Chapter 18
Chapter eighteen
It's Alex
An hour later we're back at the house, and I'm sitting at Alexander's expansive marble island and chopping celery on one cutting board, while he stands across from me cutting up carrots on another cutting board.
We take turns dumping our ingredients into a big bowl, setting it to the side to later add to the sizzling veal and ground beef cooking on the stove. Such a mundane chore, yet all I can think about is how incredibly comfortable I feel right now, and it's helping a lot to keep the tears at bay.
I only cried once: in the bathroom at the apartment when I was praying I could make this transition work.
A chill station is playing over the surround sound, and I'm enjoying myself, even feeling playful, as I attempt to chop the vegetables to the beat of the music.
I can't help but smile, finding a rare moment of joy in something I haven’t been able to in such a long time.
Brandon never cooked with me nor ate hardly anything I prepared.
Actually, he barely ate with me most days.
Aware I've been silent for a while, I peek up quickly, seeing Alexander regarding me as I finish up chopping the celery.
I'd taken longer than normal because I'm still in pain but won't lay down.
I love to cook and was eager to help. I get I'm being stubborn, but I really want him to see how much I appreciate what he's done for me so far.
He turns and adds the ingredients before stirring the sizzling food and placing a lid on the pot. He dusts his hands together, then turns back to me to pin me with a rather indescribable look that takes me aback.
“It’s smelling so good."
"Yeah," I say breathlessly. "It is."
He leans his hips on the counter next to the stove.
When he braces the heels of his palms on the counter, I can't help but notice his eyes growing a bit tight as he regards me for a silent, tense moment.
He breaks it quickly, though, jerking his head to the side; his eyes roam over the pot on the stove.
"I almost forgot how much I loved this dish," he says, voice deepening with sudden emotion that has me blinking in surprise.
"Thank you for bringing it up,” he says.
Still keeping his eyes averted, he takes the kitchen towel off his shoulder and places it on the counter.
"Oh." I shrug. “It’s nothing, really,” I reply lightly, tipping my wineglass for a sip because something tells me this man isn't usually this uninhibited, and I don't want to do or say anything to make it weird, or cause him to be uncomfortable.
Not much of a drinker, I hum appreciatively when the flavor hits my tongue.
He's got great taste in Pinots.
A movement catches my attention, and my eyes lower.
Alexander fists his hand momentarily before clasping his wineglass, meeting my eyes when he lifts it to his lips for a deep sip.
I flush, a little flustered that he's showing obvious signs he's attracted to me.
In any other world, any other time, we might be free enough to explore whatever this is that's happening between us.
But the fact of the matter is I'm not just getting out of a four-year relationship. I'm trying to heal from a miscarriage.
I work to take our minds off it.
“So–I heard from a little birdy that you were going to be speaking at the Vancouver conference this year. I’m going as well, to get my educational credits for this year,” I say conversationally, wanting to talk about something other than the crap we’d been dealing with the last two days.
“Really?" Alexander's eyes bore into the center of my very soul it feels like.
I nod, and he tilts his head, eyes roaming my face slowly for a moment before he continues, "Yes, I uh…
I speak on the second day." He pushes from the island to place his hips back against the counter and then glances down at the pot again before facing me again. "We speakers normally get put up at this fancy resort. Do you know where you’re staying?” he asks, lifting his glass and forcing my gaze to his fingers.
They're so beautiful. Long and elegant.
“Oh, no. I don’t know yet…” I blush. Needing a moment from his intense stare, I turn my head. Through the threshold of the kitchen, beyond the foyer, I can just make out what appears to be a cozy library.
“Well, I’ll sneak you into my room if you’d like.
" My heart races, and my eyes widen in disbelief as I turn my head back to look him dead on, but he doesn't falter in his speech. Either uncaring or uninterested at what he'd just implied. "We normally get a pretty big suite, and I don’t need all that space. Up to you if you’d like,” he says, kindly.
Kindly.
My lips twitch before I lose the battle and smile.
I don't think he understands the effect he has on people, and it's quite interesting to watch him navigate what seems to be his usual politeness and the slight attraction that's simmering between us. “I’ll let you know if the hostel turns me down.” I take another sip and hope my little smile doesn't look goofy.
There's a tense silence for a few seconds as his face morphs from a flirtatious look to one that's a bit…pretentious, and almost even judgmental.
“You’re joking, right?” he quips, placing his wine down on the counter. His eyes narrow, and a brow arches, letting me know he wants an answer.
I shake my head, a little laugh escaping me.
“Yes," I giggle. "A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do,” I say, gingerly sliding off the stool, going to the pot and taking the lid off before stirring the meat.
“Gosh, this looks amazing; you’re doing such a good job.
It already smells like that Italian place by my office. ”
I keep my gaze averted while I work to replace the lid. When I turn, I gasp in surprise as he's right there next to me like he appeared out of thin air.
Alexander grabs my wrist, pulling me a couple steps to him.
Making my heart pound painfully in my chest. “Do you really mean that?” he says, with a seriously handsome and cheeky grin on his face.
My traitorous heart begins beating so hard that it's stealing my breath.
He's looking at me with something akin to awe, even a touch desperate as he waits for me to validate him again.
It's in this exact moment that I realize that I'm not scared of him.
I'm desperately attracted to him.
Like panty-wetting, clit-throbbing, melt-into-a-puddle-on-the-floor attracted to him. I nod, glancing down quickly at his hand on my wrist.
“I do. Hm-hmm,” I hum breathlessly, pulling my wrist away and stepping back a couple feet.
It feels wrong, and I instantly miss the feel of his warm skin on mine. I glance up just in time to see a flash of hurt in his eyes before it disappears behind that careful mask he wears.
“Add the wine. It’s ready,” Alexander says, handing me the bottle of merlot.
His eyes crinkle with amusement as I take it from him without a word. He turns back to the stove and then puts the towel on the little stainless steel knob. Shoulder to shoulder, he removes the lid again and watches as I pour a couple of healthy splashes in the pot.
Replacing the lid, he turns his head to look at me.
“Now, we let it work for a bit. It's time for that nap. I can wake you up when it’s ready.
" We stare at each other for a minute. I'm so ashamed that I'm wondering if he means for us to lay down together.
But he continues, his next words making me relieved and disappointed at the same time, "I have a few client folders to look over.
I'm going to set up over there in the nook while the food cooks.”
He wets his lips, exhaling deeply through his nose as he rakes his gaze across my face. I wonder what the all-knowing, powerful psychiatrist sees as he so blatantly assesses me. He tilts his head.
“You’ve had a long couple days, and I’d feel so much better if I knew you were getting some rest instead of trying to keep up when you don’t have to.”
I work to stay standing, because something deep shifts inside of me at being so thoroughly considered when I've been so starved of anything of the sort for so long that I'd forgotten the feeling. That pang of shame deepens.
Am I a whore for wanting to spread my legs for this man right after losing my baby? Am I really that messed up?
Also, does this man have any clue of how intense his bright blue gaze is?
It's not even the color of his eyes, really, but rather the shape of his eyes.
The set of his brow. It all merges together in one seriously overwhelming feature that I feel like might have the power to tip me over into a straight faint if I'm not careful.
I roll my lips and look away briefly. Not wanting that day to be today.
“I guess I haven’t been treating myself very well, huh?” I concede softly, wrapping my arms around myself, backing up a few paces and turning away. “I think I'll go lay down. Thanks, Dr. Richardson.”
He blinks once at how smoothly I transition back to his professional name, but he stays silent, and for that, I'm grateful.
I grab my phone off the island and make my way to the stairs, but I hear him walking quietly behind me.
Placing my hand on the railing, I raise my foot, but I don't even make it up the first step before he swoops me up in his arms. My eyes fly to his as I feel my curves mold to his hard muscles, and I see a little amused grin tip his lips up at the corners.
"Is this okay, Ms. Johnson?" he asks with a hard glint in his eyes.
Him asking me for consent is the sexiest thing ever.
"Yeah…" I answer breathlessly, my eyes flicker back and forth between his when he begins to climb the stairs. I’m completely lost. But funnily enough, I think he's more lost than I am. Our eyes stay locked as he climbs so slowly we're barely moving.
“Sarah?"
"Yeah?" My poor heart.
"It’s Alex,” he rasps.
It's an intimate request, and I feel my breath catch.
I pause, staying silent as he carries me into the same bedroom from last night and lowers me to the sheets. He then covers me up. "Okay. Alex," I relent.
Clear happiness melts the hard edge to his eyes as they fall to my lips, and for a split second, I swear I can tell he wants to kiss me. But he just pulls away.
"Get some rest," he says hoarsely.
Do I imagine the hint of pain in his voice? I don't think so. Ironically, him pulling his arms away from me hurts more than my body does. Rolling over, I settle down deeper into the covers, forcing myself to relax.
To not miss him next to me.