Eighteen
“My precious…”
~Gollum
They went to a little Chinese restaurant in the city.
On the drive back home, Elliot was quiet, but she was coming to realize his silence wasn’t a bad thing.
It was simply part of the man he was, only speaking when he had something important to say, and that made his words all the more valuable.
She, on the other hand, got squirmy when things got too quiet.
“I hate the rain,” she said, hoping to stimulate some conversation.
“At least it isn’t a storm.”
“I’d rather a storm. At least then there’s some passion. This endless drizzle makes me edgy.”
He pulled into his driveway. “You don’t seem edgy.”
“Well, I am.”
He glanced at her and removed the key from the ignition. “Maybe you need to catch up on sleep. It’s been a long week.”
“I’m not tired.” If anything she had too much energy and needed an outlet—preferably sex. She shivered as the drizzle dampened her clothes.
He walked her to the door and flipped on some lights. “I spoke to the bank several times today. The paperwork should be ready in a day or two.”
Dropping her bag by the front door, she shook out her hair and waited for him to look at her.
He removed his suit jacket and hung his laptop case on the hook in the hall. “You’ll need to sign everything with a notary present, but we have a woman who does that at my office.”
Toeing off her shoes, she placed them by the door. Elliot sorted through the mail on the foyer table, still not looking at her, so she removed her shirt. Nothing.
“Once that’s done, we’ll forward everything back to the bank in Budapest and your grandmother will have to sign off on everything.”
“Elliot.”
He turned and stilled, his gaze fastening to her bra. “I … thought you should know.”
He didn’t move closer to her or put down the mail. Patiently, she sighed. “You talk too much about business. Don’t you ever just want to have fun?”
“Business can be fun.”
“Oh, yes, with all the acquisitions and mergers and money talk. Enough with the house. You said you’d handle it and I trust you to do just that.
When the papers get here, I’ll sign. Until then, could we please be a normal couple?
I feel like we haven’t had a normal conversation since we slept together. ”
His brow creased as he put the mail on the table, his posture defensive. “What does that mean?”
How could she explain her feelings to him without offending him?
While she loved his intellect, he sometimes used it as a shield and it seemed he’d been doing that with her for days.
She didn’t want him to hide from her, she wanted his playful side.
She didn’t want to discuss business any more than she wanted to discuss the weather.
“It means forget about that stuff for now. We’re home. Let’s say goodbye to the stresses of the day and talk about something else.”
He frowned. “I assumed hearing that things were working out would relieve your stress, not add to it.”
Although she appreciated his help, it was overshadowing every minute of their time together since he woke her up that morning with the idea that he could financially save her family. She didn’t want to be a problem he had to fix. She just wanted to be herself with him—no solution needed.
“Elliot, I want to be with you, but you have a habit of making every conversation a game of finding the solution. I know you enjoy problem-solving, but I don’t want to be a problem you must solve. I want to be the woman you want to love.”
“I...” He glanced away then quickly said, “Helping those I care for is the only way I know how to communicate my feelings.”
“There are other ways couples communicate. There’s body language.” Let him try to talk finances that way. She was pretty sure it was impossible.
His expression turned wounded. “I want to be with you. I just…” He shook his head. “I’m not sure how normal couples act in private, but I’m pretty certain I can’t maul you the second we walk through the door. We’re not animals.”
“But we are.” Relieved he wasn’t losing interest, she relaxed and tried a more delicate approach.
“Well, we can talk about our day, make plans for tomorrow or the weekend, dream about places we want to visit together. But we need to talk about more than business. This is not business.” She hooked her thumbs and pushed down her pants, standing before him in only her panties and bra. “This is very, very personal.”
His gaze drifted to the floor. “I’m not good at small talk. I’ve never been good at it.”
“Just say the first thing that comes to mind. What are you thinking right now?”
He glanced at her and looked away, mouth tight as if holding back his words.
“It’s okay to tell me what you’re thinking, Elliot. I want to know. You don’t have to do me favors to make me want to listen. You already have my full attention.”
He shifted but kept his distance. Never in her life had she met a man so closed off to simple conversation.
He cleared his throat. “I want to kiss you … all the time.”
Well, there was something. She smiled. “Then why don’t you?”
“Because…” His mouth flattened as he wedged his hands in his pockets. “If I kissed you every time it crossed my mind you’d get sick of me and I’d become nothing more than a pest.”
She scoffed at such an absurd statement. “Your kisses are not pestering me. I happen to like when you’re affectionate. Why hold yourself back?”
He glanced away. “I don’t want to ruin what we have.”
“You won’t. Women like affection. At least I do.”
He shifted his foot, his gaze diverted to the floor. Maybe she was putting too much pressure on him. She wanted to know him better, so she could read his signals easier.
“Then let’s just talk,” she suggested, trying to put him at ease. “Tell me something about yourself that I don’t know.”
“There isn’t much to know. I eat, sleep, and work.”
She waved a finger. “Not true. I know you have secrets. Tell me one and I’ll tell you one of mine.”
His brow creased, as he appeared to silently wager a mental debate. It shouldn’t be that difficult for him to talk to her. If they couldn’t find one topic in common they had a big problem. She tried to think about something she wanted to know about him.
She thought of that morning when she’d been searching for an umbrella, the room with floor to ceiling shelves seemed an interesting topic.
It looked like a storeroom, brimming with little boys’ toys, but not a single one was out of its package.
Finding all those unopened toys said something about this man, but she wasn’t sure what.
“Why do you have so many toys in that room upstairs?”
His head snapped up, his gaze connecting with hers for a split second then pulling away. “They’re not toys. They’re collector’s items.”
“But they are toys. They were made for children to play with, no?”
“They were. When were you in that room?”
“I was looking for a coat closet. I needed an umbrella this morning. Are you donating them somewhere?”
“No. They’re mine.” His jaw twitched. “Some of them are from my childhood.”
“Oh.” What would a man want with so many toys? “Why do you keep them?”
“I like them.”
“Do you play with them?”
“No.” His posture tensed and she sensed he didn’t want to discuss this either. Another closed off part of him. Meanwhile, several of her vulnerabilities had been exposed over the past week.
“I’m not judging that you have them, I just wonder why they’re not opened. Didn’t you play with your toys as a child?”
“They’re more valuable in their packages.”
Her head tilted as she looked at him, his gaze skating away from hers.
What child had so much discipline they could accumulate so many unopened toys?
Little boys were meant to get dirty and break things, but Elliot was so meticulous, he preferred to keep his fun things packaged on a shelf. Had he been that way even as a child?
His restraint was as curious as it was baffling. “Didn’t you ever want to open them? Play with them as they were intended?”
“Sure, but then they’d be worthless.”
“But the experience might be priceless.”
Expression tight, he glanced at her. “When you appreciate how rare something is, you understand it should be kept safe. If I played with them every time the desire crossed my mind they’d be ruined by now.”
She was noticing a pattern. He didn’t want to kiss her because he feared he’d pester her and scare her away. Did he see that he was treating her like another prized toy, too afraid to play with her because he might somehow damage their relationship?
The unopened toys were plastic, so it was foolish to feel sorry for them. But she was real. She also didn’t come in a perfect package. She had flaws and emotions—and feelings.
“I once had a doll with a broken hand,” she said softly.
“Our dog chewed the fingers off and her hair was patched with bald spots from all the times I brushed it. Her skin was dirty and her one eye never stayed open, but I loved that dolly like she was my baby. To imagine never playing with her for fear that she might get messy… So many happy moments would have been lost.”
His breathing became noticeably strained as if her story made him uncomfortable. “I’ve collected them for decades. To me, they’re not toys. They’re worth a lot of money.”
She frowned. Didn’t he have enough money? “Do you plan to sell them?”
“No, but if I ever have kids I’d pass the collection on to them.”
“And what if your child wants to open one and play with it?”
“That’s not what they’re for. I’d teach him or her how to treat them.”
“Well, you have an answer for everything.” She turned, sad for him and sad for the kids he might someday have. And sad that every time she tried to penetrate his walls he seemed to construct another one right before her eyes.
“Nadia, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I just… I wonder why you hesitate, always measuring consequences before doing anything, but I guess that’s just who you are. If there isn’t a feasible outcome written in black and white, you hold back.”
“What are you talking about?”