Nineteen #2
“Ok, first of all, her name is Bethany,” I correct, lifting a finger.
“And second, she deserved it. She came in asking for highlights but brought a picture of Jennifer Aniston from season two of Friends. When I tried to explain the difference between highlights and a full head of foils, she looked at me like I’d asked her to solve world hunger. ”
Austin chuckles, his chest vibrating against my back. “Sounds like a fun day at the salon.”
“Oh, it gets better,” I say, shifting slightly in the water. His hands, which are slick with soap, slide down my arms, making my skin tingle. “After I spent an hour meticulously placing foils, she decided she didn’t want them after all and asked if I could just make her hair look ‘natural.’”
He snorts, his laugh low and deep. “Natural?”
“Yeah,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Because clearly, I’m a magician. She’s lucky I didn’t shave her head out of spite.”
Austin’s hands glide up my torso and to my breasts. His soapy fingers trace lazy circles around my nipples, causing them to pebble. Then he brushes his thumbs over the swell of my breasts, and my words catch in my throat.
“Go on,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing.
“I, uh . . .” I clear my throat, trying to focus. “Anyway, she finally left happy, but not before telling me she’d be back next week for . . . God, I don’t even know. Hair extensions? Maybe even a fucking séance?”
Austin laughs again, his lips brushing the curve of my shoulder. “You should start charging extra for dealing with people like her.”
“Oh, believe me, I already do,” I quip, though my voice is breathier now, thanks to the way his hands are moving.
His fingers glide lower down my body, until they are circling the lips of my sex in a way that sends a ripple of heat straight through me.
“You’re amazing, you know that?” he says softly, his lips grazing the shell of my ear.
I manage a shaky laugh. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Mr. Conall.”
“Not flattery,” he says, his tone serious now. “Just facts.”
I tilt my head back to look at him, my heart doing that annoying fluttery thing it does whenever he looks at me like this—like I’m the only person in the world.
“Your turn,” I say, desperate to change the subject before I melt into a puddle. “How was your day?”
He exhales heavily, his fingers slowing their movements.
No, don’t stop.
“Busy. Meetings, emails, more meetings. But . . .”
“But?” I prompt, sensing there’s more.
“I got a call,” he says, his voice quieter now. “About a project. A big one. Career-changing, actually.”
I twist in his arms to face him better, water sloshes over the edge of the tub again but this time, I don’t care. “That’s amazing, Austin. What kind of project?”
“It’s a heritage restoration in York,” he says, his eyes searching mine. “A full-scale architectural overhaul of one of the oldest estates in the city.”
“Wow,” I breathe, genuinely impressed. “That’s huge. When would it start?”
“Soon,” he says, his jaw tightening slightly. “But . . . like I said, it’s in York.”
I blink, the weight of his words settling over me. York isn’t exactly close to London. “Oh.”
“Yeah,” he says, his hands resuming their gentle exploration, almost as if he’s trying to soothe the tension creeping into my body. “It’s not permanent, though. Just a year or so. Maybe less.”
“A year,” I echo, my voice barely above a whisper.
He cups my face, his thumbs brushing over my cheeks. “We’ll figure it out, Mia.”
I nod, my throat tight from the shock of the news.
The idea of him being anywhere other than here—with me—feels like a punch to the gut.
I turn my body so that my back is flush against his stomach. The warmth of the bath and the comfort of Austin’s arms around me again should be grounding, but instead, my mind races at a million miles an hour.
A year in York? Maybe less? That’s twelve months—long enough to feel like an eternity and short enough to be terrifying.
I tilt my head back against his chest, staring up at the ceiling as the water gently laps against my skin. His hands are still roaming, gliding along my sides, the soapy heat of his touch doing things to me that I’m trying very hard to ignore right now.
I don’t know how much time has passed since Austin dropped his bombshell. A few seconds? Maybe a few minutes? But it feels like hours.
“You’re quiet,” Austin murmurs, his voice low and rumbly in my ear. “That’s not like you. What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”
“York,” I say simply, my voice quieter than I intend.
His hands pause just below my ribs. “What about it?”
“It’s far,” I admit, biting the inside of my cheek.
“I know,” he says, his voice soft.
“And a year is . . . a lot.”
“I know that too,” he says again, his hands sliding upward to cup my breasts, his thumbs tracing lazy circles over my nipples.
I let out a breath, half annoyed, half amused. “Are you trying to distract me?” I twist slightly to look up at him, narrowing my eyes.
His grin is unapologetic, his gaze warm. “Is it working?”
“Austin,” I warn, though the way his fingers brush over my skin has my pulse doing stupid things.
“Mia,” he counters, his tone teasing. “What if I told you I’m not sure I’m going to take it?”
My head jerks up, and I twist in his arms, turning my body fully to face him. “What?”
His eyes meet mine, steady and calm. “I’m probably not going to take the York project.”
My chest tightens. “Why?”
“Why do you think?” he asks, raising a brow as if the answer should be obvious.
The words catch in my throat, and my stomach twists. “Austin, don’t—”
“Don’t what?” he interrupts, his hands moving to my waist. “Don’t say that I’m choosing you over some project? Because I am. That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“Austin,” I whisper, my voice breaking. My heart feels like it’s being pulled in two directions. “You can’t just . . . make a decision like that because of me. This is your career we are talking about. It’s important.”
“You’re important,” he says simply, his gaze unwavering.
The weight of his words crashes over me, and for a moment, I can’t breathe.
This is what I wanted, isn’t it? For him to put us first? To show me that this—whatever we are—matters?
But now that it’s here, I can’t shake the panic clawing at my chest.
What if this is a mistake?
What if he resents me for it later?
What if I’m not worth the sacrifices he’s willing to make?
“I—” My voice cracks, and I close my eyes, pressing my palms against my face. “I don’t want you to regret anything, Austin.”
“Hey,” he says softly, pulling my hands away from my face. “Look at me.”
I force my eyes open, meeting his steady gaze.
“I don’t regret a damn thing, Mia,” he says, his voice firm. “Not this. Not you. Not us. If I take the project, it’s because it’s right for both of us. And if I don’t, it’s because I know I’ve already got everything I need right here.”
Tears sting my eyes, and I blink them away furiously. “You’re infuriating,” I mutter, my lips trembling.
He smirks, brushing his thumb over my cheek. “I know. And you love it.”
“I don’t,” I lie, sniffing.
His smirk deepens. “Sure you don’t.”
I shake my head, my chest tightening as I try to process everything. The man is impossible.
Impossible and incredible and so far out of my league that I don’t even know how we got here.
But as I sink back into his arms, letting the warmth of the bath and his steady heartbeat calm me, I can’t deny the truth that’s been slowly unfurling in the back of my mind.
I don’t want to lose him. Even if it terrifies me. Even if it feels too big, too soon.
Because somehow, against all odds, Austin Conall has become my everything.