Chapter Thirty-Nine The Perfect Date
Chapter Thirty-Nine
The Perfect Date
Frankie
His penthouse is exactly what I expected and nothing like I imagined.
Yes, there’s the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Central Park. Yes, there’s art on the walls that probably cost more than most people’s houses. But there are also throw pillows that don’t match, a stack of books on the coffee table, and—is that a friendship bracelet on his kitchen counter?
“Maddie made that,” Hayes says, following my gaze. “She insists I display it prominently.”
“It’s very . . . colorful.”
“That’s one word for it.”
We’re standing in his living room like two teenagers whose parents just left for the weekend. The energy between us is so charged I’m surprised we haven’t started a fire.
“Can I get you something to drink? Wine? Water? I think I have—”
“Hayes.”
He stops mid-sentence.
“Come here.”
He moves toward me slowly, like he’s afraid I might bolt. Smart man.
When he’s close enough that I can smell his cologne, I reach up and fix his crooked collar.
“This has been driving me crazy all night.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry.” I smooth the silk against his chest. “I like that you’re not perfect.”
“I’m far from perfect.”
“Good. Perfect is boring.”
Our eyes meet. The air between us thickens.
“You do something to me that I can’t explain,” he says quietly.
Before I can respond, his hands are in my hair and his mouth is on mine.
The kiss is soft at first. Tentative. Like he’s asking permission.
I give it to him by pressing closer, fisting my hands in his shirt.
That’s when he really kisses me. Deep and desperate, like he’s been drowning and I’m oxygen.
My back hits the wall. When did we move? His body cages me in, solid and warm and perfect.
Then my brain kicks in.
Shit. Shit shit shit.
I break the kiss, pressing my palms against his chest.
“Wait.”
Hayes steps back immediately, his breathing ragged. “What’s wrong?”
“I can’t . . . we can’t . . .”
“Frankie.” His voice is gentle. Patient. “Talk to me.”
The words tumble out before I can stop them. “You’re going to realize that I’m too much for you. That I’m too messy and emotional, and you’re going to come to your senses and leave.”
Hayes blinks. “Am I?”
“You are. And I’m terrified it’s going to break my heart.”
Again.
He pauses, takes a slow breath. There’s a little crease between his sculpted eyebrows, like he’s working through a complex equation.
“The truth is, I love how deeply you feel your emotions. Growing up, everyone pretended all the time. No one was real, not ever. I love that you’re never going to fake it, and I like that I don’t have to pretend around you.”
It’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me. For a moment, I’m speechless.
“Frankie?” He places his palm on my cheek, turning my face up toward his so he can meet my eyes. His gaze is filled with so many questions and a torrent of emotion. “I think I love you.”
Holy shit.
That’s it. That’s my entire brain right now. Just those two words on repeat like a broken record.
Holy shit holy shit holy shit.
He loves me. Hayes Winters—emotional fortress, billionaire, man who probably has his feelings organized in a color-coded spreadsheet—just said he thinks he loves me.
My heart’s doing this weird hummingbird thing where it’s beating so fast I’m pretty sure I’m about to pass out. Or throw up. Or both.
Don’t cry. Do not cry. Crying is not sexy.
But God, the way he’s looking at me right now. Like I’m something precious instead of the disaster human who stress-ate an entire sleeve of saltines yesterday. Like I matter.
This is happening. This is actually happening.
And the terrifying part? I love him too. Have loved him for months, probably since that day on the yacht when he helped me while I was seasick. Maybe even before that, when he was being an ass (one of the many times) but I could see something real underneath all that expensive armor.
Say something, you idiot.
But what do you say when the person you thought you’d lost forever just handed you their heart? When everything you’ve been too scared to want is suddenly right there, waiting for you to be brave enough to take it?
Don’t mess this up, Frankie.
A weird little laugh escapes me. Seeing Hayes so distraught, so full of emotion, is mind bending. Gone is the stoic, perfectly controlled suit I once thought he was.
“Thank God, because I know I love you.”
“Frankie,” he breathes against my mouth. “Say it again.”
“I love you,” I whisper against the brush of his lips. “Hayes?”
“Hmm?” His lips hover over mine.
“Take me to bed.”
He’s never been good at taking orders, yet he wastes no time fulfilling my command. He lifts me from my feet, sweeping me up into a kiss while simultaneously walking toward the bedroom.
We bump into a wall. My giggle breaks our kiss, but only for a second. Every bit of intensity that I’ve come to know Hayes for is funneled into this moment.
I’m deposited onto his bed, and all my giggles and nerves disappear.
There’s never been anything quite as perfect as this.
In his presence, gone are any feelings of inadequacy. Gone is the voice in my head that says I’m not enough, not right, not worthy of someone like him.
There’s only Hayes, looking at me like I’m everything he’s ever wanted.
“You sure about this?” he asks, his voice rough.
“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
He smiles then—the real one, not the polished version he shows the world. “Good. Because I’m done letting you go.”
My sweater hits the floor. Then his shirt. Somewhere between my breathless laugh and the way he whispers my name, I realize this is what I’ve been missing my entire life.
Not just sex. Connection.
Not just desire. Home.
“I love you,” he tells me against my skin.
“I love you too,” I breathe back.
And then he’s kissing me again, and I’m lost.
Completely, utterly lost.
And for the first time in my life, I don’t want to be found.