the edge of the counter for balance.
I slide mine over until I’m covering them.
Her fingers flex under mine. She deepens the kiss, going up on her toes as she invades my mouth with her tongue, running it along mine. A soft moan tears from her throat, as though she relishes being caged by me, enveloped by my heat and taste.
I plunder her mouth. I can’t seem to get enough of her.
The shallowing of her breathing makes me want to grind my throbbing dick against her.
Or maybe put my thigh between her legs and let her ride me.
My head says I should seize the chance. Show her what I can do to her.
But the decent part of me steps on the brakes.
Underneath the intoxicating taste of Ailee is champagne. She must’ve drunk some when Lareina and Fiona visited. Fiona can’t drink, but Lareina can, and she loves to indulge when she can. Not sure exactly how much Klein had, but I don’t want to take advantage if there’s a chance she’s still tipsy.
When we cross that line—when she’s naked and begging me to fill her aching emptiness—she’ll be sober. There won’t be any alcohol to blame for her lack of inhibition or self-control. It’ll be driven only by how good I’m making her feel and how desperately she wants the pleasure only I can give her.
With an almost inhuman effort, I manage to tear my lips from hers. Fuck. They’re so swollen, rosy and wet. She licks them, as though to savor the remnants of our connection. Disappointment darkens her eyes, and her eyebrows pull together. “What… Why?”
“You’re intoxicated, Klein.”
“No, I’m not.”
“You had drinks with Lareina.”
“Yes. But not that much.”
She sounds sober, but her eyes have trouble focusing. My lips twitch at how badly she lies. “We’ll try again when you haven’t had any alcohol.”
She pouts. “What if I’m not in the mood next time?”
I laugh, then run a finger along the bridge of her nose. “It’ll be my job to make sure you are.”