Proposing to Preston (The Winslow Brothers, #2)(30)

***

Elise slept for ten hours on Friday night and just as he’d promised, Preston slept in the guest room and arranged for a car to take her to Lincoln Center at five forty-five a.m. with instructions for hot tea and a croissant waiting in the backseat.

“Give me your keys,” he said, nuzzling her neck as he said goodbye on the sidewalk in front of his apartment building, still barefooted, wearing pajama bottoms and a T-shirt.

“Why?” she asked, leaning back, but staring at his lips. He almost chuckled. He loved how much he affected her.

“Because I’m going to go get your stuff and bring it to my place today so you can come home and relax after rehearsal.”

“Home?” she asked, grinning up at him, her blue eyes sparkling.

“Temporarily,” he said quickly, smiling back.

He hated saying it, but he had the feeling that she wouldn’t have been able to accept the arrangement if there was anything permanent about it. For her to feel okay about it, he needed to be helping her out of a temporary jam. But with any luck, she’d never leave. He crossed his fingers behind her back.

“Pres,” she said, shaking her head, “that’s just weird. You’re going to go pack my underwear and stuff? No. Not happening. We’ll do it together after rehearsal. Besides, you need to study today.”

Hmmm. Her underwear. He hadn’t given it a lot of thought, but this moving thing was going to be a lot more fun than he’d originally thought.

“I’ll study tonight while you’re sleeping and I promise to close my eyes when I pack your underwear,” he said, holding up three fingers like a boy scout. “Come on. You said that movers came for everything except the bed and couch and that the rental place where Neve got them are picking them up on Tuesday. That leaves…what?”

“My books and clothes. Toiletries. A few groceries.”

She shrugged, and he knew she’d listed the extent of her belongings. It didn’t sound like much and that made him feel a little bad. She had so little that belonged to her.

“Doesn’t sound like much in the way of heavy lifting,” he said, winking at her so she’d relax. “Let me do it. Please.”

Her shoulders slumped in defeat and she rooted around in her bag for her keys, holding them out to him with a slightly worried look.

He grinned. “I’ll close my eyes.”

“Promise?”

“No.”

Taking the keys from her before she could pull them away, he pressed a kiss to her nose, then helped her into the cab.

“I’ll be at the fountain at six,” he said.

“It’s my favorite time of the day.”

“Kiss me,” he said, reaching for her soft cheeks and leaning down to capture her lips with his.

After she was moaning and breathless, he let her go, stepping back onto the curb and slamming the cab door. He waved as it pulled away from the sidewalk, his heart hammering with the strength of his growing feelings.

Last night when he’d asked her to move in, he didn’t think there was much of a chance that she would say yes, but from the moment he understood the problem she was facing, it was the solution that had made the most sense, and although sleeping in the guest room while she was sleeping in his bed was torture on one hand, he’d also felt a profound peace last night knowing that she was so close. She was safe and sound, sleeping in his bed. She was allowing him to take care of her and it moved him in ways he didn’t expect. He felt protective of her and possessive of her, but he also really liked her, and having her in his space felt so right, he also just felt…good.

It had been hard stopping their make-out session last night, but after a while, it had started to become painful. He wanted her so badly and she was so hot and needy beneath him, rising to meet his instinctive thrusts, moaning as he pillaged her mouth and molded the soft flesh of her breasts with his palms. At one point, he’d brushed his thumb over the stiff point of her nipple and she’d gasped and whimpered into his mouth, bowing her back so he’d have better access to her. She was so innocent, but her body kept meeting his, cradling his, seeking his—she welcomed his tongue into her mouth, his touch through her T-shirt. He didn’t want to push her, but what he knew (and she didn’t) was that if—or when—they ever made love, their chemistry ensured it would be nothing short of combustible. Once that thought had entered his brain, he’d been unable to evict it, and he’d finally had to roll off of her, regretfully making his way into the guest bathroom where he took a miserable, long, cold shower.

When he came out, he’d peeked in his bedroom, only to find her snuggled under his covers, her cheek on his pillow, her tired eyes closed as her chest rose and fell with sleep. He’d brushed the hair away from her forehead, kissed her tenderly and pulled the door closed. She needed to sleep, and he was grateful to provide her a place to catch up.

And today she’d be moving in with him. He told himself that asking her to move in with him was an opportunity for him to prove that his feelings for her weren’t based on their sexual chemistry. Having her in his space wasn’t just about getting in her pants (though he’d be a big, fat liar if he said he wasn’t hopeful), but more importantly, about letting her know how desperately he was falling for her and solidifying his place in her heart.