Window Shopping(58)

Good lord, the sex.

I’m a changed man. Hell, I’m a grateful man.

In more ways than one. Just having Stella here, in my home, is more than enough. It’s something I spent the weekend thinking was never going to happen. Sleep was lost and an unhealthy amount of bourbon was consumed over it. That’ll teach me to doubt when it comes to this girl. She’s extraordinary. She’s got a hundred little cogs turning in her head right this very second—I can see them chugging away. By some miracle, she decided I’m right enough for her to claim officially, on paper, and now I just have to make sure she never regrets it.

It’ll be easy.

That lie is so hard to swallow, I have to tug on the front of my bow tie to get it down.

Being with Stella might be easy, but there is a perpetual tug in my subconscious telling me she’s not all in. Yet. She’s window shopping, while I’ve already bought out the whole damn store.

Patience.

My ribcage expands on a deep breath. “You can open your eyes.”

Watching her thick eyelashes blink open, I notice absently that she’s wearing less makeup than the first time we met. Less of that black liner under her eyes. When did she make the change? I probably should have—would have commented on it if I wasn’t too focused on the blue eyes themselves to notice how they’re made up. I like her either way…but God, I love her like this. Sucking in a breath over the haphazard Christmas lights, pleasure and nostalgia and joy washing across her features. Damn. I’ve done something right in my life if I get to watch this happen up close.

“Wow.” She exhales in a rush. “Your place. It’s even better than I was picturing. It’s…a vintage bachelor pad. Like Dom Draper if he had a soul.”

I laugh out loud at that description and she relaxes enough to set down her purse, toe off her boots and close the apartment door behind her, turning the lock.

“Consider me called out,” I say, taking her hand and tugging her deeper into the apartment. So help me God, watching the toes of her tights sink into my living room rug makes the fly of my dress pants feel tight. My voice is significantly deeper when I say, “I tend to gravitate toward the old-fashioned.”

“I noticed.” She glances over at me. “I’m kind of the furthest thing from old-fashioned, though. Did you take a detour and get lost?” Her tone is light, but her eyes are vulnerable. “That’s just like a man to drift off course and refuse to ask for directions.”

“I know right where I am, Stella.” I hold her attention as long as I can before it dances away, moving to the Christmas tree. Not only am I positive I’m going the right way, but I’ve thrown out the map altogether. How would she react if I told her that? Probably by running out the door—and I can’t even say I would blame her. We signed paperwork with HR so we could date, not get married. Slow your roll, Aiden. “When you’re ready to talk about where you are on the map, I’m here.”

Her chest rises and falls a little quicker, but she tries to pass off her nerves as arousal, flashing me a wobbly smile. “If your plan was to seduce me with cartography talk, it’s working.” She pushes her hair back, shifts her focus back to the tree. As always, Christmas seems to be her—our—safe place. “Your tree is beautiful, but not too beautiful. It’s got character, just like the way you did your office.”

The corner of my mouth tugs. I’m more than willing to let her get away with the subject change for now. If she wanted to do aerobics on the roof, I’d find a way to make it happen. “See any room for improvements?”

She rolls her lips inward, wetting them. Slaying me where I stand. “When I was a kid, we’d make a popcorn garland and string it around the tree. My mother had all these old Victorian doll ornaments, heirlooms passed down through the generations. The popcorn garland was our one modern touch.” Her gaze drifts around the living room, the kitchen space just over my shoulder. “My old-fashioned boss definitely has popcorn and a sewing kit.”

Boss?

All right. Now she’s pushing it.

Or rather, pushing me away. Trying to establish a boundary.

And that’s fine. That’s her right. But we’re going to negotiate where it lies.

I close the distance between me and Stella, watching the color climb her neck and cheeks. When I slide my fingers up through the back of her hair and grip, her eyelids droop like twin weights and the pulse at the base of her neck starts to sprint. Magic. She has to feel that. “That’s boyfriend, Stella. Not boss.” I fuse our lips together and she stumbles into me, giving me full access to her mouth, even though she denies me the same with her thoughts and fears. I’ll get there. We’ll get there.

Her tongue flickers against mine, inviting me into her mouth and I take. Just like earlier in my office, I sense she needs to be…insulated. Surrounded. So I wrap both arms around her, crush her close and kiss her until she’s whimpering. Until her arms are wound up around my neck and she’s rubbing her tits side to side against my chest.

“Boyfriend,” I rasp, when we come up for air. “That work for you?”

“You’re still my boss,” she breathes.

Using my grip in her hair, I tilt her face up to mine, studying it closely. “On a scale from one to ten, how much does that bother you?”