by Elise Faber
The mirroring of her own thoughts should have been funny.
Except . . . what? Sending tall, dark, and who?
But before she could ask that, Stef sent a picture of Brad, a vase of flowers in his hand as he placed snacks on a rolling table.
He says you arranged everything. Surgery is over, obviously. Apparently, it was less complicated than they thought.
Heidi blinked, her fingers starting to type out a reply. But her cell buzzed again before she got there.
Thank you. I know I said I was fine, but even though I didn’t want to admit it, I was scared. Knowing that someone was out there in the waiting room, looking after me, even though you’d sent him, made me feel better.
She’d typed out another reply, something that probably barely made sense, because her mind was spinning. But that was okay, because she still didn’t get to send it.
Her cell vibrated one last time.
Tell me all about it in the morning. Visiting hours are over, and I’m going to zonk out.
Heidi stared at her phone screen for several moments then shook her head. And . . . then her gaze alighted on something else, something she’d missed when she’d first stumbled her way inside.
Her books were on her bookshelf. On the proper bookshelf—that being her To Be Read shelf. In the proper order—that being separated by genre then alphabetized by author name.
All except the title she’d been waffling about purchasing. The pretty US cover was slotted right next to the UK one on her already read shelves.
The hospital.
Her condo.
The books.
Her friend.
Brad, the Unicorn known as Brad, had some explaining to do.
Seventeen
Brad
The knock at his door made him frown.
It was late, and even though his family was pushy, they would definitely call first, especially considering it was nearing midnight.
Someone must be confused, knocking at the wrong apartment.
Maybe a DoorDash had gone wrong.
Sighing when the knock came again, he set aside his book—the thriller he’d picked up earlier that day, and one that also had him wondering whether it was Russian mafia men or a terrifying serial killer on the other side of that wood—and made his way to the door.
He checked the peephole—because Russian mafia men and terrifying serial killers—but when he saw who was on the other side, his mouth dropped open, and he scrambled to release the dead bolt.
“Heidi!” he exclaimed the moment he’d wrenched open the door. “What are you—?”
She poked a finger into his chest. “You,” she snapped then slipped by him, striding into his apartment, her shining brown hair fanning out behind her like a cape. “You!” she exclaimed, spinning around to face him while he locked up. Her hands were on her hips, her legs were clad in pajamas, and her eyes flashed.
“Me?” he asked when it appeared that was all she was going to say.
Her lips pressed flat. Her chin lifted. “Why?” she asked. “Why did you do it?”
His brows drew together. “The books?” He figured it was time to fess up. “I borrowed your spare key that night when you were hurt. It was there on your little organizer thing, and I didn’t want you to be sleeping with an unlocked door, and I know it was probably an invasion of your privacy to keep it, but I’ve been staying late and didn’t want you to have to worry about getting up.” He shrugged helplessly. “I probably shouldn’t have used it today, but I just figured you might like to read one of the books you bought—”
“You bought.”
He paused. “What?”
“You bought the books,” she said. “Not me.”
“I . . .” He hesitated, not sure where she was going with this. Her fury seemed to have dimmed somewhat, but she was still standing there, looking fierce and ready to avenge crimes. “I told you, we could figure that out later.”
“It’s later.” She took a step toward him.
“Okaaay.” He glanced around. “I probably have the receipt around here somewhere.”
She took another step, her expression so intense that he found himself wondering about serial killers again. “But this isn’t about the books,” she said, coming even closer, until her scent filled his nostrils, until the soft curves of her breasts came into contact with his chest.
Between her smell, her body, the way she kept coming closer, until her front was flush against his, and he wasn’t operating on all cylinders. “It isn’t?” he asked, confusion battling with desire now.
He pushed the latter down. He didn’t want to fuck things up with this woman.
Even though every cell in his body was telling him to yank her close and kiss her senseless, to haul her behind the screen and have a repeat of the night a few months ago.
She shook her head. “No.”
“What is it about then?”
A sexy smile curving lips begging to be kissed, but her eyes were serious and sitting heavy on his. “Stef.”
Oh. Shit.
She reached up and cupped his jaw. “Why did you do it?”
He could do nothing but tell her the truth. “You were worried about her.” A shrug. “I saw her room number and the hospital on the note you wrote. I figured I’d just poke my head in and make sure she didn’t need anything.”
“And you brought her flowers?”
Shit. Was that what this was about? Did she think that because he brought Stef flowers that he was trying to hit on another woman? That he didn’t want Heidi? That couldn’t be further from the truth.
“Baby—”
“And snacks.”
“I—uh—she’s important to you and—”
Heidi rose on tiptoe and kissed him.
Brad felt as though he’d been electrocuted, the sensation was so acute, so absolute. Heat seared into him, arrowing straight for his cock. He froze for one long moment, reveling in the feel of her against him, her lips tangling with his, before he remembered he could touch.
Wrapping his arms around her waist, he pulled her even closer until he couldn’t be sure where he ended and she began. Curves filling his palms, a soft mouth on his, her tongue a sleek dart in his mouth. He gave into his earlier urge, sweeping her up into his arms, groaning when she straddled his hips, thighs clamping around his pelvis and rocking against the hard length of his erection.
And then he carried her behind the screen to his bed.
Heidi tugged her mouth from his when he laid her on the mattress, following her down, sprawling beside her, the haze of desire edging into his vision. “You brought her flowers, you wonderful man.” She cupped his cheeks, holding him still when he went to kiss her again. “And her favorite snacks, apparently. How did you know?”
He shrugged. “I didn’t. I just made an educated guess based on how much you’ve been raving about those chocolate-covered pretzels,” he admitted. “And then I figured I couldn’t go wrong with Molly’s.” A smile. “Someone really smart might have mentioned that to me once or twice.”
Her lips tipped up. “As I said, you wonderful man.”
“You’re not mad?”
Now her eyes danced with humor. “Does it seem like I’m mad?”
“Actually, now that you mention it . . .”
She snorted. “Shut up and kiss me before I forget how wonderful you are.”
That was an exceptionally easy order for him to follow.
He lowered his mouth to hers . . .
And sparks.
Her fingers dug into his shoulders, kneading the muscles there, pulling him closer until he was fully on top of her, feeling every glorious curve. He had an immediate sense of belonging, of coming home, of . . .
Heidi.
Her scent, spicy and floral, filling his nose. Her lips parting so he could sweep his tongue inside. Her legs falling open, bringing their hips in perfect alignment. Desire was a rapidly growing tempest, yanking him this way and that, reminding him of how go
od it had been between them, the memories of all the places she liked to be touched, of how she liked to be touched flooding forward.
He wanted to do everything at once, needed to stroke and lick, to tear off her clothes and plunge home, to—
His conscience dug its claws sharply into the sides of his brain and shook it fiercely.
Because it had been two weeks since he’d begun his campaign to win her over.
Only two weeks.
And if he really wanted to show her that he was going to stick around, he couldn’t just fall into bed with her again. Well, they were already in bed, but he couldn’t sleep with her until she knew—
A moan slipped past her lips, vibrating into his mouth, her tongue twining with his, those legs that had fallen open lifting to wrap tightly around his waist.
Naked.
He needed her naked.
His conscience gripped tighter, dug those claws in further, shook him even more intensely.
Wrenching his head back, he broke the kiss, though one look at Heidi’s face nearly had his conscience’s hooks dislodging. Grabbing on to the threads of his control, he rested his forehead on her shoulder, sweat prickling on his nape, breaths coming in rapid intervals.
But being this close to her fabulous set of breasts didn’t help his cause either.
Because they were inches away and tempting him and—
He sat up, put the entire length of the mattress between them.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
Brad wasn’t able to form words yet. His cock had a fucking heartbeat and was pressing against the zipper of his jeans with a persistent ache that had him very close to forgetting why he’d backed off in the first place.
Which was why his only answer was a shake of his head.
The bed dipped, the consequence of his non-answer being that she came closer. Normally, a perfectly acceptable reaction. Normally, something he would have loved. But right then, right in that moment with him trying to remember all the reasons he could not jump on top of her like a rabid beast and have his merry way with her? Right then, her coming closer wasn’t ideal.
She pressed close to his side, and fuck, that was heaven and hell all at the same time. Curves and woman—no, this woman. Because Heidi was temptation personified.
But she needed to know that he wasn’t back in her life looking for a fantastic night. She had to understand what she meant to him, even if he’d only just discerned the meaning himself. He wanted this woman to comprehend the change she’d jumpstarted, the things she’d made him realize about himself, and she . . .
Fuck, he needed this woman to understand that he loved her.
That he’d fallen that first night and had run because she’d pushed beyond the barriers surrounding his heart, even if he hadn’t quite understood the panicked reaction until two weeks before, until that conversation with Jaime.
Because she also needed to know what she was getting into, what baggage he was carrying and how it might bleed over.
Hell, most sane people would say that his life for the past decade was a giant red flag, littered as it was with lost friendships and relationships that had never gotten off the ground because half of their party—him—had quite literally flown away whenever he got the whim.
But Heidi needed to know that he didn’t have the whim now, and that when he did travel, he wanted it to be with her by his side.
And how was she going to believe that, huh, genius?
He’d been back for all of a month, had spent even less time than that with her. Why would she think that anything about him had changed or would change or—
She placed her hand on his thigh, making him jump and lurch away from the contact. Because he wanted to move closer. Fuck. His breath sawed in and out. His—
“D-do—”
The word was tentative enough that his eyes flew from the ground, from where he’d been counting the grains in the piece of hardwood floor at his feet, up to hers, up to collide with tentative hazel eyes that socked him in the gut.
“Do what?” he asked.
Pink on her cheeks, her eyes darting away. “Do you not . . .” A sigh before her chin rose. “Do you not want me that way?”
Eighteen
Heidi
“What?” he roared, closing the distance between them and all but hauling her into his lap. He grabbed her hand, brought it toward his hips, pressing it firmly against the hard length of his erection.
Her fingers convulsed instinctively, wrapping around his cock as much as they were able through the fabric of his jeans.
He groaned, dropped his forehead to hers. “That’s how much I want you. You breathe, and I’m hard. You smile, and I’m aching. You laugh and I’m ready to tear your clothes off.”
“But . . .” she whispered.
“But what?”
Embarrassment flooded through her, but she had to know, had to make sure that she hadn’t imagined . . . well, hadn’t made things bigger in her head than they were in real life. “But . . . things were just getting good, and then you stopped.”
Brad froze.
Then he grinned, a hot, slow smile that she felt trickle along every nerve ending.
“What?” she asked.
The pale lighting brought out the golden hues hidden in his deep brown hair, made the stubble on his cheeks seem even darker. But it was his eyes that held her in place, that made her heart skip a beat.
He stood, bringing her with him, then walked toward the headboard, positioning them both so they were resting with their backs against it.
Or rather, he had his back against it.
She was able to relax in the enviable circle of his arms, sitting on his lap, her shoulder against his chest, but best of all was the way his arms wrapped around her, drawing her close to his body, holding her tightly. She was protected, cared for, held as though she were important.
“Okay,” he said. “I’m only going to say this once.” He paused, waited until her gaze came to his. “You are quite literally the woman that I want most in this world. And I’ve been to a shit-ton of places,” he added, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “So you can know that I’m not spouting bullshit. Also, by want, I mean sexually. Refer back to all that breathing, smiling, laughing, and my cock feeling like it’s going to break in half stuff I mentioned previously.”
His fingers brushed the shell of her ear, making her shiver and drift closer, until she could feel his next words glaze her lips. “But, also, more importantly, by want, I mean I can honestly say that you are the first woman I’ve ever spent time with who’s made me look inside and recognize that I have some shitty characteristics that I need to change.”
She frowned, but he dropped a finger to her lips before she could protest.
“I hurt you,” he whispered, his tone making her lungs seize, her heart convulse because there was so much pain in those words, “and I will regret doing that for the rest of my life.”
“I’m okay,” she whispered.
He smiled gently. “Of course, you are. Because you’re smart and capable and beautiful, and you don’t let dumbasses like me ruin your groove.”
Laughter bubbled up in her chest, but she held it back. “That’s true,” she said instead, keeping her tone light.
“But,” he said. “I did hurt you, and I hate that I did, and”—a sharp sigh—“well, the truth is that I didn’t even understand why I’d done it, why I’d panicked and run until two weeks ago.”
She rested her hand on his shoulder, kneaded the tight muscles there. “Why did you panic and run?”
“Because you were different.”
Maybe the words should have hurt her feelings—being different wasn’t typically good in these scenarios—but instead, she understood at least part of what he was saying.
Because he’d been different, too.
“Baby,” she whispered.
“No,” he said. “Just let me get this out, okay? And then you can decide if you’re going
to walk out that door, like I probably deserve, or . . .”
“Or what?” she asked after a few moments when he hadn’t finished the thought.
“Or”—his hands came to her jaw, cupping it gently—“if you’ll let me keep you forever.”
Her pulse had slowed from the frenzied tattoo of their kissing, a steady and calm thrum-thrum, thrum-thrum, thrum-thrum that was pumping blood evenly through her veins. But his words sent it into warp speed, carousing through her body, vibrating in her fingertips, galloping through her legs, whirling through her brain.
“For-forever?”
Gentle, still so gentle, but his eyes, they held a touch of humor. “Yes,” he said. “Forever. That’s what people do when they find the one person on this planet who’s destinated for them above all others.”
That almost poetry sang to a part of her—the piece that had been devastated when she’d woken alone that day only a few months before, the same piece that understood what he was saying, that felt the same, that wanted that forever.
The rest of her . . . was overwhelmed.
She hardly knew this man.
But . . . was that really accurate?
True, they hadn’t logged a lot of hours together yet, but she had seen so many of the important things. His time with Stef, the books, the date, the dinners and ice cream and movies and bad reality TV. The way he made her laugh and was quick to do so at himself. He was a good man—she knew that in her bones, knew it with as much certainty as she understood how many electrons orbited an atom of helium (that being two).
She’d already decided she wasn’t a coward.
She’d already decided she was going to see where things went with this man.
So, why couldn’t it be forever?
Why not her? Why not this wonderful man?
With the sun long set, with neighbors overhead clomping noisily across the ceiling, with a lovely, funny, sexy man in front of her, saying he wanted her . . . why couldn’t that be?
There wasn’t any reason.
