Chapter 14
Tuesday
This might just be my life moving forward.
I can think of worse ways to spend my day than with this man. I’ll probably never fully understand why, but he’d move heaven and earth for me if he could. He’s shown me in ways that I’ll never be able to thank him properly.
My throat thickens, and the tears threaten to fall under his sweet words and an embrace warmer than the comfort of seeing his eyes. I’ve never felt safer than I do right now.
When my stomach growls, we both start laughing, the levity of the interruption welcome after the heavier conversation we just had. I push him away under the guise of being playful when all I really want to do is stay in his arms forever.
Rubbing his stomach, he says, “We have two choices.”
Although I’m dressed up, I flop onto the couch and kick my feet up. “What are they?”
I see the way his eyes travel my body, lingering on my shoes. He squares his shoulders and cuts across the room to flip on a switch, breathing soft light into the room. “We salvage the night and go out, or we—”
“Salvage the night and stay in?” I shoot my hand into the air. “I vote for staying in.”
He’s chuckling. “Staying in it is, then.”
Pushing up on my elbows, I peer at him over the back of the couch. “I’m starved, so let’s get to ordering.”
With his phone in hand, he asks, “What are you craving?”
Now that’s opening a can of worms. As if he can read my mind, he says, “Let me rephrase that. What are you hungry for?”
“Not much better.” I wink and lie back. “Italian.”
“We just had Italian last night.”
“I had pizza. Now I want pasta.”
When I don’t hear any pushback, I push up again. Sitting on a barstool, he’s staring at his phone. I ask, “Can you eat Italian twice?”
Holding the screen so I can see, he already has the restaurant app up. “What can I get you?” After he places the order, he walks past me, and says, “I’m going to change clothes. Make yourself at home.”
As I drink the rest of my water, I look around the space, trying to bridge the gap between the workaholic and the man I know.
Loch isn’t so much in the design of the apartment, but I see his taste in individual pieces, like the straight lines of the leather couch and the buttons that give a sense of family passing it down through the generations.
Not a coffee mug left out from the morning or a half-read newspaper lying on the table.
Loch seems like the kind of guy who likes to get that ink on his fingers.
The floors have a soft shine to them, and until I touched the windows, they gleamed.
Everywhere I look, it's clean, so clean that I’m certain of two things: He has help, and I won’t find any dust bunnies in the corners of the room.
“Wow.”
“Wow what?”
Startled, I turn around with a jump just as Loch strides from the hallway back into the living room and cuts across to the kitchen. Shirtless.
I thought he was drop-dead gorgeous in a suit, but holy mackerel!
This man knows how to wear, or not wear, anything.
Seeing him in a pair of low-hanging lounge pants is a whole other level of hotness.
I try to stand, but my ankles wobble at the sight of him as he pulls a T-shirt over his head, so I shamelessly stay put. “I, uh . . .”
He anchors his hands on the V hidden beneath the fabric I remember so vividly. “Tuesday?” He points at his face. “Eyes up here.”
“Um, yeah. Sorry.” Needing to distract myself, I decide confessing a sin is a good way to go. “I forgot to tell you that I charged a few things on your credit card this afternoon at Bergdorf. I intend to pay you back with interest—”
“It’s fine.” His eyes search mine, and then he walks into the kitchen like he’s seen everything he needs to. “I know you need things. You really don’t need to worry about paying me back.” Our eyes connect once more from across the room. “By the way, you look beautiful in that dress.”
He dips down, but his voice travels. “I know you’re not drinking, but do you mind if I have a beer?”
“Not at all,” I reply with a smile as my back finds the support of the nearest wall. He peeks up at me, and I swear to God he’s trying to do me in with that wink and the smirk resting on his face.
Testing to see if my knees work after the way he tried to kill me with his good looks, I push off. The sound of my heels against his hardwoods makes me pause and bend down to remove them.
That’s when I hear the release of a bottlecap and the sound of him swallowing.
Stepping out of my shoes, I look up to catch his eyes locked on me.
My breath stills, and I lick the corner of my lips.
“My feet were hurting,” I tell him in a moment when my mind went blank of anything else that would make sense.
He sets the bottle on the counter and comes around the bar. I don’t move a muscle as he walks right for me, other than the embarrassingly loud gulp I can’t stop from swallowing.
Tapping my wrists when he passes in front of me, he nods toward the bedroom. “Come on.”
I should be running, but my feet don’t take a step. Is he . . . is this Loch Westcott seducing me? A wink? A hot look shared across the room? A come-on and walking into the bedroom? Is that all it takes for him to get a woman into bed?
Damn right.
Like a moth to a flame, I quick step toward the bedroom light only to find the room empty. “Loch?”
“In here?”
I follow his voice and find him in the closet.
Maneuvering inside, I take note of the padded, black leather bench centered in the room. My eyebrows quirk. “Kinky.”
“What?”
With plenty of room between the counter that flanks the wall under the windows and the other wall of cabinets and drawers, I start to wonder how to begin. “Where do you want me?” I sit on the bench, crossing my legs, and then rest back on my hands. “How’s this?”
“There’s fine, I guess.” I’m not loving the wrinkle of his brow, but maybe I’ll get the look that makes me squirm when he’s warmed up. “I think you might be more comfortable over here, though.”
I pop to my feet and scurry the short distance to him. Resting my shoulders against the closed storage doors beside him, I spread my arms, pushing my hands against the custom cabinetry. “Like this?”
There’s a blankness to his stare that I recognize from my own amnesia when I look in the mirror. That can’t be right, though. He invited me into his little love closet. “Sure,” he says, not taking advantage of me offering myself against his built-in storage. “Whatever’s comfortable.”
Worried about my head hitting the cabinet, I nod. “You’re right. This might not be wise. At least not yet, maybe down the road.”
“What road are we talking about?” Bending down, he slips his hand behind my leg, and he pulls open a drawer.
A subtle bump against the back of my thigh has me shifting out of the way. “My healing journey.”
With the drawer full of T-shirts pulled open, he stands back up and scratches the back of his neck. “What are we talking about?”
“We’re talking about se—wait a minute. Why’d you invite me into your room?”
He pulls a T-shirt from the drawer. “So you could find something more comfortable to wear than that dress.” He holds up the burgundy tee.
Beacon University is printed across the front, though it’s worn and faded. It looks soft, so I touch it. It’s as soft as I suspected. I take it from him and then look up. “So it wasn’t to—oh God. I’m mortified.”
“Why?” As if the obvious hits him square in the eyes, his bulge. “You, uh. Um. Huh.” He drags his hand across his forehead. “You thought I invited you back here to have sex?”
Fanning my face, I rush through the door. “We don’t have to say it out loud.”
He follows me out of the bedroom. Walking behind me down the corridor, he says, “Dammit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”
I turn back, fisting the shirt in front of me. “Why are you sorry? And what didn’t you mean?”
“I’m sorry you think I’m the guy to just ask you to come to my room to fuck, rather than me romancing you and making love to you.
Properly. Like you deserve.” He comes even closer, cupping my face.
Lowering enough to look deep into my eyes, he says, “Trust me, Tuesday, there will be no doubt in your mind when I do ask you to come to my bed for that purpose.”
Dead.
Just bury me now. I’m dead right here in his apartment.
Sliding his hands down, he gently pinches my chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Got it?” A cute smirk lifts one side of his mouth.
Words are my enemy, escaping me under the intensity of his gaze, so I nod.
He walks back to the bedroom but stops in the doorway and looks back. “Good girl.” He signals for me to join him again.
If he can kill me twice, he just did. Am I a “good girl” kind of lady? Do I like this? I’m not sure about “before” me, but “now” me definitely likes this, especially with Loch.
Since my body melted into a puddle of mush, I glide across the floors. By the time I enter the room again, he’s entering the room from the closet. “Shorts or boxers?”
I look between the choices, trying to pretend I didn’t assume we were about to have sex. “Shorts.”
He tosses them to me and says, “You can change here or the bathroom over there.” When he walks out, he turns and closes the door behind him.
I look around, not taking the time earlier.
Painted slate-blue walls surround creamy bedding and a large rug that’s super soft under my feet.
I wiggle my toes and notice the wood headboard and nightstands in the same stain but different in style.
“Good girl” begins playing on a loop, a wave of goose bumps ripples across my body, and my nipples pert to the memory. Since I don’t have many, that will be one I’ll regularly play on repeat.
Running the tips of my fingers over my chest, I take a deep breath, relaxing into the mattress.
“You okay in there?”
I jump like he just heard my naughty thoughts. “Good. Fine.” I rub the back of my head, knowing I should be more careful. A rush of blood to my head doesn’t help with the pain. “Be right out.”
“You sure you’re okay?”
“Yep. All is good.”
I hear him chuckling as he walks away.
“Food should be here soon.”
“Thanks.”
It’s fun to pretend, but I undress and slip the shorts and T-shirt on.
The shorts instantly fall to the ground.
I walk into his closet and find the boxers he had pulled lying on the bench.
I try those on for size. If I roll the stretchy band down twice, it tightens them enough to fit around my hips.
I take my dress and return to the living room setting it across the arm of the chair and settle on one of the barstools tucked under the counter.
“Perfect timing,” he says. “The food is on its way up.” A knock punctuates his words. He retrieves the bag. A friendly conversation ensues before he tips and returns to start unpacking the food on the counter in front of me. “I hope you’re hungry.”
“Starving.”
“I’m surprised you wanted Italian food again.” The lids are removed, and he sets plates beside the dishes.
“Last night was pizza. Tonight is pasta. I love Italian.”
“You just said you love Italian.”
I gasp, covering my mouth. But I start smiling too big. “I did say that. Wow, I love Italian food. Of course, who doesn’t?”
A smile that puts me at ease spreads slowly across his mouth. “I think you’re recalling memories.”
“You think?”
“Seemed like it to me.”
I catalog the tidbit along with the few others. I notice how his smile lingers as he looks at me. “What is it?”
“Earlier, I wasn’t just talking about the dress.”
“What do you mean?”
“When I said you look beautiful in the dress, I was talking about you. You’re an incredibly beautiful woman. No matter what you’re wearing.”
This man saw me at my worst. He saw me without makeup for two days, in a ragged hospital gown, dressed up last night and tonight as well as casually.
He’s seen every version of me, including before everything changed, and he stands there looking at me like I’m the sunshine who broke his rainy-day streak.
I slip off the stool and walk around the counter until I’m standing next to him. I whisper, “Thank you.”
He angles to face me, reaching across the small space I left between us and wraps his large hand around the side of my neck. The pad of his thumb rubs along the underside of my jaw, and he moves closer. With a tilt of his head, he’s closer to me than ever before.
His breath kisses my skin, sending a shiver up my spine. I close my eyes just as my breathing picks up, matching the beat of my heart. With his lips so close to the shell of my ear, I can feel his lips when he whispers, “How hungry are you?”
I tug him close, fisting his shirt, and whisper, “What’s food?”
Our mouths crash together in a frenzy of hands groping for purchase against each other and heavy breathing.
Buzz . . .
Buzz . . .
His mouth slows, his fingers stilling in my hair.
Buzz . . .
I steal a breath and slowly pull away when he does. Licking my lips, I look up at him. If he was to ever fall apart, this is how I imagine he would look—messy hair, a wild look in his eyes, his shirt askew. Loch kisses me gently, and then says, “I need to answer it. It’s the front desk.”
“Okay,” I reply, pushing my hair back from my face.
He puts the phone to his ear. “Yes?” Glancing at me, he says, “Tell them to come up. Thank you.”
When he sets the phone down again, disappointment comes in the form of his lack of eye contact. “Your belongings from the hotel are here.”
Now I understand why his mood changed. It was fun while it lasted, but that call was all it took for his disappointment to become contagious.