Stone Rules (A Mitchell Sisters/Stone Brothers Novel)

by Samantha Christy

  I make quick work of picking out two perfect steaks at the market. Now that Charlie’s morning sickness has passed, she’s developed a strong craving for meat, and I’m all about satisfying her cravings. I grab the biggest strawberries I can find along with chocolate I plan to melt for dipping.

  When I arrive home, the first thing I do is change my clothes. It’s become quite evident to me over the past few months that Charlie much prefers me in jeans over my usual work attire. So I swap my linen pants, white shirt and black tie for blue jeans and a t-shirt that I bought because I think it’s the exact shade of her eyes. I don’t bother with shoes or socks. That’s one more thing I’ve come to know about her, she thinks my bare feet are sexy. She’s always staring at them when we get out of the pool.

  Hell, I don’t care if she thinks my bony kneecaps are sexy. Whatever turns her on is fine by me—as long as it’s something. And I see it. I see it in her eyes every time we're together. She wants this as much as I do. But now she’s the one who’s scared.

  It’s all part of tonight’s plan—to show her how serious I am about her. About us. About this baby whom I’ve considered my own since the moment she told me she was pregnant.

  I busy myself with dinner preparations to keep my mind occupied. I told her I’d send a car for her but she would have nothing to do with it. So I texted her the address of my building and told her the doorman would be expecting her.

  When my doorbell rings, my heart races like a goddamn teenage boy about to get a handy. I look around to make sure everything is in place. The flowers were delivered, and to my surprise, Gretchen did a great job on the order. I lit a few candles. I have soft music playing in the background. It’s perfect. Well, I think it is anyway. I’ve never done this before. Maybe I don’t have a fucking clue and I’ve just gone so overboard I’ll scare her away. Shit.

  But it’s too late now, I’ve already spent so much time worrying over it, she probably thinks I’m not going to answer the door. I don’t even have time to blow out the candles before I race over to let her in.

  When I open the door, she sticks her head in before the rest of her body. She looks around and takes everything in. “The penthouse?” she asks. “You could have told me you were Richie Rich, Ethan.”

  Chapter Thirty-five

  She looks down at the bottle of wine in her hand. “I feel really stupid bringing you a fifteen-dollar bottle of wine.”

  I laugh. “I’m not Richie Rich,” I tell her. Then I take the bottle from her. “And I love this wine. You remembered?”

  A few weeks ago we went to a hamburger joint because Charlie was having a craving. I rarely drink around her because I don’t want her to feel deprived that she can’t. But that particular night, someone was having a party and they were passing out wine so I accepted a glass. I told her how much I liked it.

  And she remembered. I can’t stop my boyish grin.

  I kiss her on the cheek and invite her in. I follow behind her as she walks around the expansive open-style floorplan, taking in everything slowly. Her eyes rake over my brown leather sofas, my ten-seat dining room table that has never sat more than one, my chef’s kitchen that usually gets used for microwaving frozen meals or reheating take-out.

  She walks to the wall of windows, admiring the floor-to-ceiling panoramic view of the city. “You’re loaded,” she says, turning to me and swatting me on the arm.

  “Me personally, no,” I say, earning a you’re-full-of-shit look from Charlie. “Okay, well, technically, yes. But I didn’t earn it so I never look at it that way. My grandparents were very well off and when they died, they pretty much left everything to my brothers and me.”

  “They cut your parents out of their will?” she asks, surprised.

  “Believe me, they didn’t need the money,” I tell her, reminding her they are both doctors. “When you put a neurosurgeon and a neonatal cardiothoracic specialist together, that makes for one hell of an income.”

  “When did your grandparents pass away?” she asks.

  “My grandfather died about six years ago. He was eighty-one years old. He was sitting at his desk when he had a massive heart attack. When my grandmother found him, his glasses were still perched on his face. He died instantly. Peacefully.”

  “I’m sorry,” she says, touching my arm, looking up at me in sympathy. I know she knows I’m thinking about Cat. Every time I think about death, I think about her. They go hand in hand.

  I take the opportunity to put my arm around her as we both admire the view. “He had a great life and was healthy right up until the day he died. He was lucky.”

  “And your grandma?”

  “She was lost without him. They had been married for sixty-three years. Got married as teens and never spent a day apart. I never understood how you could be with someone day in and day out and not ever get sick of them. Not until I met you, that is.” I lean over and place a kiss on her head.

  “You aren’t ready to toss me to the curb yet?”

  “Never.” I run my hand along her jaw, wanting to kiss her, but needing to finish my story. “Anyway, my grandmother died on the day that would have been their sixty-fourth anniversary just ten months later. They said the sorrow of that day more than likely caused her own heart to simply fail. Tragic, but in kind of an awesome way if you think about it.”

  “Wow,” she says. “I love that story. You should tell Baylor; she’d probably write a book about it.” She motions around the penthouse. “So you inherited all this when you were only twenty-two?”

  I nod. “Yes. And my brothers were pissed as hell because they were younger than me. They weren’t allowed to touch their part of it until they turned twenty-one.”

  “And by that time, Chad was already into acting,” she says, knowing pretty much everything about my family. “But Kyle still decided to go to medical school? Even though he had all that money waiting for him?”

  “People who want to be doctors are a rare breed, Charlie. They don’t do it for the money, yet most of them make bucket-loads of it. They don’t do it for the glory, yet most of them are heroes. And Kyle is just like my parents. It didn’t matter if he inherited two dollars or two million; he was going to become a doctor no matter what.”

  “I like Kyle even more now,” she says.

  My jaw tightens. “Just don’t like him too much. I don’t like to share, Charlie.”

  She laughs, pulling away from me to continue her perusal of the room. “I love the flowers.” She walks over and smells one of the red roses. “The rest of the place is so masculine; they really soften it up.”

  “I’m glad you think so. Maybe someday, the entire penthouse will have a woman’s touch.” I raise my eyebrows at her so she gets my meaning.

  “Hmmm.” She walks over and runs her hands across the sleek quartz countertops, ignoring my insinuation. She looks at the oversized oven, double-wide refrigerator, and wine cooler that line one entire wall of the large kitchen. “Skylar would drool over this kitchen, Ethan.”

  “We should invite her over sometime,” I say.

  “We?” she asks.

  “Hmmm,” I respond, making her smile. “Are you hungry? I could throw on the steaks.”

  She licks her lips. “Steak sounds heavenly. I’ll help. But can we wait a bit? I’d love to see the rest of your place. That is if you don’t mind.”

  I was hoping she would say that. But at the same time, I’m terrified of what she’ll think. “Right this way.” I hold my hand out to her and she grabs it.

  I’ll never get tired of holding her hand. Charlie is tall. Much taller than Cara was, or even Gretchen. Taller than any girl I’ve ever been with. And because of that, her hands are longer, sleeker than the others, and they don’t get lost in mine.

  I take her down the east hallway first. It’s the safest place to start. This is where I have my home office. Across from that is my workout room. And down at the end of the hall is a home theater.

  “How do you live in such an extrav
agant place, yet you seem to live such a regular life? I mean, you take me out for burgers instead of Filet Mignon. You take cabs instead of having your own car and driver.”

  “Oh, I have a car . . . er, cars. I just don’t use them much. I grew up with money, Charlie, as I’m sure you did before you left home, although I know you didn’t get to see the benefits of it like I did. It’s not a big deal to me. I mean, yes, it’s great. And it makes life a lot easier. But—rule number fifteen—money doesn’t always make life better.”

  She narrows her eyes at me, chewing on the inside of her cheek in thought. “What happened to rule fourteen?”

  So she has been paying attention. “Oh, did I skip one?”

  “Yes, you did.”

  “Hmmm.” I shrug, leading her through the doorway into the theater room.

  “You know, you’ll have to deal with your own inheritance soon enough,” I tell her. “Have you made any plans for that yet?”

  “No. I’m not even sure I want her money, Ethan. The first life insurance check came a few days ago. I put it up on the refrigerator. I couldn’t get myself to deposit it in the bank. I feel like it’s blood money.”

  I turn her toward me and put my hands on her shoulders. “Deposit the check, Charlie. It won’t do anyone any good if you don’t, least of all your mother. You deserve it. You deserve it and so much more. If you don’t want it for yourself, then donate it to charity. But don’t not take the money just to spite her.”

  “You’re right.” She nods her head in hesitant agreement. “I know you’re right. It’s just hard that’s all. I know I need to deposit it. How else am I going to pay you?”

  “You’re not going to pay me, Charlie. It’s already off the books, so don’t even try.”

  “But you used resources to help me, Ethan. It wouldn’t be fair.”

  I motion my hand around the massive room we’re still standing in. The one with the fifteen-foot projection screen. “Do I look like I won’t survive if I don’t get a couple of hundred bucks?” I ask her.

  “That’s not the point,” she pouts. “I’m paying you. You can donate it to charity if you want.”

  “Touché.” I laugh, knowing I’ve lost this one.

  “Come on.” She tugs on my hand. “Show me the rest.”

  We walk back down the hallway and through the living room to the west wing. I feel a little uneasy as we make our way towards the bedrooms. I show her the guest room my mother decorated. And then I take her to the master bedroom at the end of the hall. The master has the same view as the living room, looking out onto the city through a wall of windows.

  She gasps at the view I wake up to every day. “How do you ever sleep with all the sunlight that comes in?” she asks.

  I walk over to the bedside table and push a button on the remote. Room-darkening shades travel down the entire length of the windows, sealing at the bottom, making the room almost completely dark.

  She’s standing near the doorway, so she becomes this enchanting silhouette, shrouded by the dim light from the kitchen down the hall. She’s turned slightly to the side and for the first time, I notice the distinct roundness of her baby bump and the sight of it takes my breath away. It takes every ounce of my will not to throw her onto my bed and claim her as mine.

  “Can I see the bathroom, or is that too personal?” she asks, breaking my moment of magic.

  I open the shades, letting light back into the dark room as I wave her into the bathroom.

  “Holy shit,” she says, when she sees it.

  There are two separate vanities on either side of the bathroom, each end of which leads back to one side of a massive shower that meets in the middle and overlooks a sunken tub that sits in the center of the large room. The tub has pillars on all four sides, making it look like something out of a Greek play.

  I’ve always thought the bathroom was a bit over-the-top, especially for a single guy. But the way she looks at it, like how a starving man eyes a steak, I realize I’ve never liked it more. I think about how much I would like to see her makeup on the vanity. Her shampoo in the shower. Her clothes in my closet.

  “Just . . . wow,” she says, admiring every inch of it the way I want her to admire every inch of me.

  I’m jealous of a damn bathroom.

  “Come on,” I say. “There is one more room for you to see.”

  We walk back out into the hallway and I point to a closed door across from the master.

  “Why is the door closed?” she asks. “And why do you look so nervous?” Her hand comes up to cover her mouth and she squeals. “Oh, my God. Don’t tell me you have a playroom. As in whips and cattails and red leather couches with handcuffs?”

  I laugh. “You read too much,” I say.

  “I didn’t read it,” she replies. “I saw the movie.”

  “No, Charlie. It’s not a playroom. But now that you mention it, would you have been upset if it had been?”

  Now both of us are laughing. And I’m glad, because the tension I’m feeling over what’s behind that door was getting to be more than I could take.

  “Go ahead, open it,” I tell her.

  She slowly steps towards the door, turning the knob carefully as if she’s afraid of what’s on the other side. When she sees the room, she gasps. She gasps harder and deeper than she did when she saw the view from the bedroom. And then she turns to me, tears pooling in her eyes. “You made a nursery?”

  Chapter Thirty-six

  “Well, Dr. Chavis did say we could start planning. I’m planning.”

  I watch her look around the room that I decorated in yellows and greens. Although I hired someone to paint it, I did most of the decorating myself. I put together the crib, the changing table, the glider-rocker. I even had an artist paint a mural on the wall.

  Charlie’s hand comes up to cover her mouth when she sees it. I hope I didn’t overstep my bounds on this one. We’ve talked a lot over the last few months. She told me about the mural painted on the wall in her childhood bedroom of the unicorn that protected her during those devastating years. The one she has tattooed on her inner thigh. I mulled it over for days. Would it bring back horrible memories, or would it inspire hope?

  “I can paint over it if you want. I just thought—”

  “That it would protect him,” she says, tears streaming down her face.

  “Yes.” I nod.

  She goes over to the wall to touch it, her hands shaking as her fingers trace the outline.

  “Shit, Charlie. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

  She shakes her head, wiping her tears. “No. No. It’s perfect, Ethan. But why did you do all this? Do you want the baby to stay here sometimes?” She motions around the room. “It’s so much.”

  “Sometimes?” I say, my voice dripping with incredulity. “All the time.” I walk over and turn her around so she’s facing me. I take her hands in mine. “Him. Her. You. I want you both here. I want you to live with me, Charlie. I want us to live together as a family.”

  Her hands start shaking again.

  “This is when I ask you to marry me again.”

  “But what if . . .” She looks around the room. I know what she’s asking.

  “Charlie, over the past two months, we’ve talked about every what if there could be. Don’t you know by now how much I love you? How much I love this baby? And you can deny it all you want, but I know you feel the same way about me. I know you’ve felt it for a long time.”

  “How?” she asks. “I mean, if I can’t be sure, how can you be?”

  “Because it was all over your face the last time we made love, and pretty much every day since.”

  She looks up at me in disbelief.

  “Don’t believe me? I’ll show you.”

  “Show me?” she asks.

  “Yes. Come on.” I pull her down the hallway, back through the living room and into my office. I sit down on my desk chair and pull her onto my lap. I use the mouse to click through a few screens on my computer and pu
ll up a video.

  When she realizes what I’m showing her, she looks at me with her jaw wide open and her face blazing with a blush. “Oh my God, Ethan. Have you watched this before?”

  “I’m a guy.” I shrug. “Of course I’ve watched it.”

  “But no one else has, right?”

  “I’ve told you before, Charlie. I don’t like to share.” I pull her tightly against me, her back to my front. “Watch with me. I want you to see what I see every time I look at you.”

  She doesn’t move a muscle as she watches the video footage from that day in my office. She watches herself beg me to touch her. She watches us kiss for endless minutes, clawing at each other to get as close as we can physically get. She watches us tear each other’s clothes off and then she watches as I go down on her. And the whole time, I’m watching her.

  I’m already rock hard and her sitting on my lap is making me throb painfully. The video is affecting her, too. She starts squirming around as she watches my tongue lash her, my fingers enter her.

  I finally turn my eyes to the screen and we watch together as she implements rule number sixty-nine. “Still my favorite rule,” I whisper in her ear. My hands come up to touch her. I can’t not touch her when I’m watching us do this to each other. I want to do all that and more. And her body’s reaction tells me she wants it, too. But I need her to see it. I need her to see what I see.

  When we start to make love in the video, her breath hitches and I know she sees it. She sees her face the moment I enter her. And when we orgasm together, she sees our powerful connection. The undeniable force. The overwhelming love that passes between us.

  “Oh God, Ethan,” she says breathlessly, turning herself around in my lap so she’s straddling me.

  “You saw it, didn’t you?” I ask. “You can’t deny it anymore. That is the look I see every time I kiss you. Every time I walk into a room and our eyes meet. Every time we are together, that is how you look at me. You love me, Charlie. Dammit, why can’t you just admit it?”