Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Austin
He slumped even further into the corner, his feet in the water, head back, eyes closed.
The jets had turned themselves off at some point, and the room was quiet until I moved and caused the water to splash.
It was cooling as I sat back on my heels and admired the man before me, sated and relaxed, a subtle hint of a smile on his face.
He opened one eye to confirm I was staring at him, and his smile brightened.
“I’m gonna need a nap.”
“You just keep having really good ideas,” I teased. “How about you crash on the couch, and I’ll start lunch. Do you think you could eat a little something?”
He shrugged without moving from his slumped position.
“Okay. Let's get you out of here before you fall asleep in that corner.” I chuckled at him.
Eyes closed and mouth adorably quirked, he nodded but didn’t move. I stood in front of him, water lapping at my legs.
“Come on, London. I’ll make lunch.”
“But we just had breakfast.”
“Dude, that was two orgasms ago. I don’t know about you, but I need sustenance!” His eyes popped open at my comment, but he remained slouched in the corner.
Alright, then,” he agreed, but his gaze turned stern. “Second breakfast.” His correction was adorably strict.
I took his hands and tugged him up. We climbed out of the tub, and I dried him off, using the same towel on myself before folding it and placing it on the side of the tub.
Hand in hand, we walked until we stood in front of the stairs to his loft.
“All you have to do is throw some clothes on.”
I looked him over unabashedly, and he watched me do it.
“Or not.” I shrugged, letting my eyes rake over him once more.
“Then I want you to stir the fire and sit in front of it. Weather station, cheesy made-for-TV holiday romance, softcore porn—whatever you want. My vote’s for one of those Christmas romances. There’s this one…” I began, but his scoff interrupted me.
“What?” I asked. “You don’t like Hallmark movies?”
“They’re ridiculous, unrealistic and … and ridiculous!” He seemed impassioned in his not-so-well-formed opinion.
“Aha!” I exclaimed. “How would you know that if you hadn’t watched one? Or some. Or many, many cheesy romance movies.” I pulled him in until our bodies were flush.
He opened his mouth to respond, the amusement on his face, or maybe the nearness of his naked body, doing weird things to my stomach.
His counterargument was lost as his phone made a blaring noise.
“Shit, that’s the ring I reserve for the higher-ups in my company. I should ...”
Randall had gone from animated and teasing to anxious on the first bleat. I frowned, upset to see his mood turn so quickly.
He looked at me, and his face fell. “I’m really sorry; I suppose I could ignore it.
” I may have only met the man the day before, but even if he really could ignore a call from his “higher-ups,” I knew he never would.
Years of living with an overachieving mother meant I knew the importance of an unexpected call from work. Had his ex-husband not understood?
“London, don’t be ridiculous. Of course, your job comes first! Go call back the tech bro or whoever that was. Do what you’ve got to do, and I’ll start lunch? I mean, second breakfast.”
He lost the frown, and my stomach swooped again in uneven proportion to his not being upset at me for thinking I would be selfish enough to keep him from his work.
He was smiling when he pointed to his loft and said, “I’ll just go …
I’ll be quick.” He scurried toward the stairs, muttering, “I hope,” as he went.
His firm ass still had creases just below it, where he’d sat sprawled out on the ledge of the tub.
I watched those two half-moons until he was up the stairs.
Only then did I venture to the other loft to throw on a clean pair of sweats and a T-shirt sporting the name of my college.
Randall and I descended the separate sets of stairs simultaneously, and we both chuckled, as he was dressed similarly, in heather-gray sweatpants and a tee advertising my parents’ alma mater.
He had a laptop tucked under his arm and his phone at his ear.
I hustled to the kitchen and poured two cups of coffee, turning to find Randall behind me as I moved toward the microwave to warm them up. “Out,” I mouthed, pointing to the couch with one mug. His face fell again, like he’d done something wrong. I wondered what I had done wrong to warrant the look.
“Alright. I’m logging in now. Tell Anson we’ll get it sorted.
No, it’s no bother, you were right to call me …
Snowed in, yeah.” He glanced out the window.
We’d managed to forget about the weather there for a bit.
The snow was really coming down again. “For at least another day, by the looks of it … That’s right.
” He let a lame little chuckle. “Nothing else to do. Plenty of time to work.” I couldn’t raise just one eyebrow as he’d done, but I raised both, smiling as I did so while removing the mugs from the microwave.
I turned and placed one on the counter near him.
I was so thrilled when he smiled in return.
“I’ll keep you updated … Yes, and Anson too, of course. And Jasper, don’t worry. This is our first little hiccup since the merger. We’ll sort it out. Okay? Good.”
He hung up, gave the mug an odd little look, and went to grab it anyway. I got there first and scooped it up, spilling a little.
“You don’t want coffee,” I said matter-of-factly.
“You made me coffee,” he countered.
“I poured coffee for you that’s been sitting around for hours.” I pointed again toward the living room area. “Just tell me what you actually want and get to work. Anson Day is waiting on you!”
He sighed.
“Randall? Please.” I poured one coffee down the sink and walked to the refrigerator.
“What time is it? Ahh, what does it matter? It’s not like we’re driving anywhere; do you want a beer?
Or some wine?” He looked horrified, and I looked wide-eyed and then questioning in return.
It wasn’t alcohol he was after; he’d have to tell me.
“Tea,” he croaked, like it was the hardest thing he’d ever said.
“Tea. Great! On it.” I rinsed out the mug and filled it with water, muttering, “Tea, Earl Grey. Hot.” Randall was still hovering behind me, so I turned my head and said, ”Go, work. I’ll bring this over.”
As I was sidestepping to reach for the microwave door, he let out this little whimper. I was doing something wrong again. I turned and raised my arms in a shrug, water sloshing. “What?” I asked with a small laughing lilt. Randall did that thing where he took a beat to think about his reaction.
Then he blinded me with a teasing smile. Wow, I liked that a little too much. In an exaggerated, but to my ears authentic, English accent, he responded, “That may be how they make it on a starship, but here on earth, we use this.”
I liked it so much that I had to stifle one of those “unghs” as he hip checked me, took the mug, and dumped the water back in the sink.
A pitcher of some sort sat on the counter, and he filled that with water instead, plugged it in, and retrieved a much-more-delicate mug and a huge bag of tea from the cabinet above where he was working.
He placed them on the counter, pulling out a second mug and looking at me in question.
“Sure, why not. But you need to get to work, so can you show me how that contraption works?”
He placed a small amount of water in each teacup and put them both in the microwave, repeating my mumbled, “Tea, Earl Grey. Hot.” He set the timer but didn’t start the machine.
“Okay,” he said with confidence. “The contraption just pours, but before we get to that, right when you hear it start to boil, press start on the microwave. When that’s done, swish the water around to warm up the cup. Then you pour that water out.”
“This is a lot of steps for tea.”
“I thought so too, once upon a time. After that, the tea bag goes in, boiling water goes almost to the top, let it steep for about five minutes. I like mine strong, then it’s a splash of milk.”
“Got it, London. Warm, bag, boil, pour, milk.”
“You’re sure you don’t mind?”
“Now you’re just lingering, waiting for the water to heat up.” I pointed toward the fireplace. “Go!”
“Alrighty, then.”
He added two more pieces of wood to the fire before finally getting settled and logging into his computer.
I expected him to get back on the phone, but instead, he just started typing away, his back straight, the computer propped up on a throw pillow on his lap.
I imagined this wasn’t the first time he’d sat in that exact spot, working on that laptop, alone in his beautiful cabin.
I threw together some of the lunch meats we had bought and presented him with a sandwich and what I hoped was a passable cup of tea, setting a tray down on the coffee table.
He was so focused that he ignored me. I could see his screen, and I expected to find him answering email or reading something, but the long string of characters on the page made me think he was coding.
I opened my mouth to ask, but he was concentrating so intensely that I decided against it.
I did say one thing. Softly, I encouraged, “Don’t let the tea get cold, London. ”
Then I quietly took my plate back to the kitchen table and ate there, watching the back of his head as he solved whatever problem was before him, that little red spot visible underneath his perfectly groomed hairline.
Even the straight line of his spine was sexy, his whole body exuding concentration and focus.
It was no hardship to give him the time he needed and just watch him work from my perch in the kitchen.
I was overwhelmingly relieved when he did lean down and sip his tea, and a few minutes later, when he absentmindedly took a bite from the sandwich.