The Kiss Quotient (The Kiss Quotient #1)(93)

“Should I be worried?”

“Yes.”

“What are you going to . . .” The heat in his eyes stalled her words.

“Let’s go home.”

“Okay.”

Instead of leading her down the street toward her house, he brought her to a small silver Honda Civic and opened the passenger door for her. “I traded in my car,” he said with an awkward shrug.

She sat and buckled her seat belt, taking in the clean, nonleather interior of the car. Nothing about it reminded her of Aliza. “I like this better.”

“You would.” He smiled as he got behind the wheel. “I’m partnering with Quan to start a clothing line, and I needed startup funds. Since I quit escorting, there was no reason to keep that car.”

He was finally doing it—quitting escorting, taking chances, and making a name for himself. In that moment, he was so perfect to her she wanted to launch herself across the gearshift and kiss him until he was breathless.

“That’s great. I’m so happy for you, Michael.” But the thought of him selling his car because he needed money bothered her, especially when he’d returned her check. “Do you still have some of your mom’s medical bills to pay? Did the foundation’s medical assistance program fail to cover everything?”

He tilted his head as he frowned at her. “How do you know about my mom’s bills or the program?” After a moment’s hesitation, his eyes widened. “Was it you?”

She averted her eyes.

“It was you,” he said in a discovering voice. “How did you know about my mom’s lack of insurance?”

“That night at your apartment, I saw the bills, and I made the connection between the cost of her treatment and your escorting fees. I think . . . that’s when I fell all the way in love with you.”

A boyish grin spread over his lips. “I was going to get those words out of you in the most delicious way.” But then his smile vanished, replaced by a thoughtful line. “It must have cost a fortune. You started an entire medical program. Just how rich are you?”

She worried her bottom lip as she continued to hug the teddy bear. “I’m not that rich anymore. Well, I’m kind of rich. It depends on how you define it. You’re probably not going to like it. Are you sure you want to know?”

“Out with it, Stella.”

“I had a trust fund. There was about fifteen million dollars in it,” she said with a shrug. “I donated it to the Palo Alto Medical Foundation to start that medical program.”

“You gave away your entire trust fund? For me?”

“That’s kind of what you’re supposed to do with money like that, isn’t it? Give it away? I can support myself with my salary. It’s just money, Michael, and I couldn’t stand the idea that you were being forced into escorting. If you want to do it, that’s one thing. But if you don’t . . .” She shook her head. “I was determined to give you a choice. Besides, we’re helping lots of families now. It’s a good thing.”

“We?” He leaned forward and kissed her cheek, the corner of her mouth. “That was all you. That money was not mine.” He pressed a series of kisses to her lips. “Thank you for giving me that choice so I could pick you. Thank you for being you. I love you.”

She couldn’t help smiling then. She didn’t think she’d ever get tired of hearing him say that. “Now I can say my boyfriend is a designer with complete confidence. That is, if you are my boyfriend. Are you?”

Instead of answering right away, he started the engine and drove out of the parking lot. Eyes on the road and voice casual, he said, “I better be your boyfriend. Since I’m asking you to marry me in three months.”

Stella’s jaw dropped as shock washed over her in waves that alternated between hot and cold. “Why are you telling me this?”

A small smile played on his lips as he darted a quick glance her way before focusing on the road once again. “Because you don’t like surprises, and I figured you’d need time to get used to the idea.”

He was right about that, but before she could dwell on it too much, he dropped one of his hands from the wheel and caught hers, interlacing their fingers the way he always did.

Saying nothing, she let the moment wash over her, the uncertainty, the breathless hope, the anxiousness, and the shimmering contentment. The sight of their intertwined hands pleased her. So different, but still five fingers and five knuckles, the same general blueprint.

She tightened her grip, and he squeezed her back. Palm to palm, two lonely halves found comfort together.





EPILOGUE


FOUR MONTHS LATER


Stella strolled down a quiet sidewalk in San Francisco’s warehouse district, a discreet corner of town inhabited by several West Coast–based fashion businesses. After opening an unmarked door, she entered an industrial space consisting of steel walls, cement floors, and exposed ceilings.

A photo shoot was in progress on the far side of the room, and Stella smiled as she took in the models showcasing Michael’s latest designs. It was barely autumn, but the models presented his winter line. Children ranging in age from preschool to tween posed in exquisitely tailored, miniature suits, vests with matching newsboy caps, sweater dresses, and fur-trimmed mantles.