Reckless Abandon(84)
I look over at him incredulously. “Weren’t you sailing the seven seas earlier this year? When did you have time to buy a record label?”
Alexander laughs. “You’d be surprised what you can do over the phone.”
I roll my eyes and run my hand along the control panels. I was working on something in a studio like this before the accident. It was a new sound that I’ve been searching for since.
Two strong hands rest on my shoulder as Alexander walks up to me from behind me. “I was thinking we could run it together. You can make music again.”
My body tightens at the idea. I pushed that dream aside. I was just coming to accept my new life without being in the spotlight, without feeling the song playing through my fingers.
“Alex—”
“I love when you say my name.” His arms circle around my waist as he circles me around and pulls me into a kiss so powerful I forget what I am upset about. How could anything in this world bother me when I am in Alexander Asher’s arms?
I run my hands through his hair, and tug at the ends. I am rewarded with a sigh.
“I was going to give you a tour of the studio but now I have a much better plan,” he says in between kisses, and I laugh.
My back bows in his arms so I can face him. “I don’t need a tour. I can’t run this with you. We don’t even know what this is yet.” I motion to the space in between us.
His face falls and I’m momentarily hit with the feeling I’ve just said something wrong. “I’m in, Emma. I’m all in. I don’t know what else to say or do to let you know this is real. Unless . . .” His voice falters off, his body loosens its grip around me. “If this isn’t what you want, then you have to tell me now.”
I told a room full of people I fell in love with him in Capri but I don’t know if he heard me say it. Something is holding me back from saying it again. “This is what I want and it scares me. You asked me to move in with you. You’re telling me we can run a recording studio together. You are the most impulsive man I’ve ever met. I have no control over you.”
He starts laughing, really laughing and it catches me off guard. “Oh, baby, you have no idea how much control you have over me.” He kisses me on the forehead and grabs my hand. “I’m taking you upstairs.”
I sigh and fall into step with him.
When we are back in the elevator, Alexander places a card in the panel, hits a code and we start to rise. He places his chest against my back, wraps his arms around my waist and rests his chin on my head. Our eyes meet through the reflection of the steel elevator doors. I’ve never seen what we look like together.
Alexander stands behind me as beautiful and perfect as ever. His nose hits the top of my head and his mouth—that I have memorized how perfect it is—is buried in my hair. His gorgeous eyes, light and bright and full of soul, stare back at me with the most content look I have ever seen on his face. He is wearing a herringbone suit and tie, his brown leather loafers sneaking out from the sides of my feet as his legs stand far apart from one another.
Standing in front of him is me, plain Emma Paige with her fancy new highlights. I am wearing skinny jeans and pale pink button down top with my navy pea coat. My feet are clad in brown boots that stop just under my knees. My brown eyes are wearing an equal look of contentment.
Together, holding each other, we look like a couple in love. Well, I am at least. Damn, I am so unbelievably in love with Alexander Asher. I want this moment to last forever. I want to take a picture of our reflections in the steel and look at it . . . forever.
This is real for me. So real I am frightened at what will happen if I lose it again. I know I can’t go through life always scared of losing. I lost Luke and I survived. I lost my music and I survived. I know if I lose Alexander I can survive it as well.
But, God, how I don’t ever, ever want to know another day without Alexander Asher in my life.
When the elevator opens we are not in Asher’s office like I thought we were going to be. Instead, we are in a vestibule. The walls are black granite with a modern metal light fixture hanging from the ceiling. At the opposite end of the vestibule are black double doors. Instead of a lock, there is a security panel on the door. Alexander walks up to it and hits another series of buttons. The door unlocks. Turning around, he reaches out from my hand and escorts me inside.
We walk into a two-story living room with floor-to-ceiling windows void of curtains or drapes. I suppose at this height you don’t need privacy. A white marble fireplace surrounded by bookshelves is the focal point of the room; there’s a giant mirror above the mantle reflecting the black walls, glass tables, and a gray couch, which is the only color in the room. That is, if you consider a gray a color.
No pictures on the wall, no knickknacks or personality anywhere. It’s simple, clean, and completely barren of life.
I turn and ask where we are.
“This is my home.”
His home? To the left is a dining room of, again, black and glass and beyond that is a kitchen of . . . you guessed it. Don’t get me wrong, it’s stunning. Pin lights in the ceiling make the shiny surfaces gleam so brightly you can see your reflection. Every fixture is high-end and even the throw rugs scream expensive.
Alexander takes my coat off and hangs it in a closet in the foyer area. When he comes back, he offers me a drink but I decline. Seeing my curiosity in his apartment, he gives me a tour.