Chapter 24
Xander
“Are you nervous?” I buckle up while Cora fidgets in her seat.
The flight attendant brings us our drinks.
“If you’re asking about flying, I’m super excited. I had one unexpected experience on a private jet, but I’ve never flown first class.” She grins like a kid at Christmas, but then bites her lip. “If you’re asking about meeting your family, I’m terrified.”
I smile and give her a peck on the lips. “They will love you.”
“Let’s hope.” She turns to the window, her leg bouncing.
She’s been distracted since she found out about her father last week. She hasn’t visited him. How must she feel about meeting my family while hers is falling apart?
How would she feel about my betrayal if she found out?
I was going to tell her.
I really was. In the car, before she confessed about her douchebag ex-fiancé.
I think I’m going to doubt everything for a moment before I trust again.
And then the night I got Pavel a bike. But she dropped the bomb about her father, and I wanted her to feel better, not worse.
She was so vulnerable, I could hardly have challenged the fragile trust she’s awarded me with.
But that still leaves me as the villain in our story. I wish I had never gotten that file from Roxy. I wish I knew whether she would have chosen me even if I hadn’t created the ideal circumstances.
I was driven by my obsession with her… one that intensified since we got together, but that has grown into something more.
I’m in love with this woman. And I think she’s in love with me. We’re both scared of the feelings, but fuck, I’m not going to let her go.
Perhaps it’s better I keep my confession for later. After our San Francisco visit. Or never. That seems like the best timeline.
Don’t be a pussy, Stone.
I will tell her everything once we return to New York. I will.
Cora’s leg keeps bouncing. I put my hand on her thigh, and she turns to me, still biting her lip.
“You know I’ll be there with you the whole time. You have nothing to worry about.”
She chuckles. “That’s not what I’m nervous about. I mean, I obviously am anxious about meeting the Stone clan, but I… I thought that—”
She’s uncharacteristically shy about something. “Spill it, woman.”
She leans down to retrieve her ginormous bag and pulls out one of the notebooks.
She places it on her lap, stroking it like the edges of the hard cover need straightening. “You said you wanted to read my stories.” She hands me the notebook.
I look at the small book in her hand, a beat passing before I reach for it. It’s not that I’m worried about reading the story. I saw a snippet in the sunflower notepad.
It’s the trust she’s handing over that makes the 5x8 book feel like it weighs a hundred pounds. “Are you sure?” I try to sound casual. I fail.
She smiles. “Start reading before I chicken out.”
“Thank you.”
She grimaces. “Don’t thank me yet. From what I know, it might be quite terrible.”
“What did I tell you about this constant self-doubt?” I narrow my eyes.
“I don’t recall you saying much about self-doubt. You promised to fuck some confidence into me.” She licks her lips.
“Wanna join the mile-high club?”
Her eyes flash with something dark and exciting, and she shrugs seductively.
I lean in, her scent as intoxicating as ever, and whisper in her ear, “Let me read first, and then I’ll fuck you thoroughly here, Mrs. Stone.”
“Winslow-Stone,” she breathes, the shudder the words elicit hardening my cock.
“Still mine.” I shrug and turn away from her, stretching my legs and crossing them at my ankles before I open her notebook.
My eyes land on the neatly scribbled words, but in my periphery I feel more than see her crossing her legs, pouting.
But she finally decided to trust me with her work—a trust I certainly don’t deserve, but I will take it seriously. It’s more important than getting her off.
And just like that, I forgo sex, because something else feels more important. What has she done to me?
I read, flipping the pages and grinning while Cora adds tapping fingers to her bouncing leg.
When I finally close the notebook, our gazes lock. Hers is full of expectations while she worries her bottom lip.
Mine are full of admiration, I hope. For her beauty. For her talent. For her.
“You wrote about a wolf whose parents never invited his friends to his birthday?” I recall our conversation at her birthday, marveling at how she turned my fucked-up family dynamic into a teaching moment through her storytelling.
She scrunches her face, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I’m sorry.” She looks at me through her eyelashes. Like I would mind that my childhood inspired her.
“So I’m a wolf, and you’re a fox,” I tease, shoving the book into the pocket of the seat in front of me. I angle my body toward her.
“That wolf should have been a peacock. And I’m not the fox,” she huffs.
“The one who builds houses for others? That’s definitely you.”
She reaches into the pocket. “Give it back.”
I snatch her wrist and pull her to me, seizing her lips. She fights the kiss for a breath or two before she relaxes and opens for me. My tongue slides in, and I kiss her with all I have—passion, obsession, adoration.
Telling her without words that we might have started in a fucked-up way, but this thing between us is more than real.
And she takes my kisses as if she believes that, too. Like she is ready to surrender to this growing thing between us. Even if she is not, I’m a patient man.
We might have started all wrong, but I don’t regret a minute.
“I think it’s really good. I mean, I’m not an expert on children’s literature, but you should send it to a few acquisition editors or agents.”
“You think?”
“Of course. You have nothing to lose.” I shrug.
“I don’t know. I’ll think about it.”
“What is there to think about? You spent time every day writing these, and it brings you so much joy. Why wouldn’t you want to share that with the rest of the world?”
“Everything seems easy to you.”
“Everything is only as complicated as you make it. My sister has friends in the literary world, so I’m sure she could open some doors.”
She smiles at me. “Thank you.”
I kiss her knuckles and adjust my crotch before I ring for the flight attendant. “Can you get us a blanket? My wife is cold.”
She nods and goes to retrieve a blanket.
“I’m not cold.” Cora scoffs.
Taking the blanket from the flight attendant, I cover my wife and inch my hand up her thigh, dusting the soft skin under her skirt. “Let’s get you nice and ready before you go to the bathroom.”
I nip at her neck, the essence of her and the promise of what’s next making me painfully hard.
I reach her panties and massage her sensitive spot through the fabric.
She stifles a moan. “I don’t need to use the bathroom.”
“You want the wolf to fuck you here? In front of all these people?”
“Lex!” Lottie skips down the staircase in the middle of the vast foyer and runs into my arms. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
I twirl her around, laughing. Fuck, it’s good to see her. She giggles, and when I put her down, she turns to Cora and hugs her. “So nice to meet you. I still can’t believe my idiot brother tied the knot, but I’m so happy you look normal.”
Cora’s eyes widen, her posture rigid.
I snort. “Lottie, let Cora breathe.”
“Nice to meet you, Charlotte.” Cora smiles.
“Call me Lottie. It’s so good to have you both here.”
“Mr. Stone.” Our butler appears. “We will bring your luggage to your old room. Will your company be staying with you?”
“This is my wife, Cora, and yes, we’ll be staying together.”
“Are you hungry, thirsty?” Lottie pulls at my hand. “Let’s get you some snacks.”
“Give us a minute.” I shake off my enthusiastic sister and turn to Cora.
Her eyes dart around the cavernous space, and then she watches our suitcases being carried up the stairs by our staff.
I wish I could hear her thoughts. I grew up in this house; it’s familiar and, well, my childhood home. But just this entry hall is three times the size of Cora’s entire apartment.
I’ve been complaining daily about the tiny shower, tiny kitchen, and the general modesty of her space. But two minutes back home and I realize how her place is intimate, warm, and has grown to be my home without me realizing.
Or perhaps it’s because she’s there. Her scent in the air. Her signature on all things. Her personality in every corner. She feels like home.
“Are you hungry?” I wrap my arm around her waist.
She doesn’t respond—just stares at our disappearing luggage.
“Cora?”
“You have servants?” she whispers.
“I don’t think that’s what they are called. They’re our household staff.”
“I need a minute.” She looks at me, blinking.
“Where are you, guys?” Lottie calls from somewhere in the direction of the dining room.
“Let’s go to my room first.” I practically shield Cora with my body, like I can protect her from this house, its people, its burden.
“I knew you’re rich, but this is… I’m sorry…I’m shocked. Let’s join Lottie. I don’t want her to think I’m not grateful for her hospitality. Because I am grateful. She seems really nice and normal. She hugged—”
I fuse my lips with hers. “I’ve never heard you babble.”
“I’ve never been hit on the head with so much decadence. And… Jesus, I made you stay at my place.” She jerks her head back and stares at me, but her initial panic is gone, a latent smile quirking up her lips. “And you stayed.”
“And I stayed.”
I stayed in her shoebox of an apartment because she is there. I would live under a bridge if she were by my side.
We grin at each other for a moment, and the L word is on my tongue.
“Lex, Cora, come on.” Lottie’s voice snaps us from the moment of unspoken words, but something tells me we don’t need to say them.
We feel them.
Deep. Painful. Exhilarating.
Lottie laughs as she sets down her teacup, her eyes dancing with mischief. “So there we are, this seven-foot-tall Swedish financier next to me, politely nibbling on a macaroon like it’s radioactive, and I ask him, ‘How do you feel about hedgehogs?’”