Chapter 8 #2
A flash of white and caramel fur bursts out, followed by the panicked scrape of nails against hardwood as Moo tries to find the closest, darkest space. He flies through the V of Stone’s legs, stopping long enough to swipe at Stone’s bare ankle before moving on.
“What the—” Stone lifts one foot and looks down at the long, red scratch on the side of his leg.
“Huh. Guess he remembers you, too.” I press my palms to my knees and rise. “I tried to warn you.”
“Forget what the press says about me.” Stone lowers his leg. “ He’s the asshole.”
I snort and turn back for the door. “Moo’s never been one for change.”
Stone follows me down the patio steps. “Can I still buy Moo’s affection with an anchovy?”
My lips lift into a smile. “Every time.”
“Good. I bought some this morning.”
He thought of Moo this morning?
“You didn’t have to get anything for him.” I round to the trunk of my car, pulling it up. Stone comes up beside me, the heat of his—bare chest, which I’ve just realized is happening right now—pulsing off him with invisible waves.
“Let me help you.” He cuts in front of me and lifts my two suitcases.
“You don’t have to?—”
Stone twists toward me before straightening. “Let me. I didn’t just follow you out here to watch you struggle with your bags.”
Heat blooms on my cheeks. “I can handle myself.”
“I have no doubt, but I refuse to stand by.”
I lick my lips, then step back and away from the fragrant warmth of his body. He’s showered again. “You may be able to buy Moo’s affection, but you can’t purchase mine.”
His eyelids lower. “I didn’t mean to insult you.”
“No. Of course you didn’t. You don’t mean anything, ever.” I straighten my shoulders. “If I’m living here with you, we need to set some ground rules.”
Stone lowers my suitcases on either side of his body, his biceps rippling with the weight. “All right.”
“I’m your mom’s nurse, and if I absolutely have to choose another label, your ex. That’s it. That’s all I want to be. Nothing more.”
Stone cocks a brow. “Was I misleading you into thinking I wanted sex from you?”
I jolt at his casual use of what was once so special between us.
So right. If our sex hadn’t been so imprinted in my memories, I wouldn’t believe this man had been my first, and I his.
I wouldn’t think about the women who came after—the wife— and how I cried for a month straight when I thought of Stone making vows to someone who wasn’t me.
I definitely wouldn’t remember the low-key champagne celebration Carly and I had when his divorce was announced.
What tortures me the most is that, while every sweetness that passed between us runs through my mind when he says sex , none of that shows on his face. His expression is remote. I can’t even say it’s a blank one, because it’s controlled. Stiff. Carefully affected.
Exactly how a business executive would approach the situation.
To combat the wrenching of my heart, I mutter, “Wow, California really did a number on you,” before lifting the bags myself and doing a lopsided walk to the house.
“What exactly do you mean by that?” The gravel crunches as Stone comes from behind.
“Nothing.”
“That’s exactly what a woman says when it’s a lot more than nothing.” With a flick of his wrist, Stone takes one of my bags.
“Hey!” I make a grab to get it back. “I said I didn’t need help.”
Stone lifts the bag out of reach and I catch air. The uneven balance catches up to me and I trip into his chest. “ Dammit , Stone!”
Stone glances down at my face pressed into his chest. “You were doing just fine.”
I push off, smoothing my hair, hopefully soothing my pounding heart as well. And ignoring the bittersweet feeling that the beat of his into my ear brought. “That wasn’t fair.”
“Take some help from a gentleman, Noa.”
“No. Not from you .”
The sudden vitriol sobers his attitude. He squints, studying me as I pull my lips in and gather what little control I have left.
“I want nothing from you,” I say before he can utter any sentences meant to sway me.
“Except maybe some respect. I’m here for your mother.
You don’t need to be the executive with me or the most popular guy in the club or any other man you feel you have to be with other people.
All you need to be with me is Mrs. Stalinski’s son.
Not my ex, not a famous billionaire, not a gentleman. ”
At his answering silence, I prompt, “Okay?”
He blinks. “Fine. Okay.”
Stone drops my other bag, stepping over it to get into the house. I don’t see his expression, but I notice the stiffness in his shoulders and the hard line of his back as he takes the steps two at a time and disappears inside.
I refuse to mull over whether I hurt him and lift one bag, dragging it up the stairs, then going back for the other. Why I felt I had to bring so much stuff…
Why I needed to unload on Stone…
Why I ripped my chest open and showed him the raised scars of our relationship when he’s so clearly moved on…
All of that is better left for another day, so I swallow it all down, straighten, and walk into my new lodgings with my head held high.