Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
FRANKIE
“Why do you have to go to Chicago?” Miller asks between tiny, featherlight kisses around the outline of my lips.
Sparks from the touch of his mouth skitter across my skin.
“My boss wants me there.” My eyelids drift shut as I let myself sink into the pleasure of him. “To help the advertising team to…” His hand strokes up my back and entices me closer. “…persuade a big home decor influencer to be the face of a new sofa collection.”
He brushes his cheek against mine, the scent of his skin sweet with fresh farmwork sweat, the tickle of his stubble sending a ripple of desire between my thighs.
“So it’s just temporary?” His voice is low against my ear. “Because you’re scared that jerk might get the big job if you don’t go?”
I can barely breathe over the beating of my heart and the ache of anticipation for what might happen next.
Maybe Paige is right. I mean, what’s the worst that could happen if I give in to this? Ten years from now would I regret doing this—or regret not doing it?
The throb between my legs tells me I would definitely regret not doing it.
And my brain says maybe I don’t have to constantly protect myself from lies and deception. Maybe there’s nothing here to protect myself from.
“Yup. Just a quick visit. Leaving late-afternoon tomorrow.” I rest my hands on his broad shoulders that are so strong, so reliable, and make me feel so safe, and inhale the lemongrass aroma of my shampoo in his hair. “And I’ll be back late the next night.”
“That’s not too long.” He eases back a little to drop his forehead against mine as he heaves a heavy sigh. “Thank God.”
The atmosphere shifts in the silence that hangs between us. Suddenly everything feels less lighthearted, more meaningful, maybe even serious.
“But I’m worried about something.” His eyes half close and there’s a weightiness to his tone. “I might not have given you the right impression of myself.”
His seriousness brings a whisper of dread to my chest. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that you might not like the real me.” He curls his fingers and brushes the backs of them down my cheek with a light touch that makes my skin remember it’s alive.
“It’s okay.” I rest my hand on his chest right over where his heart is beating like it’s about to burst. “You already told me you haven’t always been the rich investor dude who can wander around mucking out donkeys whenever he likes.
And that’s way better than someone who had everything handed to them on a platter and doesn’t appreciate it. ”
He sinks his teeth into that oh-so-succulent bottom lip for a second. “That’s only part of it.”
“You mean there’s more to the story about losing the family house and having to get a job?”
He tucks my head under his chin, pressing my cheek against his chest, which rises then falls with one huge, deep breath.
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” I rest my hand on his firm bicep.
“I do want to.” His heart thuds against my ear like a bass drum. “I want to tell you everything. I want you to know me.”
“I feel like I know you,” I admit.
“But I’m scared you won’t like what you find out.”
“You don’t strike me as someone who’s scared of much.”
“I’m scared of you thinking badly of me.”
I lift my head just enough to pop a kiss onto the side of his neck. Goose bumps immediately erupt around it. The clear sign that I turn him on reassures and gratifies me at the same time.
“Try me.” I drag my lips across his skin to test the extent of my driving-him-wild skills.
“We had this little house in the Roxbury neighborhood of the city. Mom and Dad bought it before I was born. They inherited the down payment from my mom’s dad and could just about scrape together the mortgage payments.
Apparently, it was a wreck and Dad did a lot of the work on it himself so they could have a nice home to start a family in. ”
He swallows hard.
“It felt huge to me when I was a kid. But I think it was actually pretty small. Three bedrooms, one bathroom upstairs. Living room and kitchen downstairs. A small patch of grass out front, no garage. And a square yard out the back.”
“Sounds similar to mine. Mom and Dad worked all the hours on the planet to keep it. I wished we could just move somewhere cheaper so they’d have to work less and could stay home with me more.”
“What do they do?”
“Mom’s a nurse. Dad’s a plumber.” I run my fingers up his chest. “But go on, this is your story.”
“I had the middle-sized bedroom. Then when Ethan and Luke were born, I moved into the smaller one so they could share mine.”
“See, we’re the same. Small home. Hard-working parents.” I stroke the muscular curve of his shoulder.
“When I was eighteen, our whole block was bought up for redevelopment,” Miller says. “The houses, the local shops, everything.”
“Why?”
“To put in a big grocery store, an office building, and apartments.” His face tightens, the pain in it palpable.
“They would have had to buy your house, though, right? So your parents wouldn’t have walked away empty-handed.”
“If you can call it buying.” He almost spits the last word. “It was around the recession, and property values had dropped so much that what they gave us for it only just paid off the mortgage. So my folks were left with nothing to put toward a new home. They were starting over from scratch.”
“Shit.”
The tension in his voice and the way he’s playing with the edge of my shirt are all signs that telling this story is hard for him. Which must mean he doesn’t tell it often. I could not feel more honored to hear it.
“We moved into an apartment,” he continues, “but rents hadn’t really been affected by the slump, so they were still expensive. Ethan and Luke were at that fighting-all-the-time stage and didn’t want to share a room. I ended up swapping with Luke just to shut him up.”
“He seems pretty talkative.”
Miller chuckles. “Yeah, doubt that will ever change.”
“And that’s when you quit carpentry school to get a job?”
“Not right away. We got by to start with. It was tight, but fine. But less than a year in, someone knocked a table saw onto Dad.”
I wince. “Jesus.”
“It was turned off. But it broke his hand and cut it. Doctors said it would heal well enough for everyday activities in two or three months, but not enough for manual labor for six.”
“Oh, God.” Every word Miller utters, every morsel of information I learn about him, makes me want to know more and more until I’ve soaked up every experience he’s ever had and every emotion he’s ever felt.
“So Dad had to put the business on hold while he healed. Mom scrambled around and got an admin job at the big hardware store, but it wasn’t enough to support us all.
So I quit school, faked my carpentry license, lied about my age, and got work on a construction crew doing the woodwork for a house flipper. ”
“Wow, a whole new identity. I wasn’t far off with the CIA then.”
“Oh, God.” He sighs and rests his lips against my forehead. “That gets back to what I was trying to say.” His voice is tight, and the pace of his heartbeat picks up against my shoulder.
“If you’re worried that we’re too different, I think you’ve just proved that we have a lot in common.” I trace the line of his strong jaw, the stubble grazing my fingertip. “I haven’t built my own business, but I have spent the last nine years scrabbling my way up the corporate ladder.”
He circles his hands around my hips and holds me closer to him on his lap.
“And, like you, that was also kind of because of my parents,” I explain. “Because I didn’t want to have a life like theirs. I wanted to make sure I could earn enough money to have more free time than they ever did.”
“Yet here you are, about to run back to Chicago to salvage a promotion. I think you’re actually way more ambitious than I am.”
“Hardly.” I tap his chin and gaze up at him. “I’m not the one who works for myself.”
“Having your own business means you work more hours, not fewer.”
Empowered by the trust he’s placed in me by telling that story, the deeper intimacy hanging in the air around us, and fueled by not wanting to live a life where I regret the things I haven’t done, I lean back and take his face in my hands.
Miller’s rich, brown eyes meet mine and don’t budge, making my skin tingle and my insides quiver.
“Well, right now, you have a boss.” My heart races at my own audacity as I rest one foot on the floor and swing my other leg over so I’m straddling his lap. “That boss is me. And I believe you’ve finished work for the day.”
Then I drop my mouth to his, and kiss him with a heart and soul more entwined with another human’s than I ever thought possible.