by Amelia Wilde
I already look like a crazy fucking stalker. It’s been more than enough for one day.
But I can’t give up.
I open her contact on my phone, my thumb hovering over the button that would open a text message.
I didn’t want to resort to this. I wanted to find her, surprise her, show her that I would go to any lengths to let her know how I feel.
I don’t think I have any other options.
I swallow the hard lump of my pride. That’s what this means, then. If I’d go to any lengths, then here I am. At the end of the line.
It was pride that tore me apart from her in the first place. It’s my own damn fault that I wasn’t willing to listen to her, to see her side of the story. All I cared about was that she was snooping—and not even that. That she might find out the details of my past that I’d rather forget, and then she would know that someone out there managed to threaten Ace Kingsley. And almost managed to get away with it entirely. If it weren’t for a few upstanding men in the Italian justice system, I might be rotting away in one of their prisons right now, my fortune collecting interest and me without the slightest ability to use it to save myself.
I stand there for another five minutes trying to craft a text message that will make her want to see me again.
I’m sorry, I start out. I should have listened to your side of the story.
I delete the entire thing and start over.
I shouldn’t have done what I did.
No. This sounds like I’m admitting to the murder, which would be a damn fool thing to even begin to suggest, even by accident.
Please come back to me. I can’t live without you.
I might be desperate, but even now, I can’t bring myself to send that in a message. It’s the unembellished truth, but if I’m going to say this to Carolyn, I’m going to say it to her face.
I open up another message, and I very nearly text Noah, asking him what to say.
No!
I run a hand through my hair again and take a deep breath. What the fuck is wrong with me? I’m in love with a woman, but that doesn’t have to shatter me.
If she walks away for good, yes, that might destroy me. But not forever.
Just send the text, Kingsley.
I tap out the words and send them before I have another moment to second guess myself yet again.
I’d really like to talk to you. Will you be home soon?
It has far less of a stalker vibe than several of the other messages I considered, even though at this point I’m almost totally unconcerned with seeming overzealous. I just have to see her.
What if she doesn’t want to see you?
I dismiss the thought the moment it enters my mind. It’s too horrible to consider, that I might have spent the day trying to find the woman I love only to be dismissed at her doorstep.
Speaking of, I should probably get the hell away from her doorway. If she’s not at home—which she almost certainly is not, unless she’s had the strength of will to ignore me knocking for the last twenty minutes—then eventually she’s going to return, and it’s not exactly the most attractive place to be, hovering outside her door, waiting like a lovesick puppy.
You might as well be a lovesick puppy.
True or not, I wrench myself away from the door and head for the elevator.
Step one: I need to tell Noah to keep an eye out for Carolyn and let me know when she’s back in the building. That way, I’ll know if she’s decided not to see me. Step two: Go back to the penthouse and wait to see if she’s going to have me or not.
The elevator door opens and I step on.
This is going to be the longest wait of my life.
Chapter 47
Carolyn
My financial manager and realtor cannot come to a consensus about what the right thing to do is in my situation. The realtor, Angie, thinks that I could make an absolute killing on the sale of the apartment and the storefront. Of course, if I make a killing, her cut will be substantial.
Meanwhile, Scott Richards is still arguing in favor of, as he calls it, “maintaining my assets” even if I decide to leave the city.
“It makes the most financial sense in the long run,” he’s telling her over the phone when my cab pulls up to the curb outside my building. There’s a strange energy coursing through me that I’m absolutely going to take advantage of, and right now. My first call when I get upstairs is going to be to one of the personal assistants I share with a couple of friends, and I’m going to ask her to bring as many packing boxes as she can carry up to my apartment.
A moving company will do the bulk of the work, of course, but it’s been a long time since I moved anywhere for a substantial period of time. Since…since college, really, which is bordering on eight years ago now.
“Damn,” I whisper under my breath as I slide my card into the cab’s reader to pay the fare.
“Ms. Banks?”
“Not you, Scott. I was just…thinking of something else.”
“As I was saying, I simply can’t recommend a sale of your properties at this time, although the values have, of course, increased substantially since the time of your purchase. There’s no arguing that. But I hope to impress upon you that—”
“Thank you so much, Scott.” Sometimes, interrupting him is literally the only way to end the conversation. I can tell he’s feeling very passionate about keeping me—and my assets—in New York. “Thank you,” I repeat to the cab driver, who gives me a friendly wave and a smile just before I close the door to the car. That has to be a good sign.
“Scott? I’ll get back with you before the close of business on Monday with my final decision. I really appreciate all your input.”
There’s a moment of silence, and then he says, “Of course, Ms. Banks. Pleasure speaking with you, as always.”
As soon as I end the call, my phone rings again.
Angie.
“Hi, Angie.” I pause on the sidewalk in front of the building, tilting my face up into the September sun. Once I go inside, I’m going to lose myself in packing up the most important of my possessions, and by the time that’s finished, it’ll be dark out.
“Carolyn! I have to tell you, I think this is an absolutely wonderful time to list your properties. I have a number of connections who have expressed interested in similar properties in the last few months, so I’m confident we can negotiate a sale as soon as you’re ready.”
“That’s good to hear, Angie.” I want to tell her to list it, list everything, but the words stick in my throat. Why is this so damn difficult? When it first came to me in Scott’s office, it seemed like a sure thing. A new place. A new life. With Ace or without him.
Is it really that simple, though? With him, yeah, that’s simple. If we can work this out, then it’ll be the easiest choice I’ve ever made in my life. Without him, I don’t know what I’ll do.
Angie is still talking, but I haven’t taken in a word she’s been saying. Something about the recovering market, more about potential sale prices and added value….
My phone buzzes with a text message, but it’s probably from Jess. I’ll get to it when I’m back upstairs.
“Right,” I say, the next time there’s even a hint of a lull. “If you could email this all to me that would be…that would be great. And I’ll get back to you on Monday.” I don’t bother telling her that I’ll have a final decision. Standing here right now, in the New York City sun, I feel entirely undecided.
About selling, that is. Not leaving. I’m going to get out of here, and I’m never going to lose myself in the business of other people again.
“That’s great!” Angie chirps on the other end of the line. “I’ll be waiting to hear from you. This is going to mean great things, Carolyn!”
Never let it be said that Angie doesn’t have a bubbly personality.
I drop my phone back into my purse, take one more deep breath, and square my shoulders.
I’m doing the right thing. Once I’ve made a li
ttle headway with packing, I might even text Ace and ask him to talk.
I push open the door to the lobby, blinking in the relatively low light, and take a moment to adjust my purse.
And then my heart pounds, so hard it feels like it might burst right out of my chest, because standing in the center of the lobby, looking at me, is Ace.
I want to run toward him, and I want to run back out onto the sidewalk, because the surge of electricity that streaks through me is almost too strong for my body to handle. Those gray eyes, that body, Jesus….
He’s clutching a folder in his strong hands and seems frozen to the spot, but then he blinks and takes a deep breath.
“Ace,” I say, not caring in the slightest that Arnie the doorman is riveted to the scene, having put down his copy of today’s Times.
Ace shifts his weight and moves toward me, and it jolts me out of my own head. I’m still too close to the door, and it takes everything I have to walk toward him with a measured pace.
It’s only a matter of seconds until we’re standing face to face. I breathe in the spicy scent of him and my entire body relaxes.
“Hi.”
His eyes bore into mine.
My entire being hangs on his presence.
Chapter 48
Ace
I’m on the way out to the car to tell Noah to stay where he is at any cost, but there she is.
Her hair is a little windblown from being outside, cheeks pink, face determined, and I fall in love with her all over again just by watching her come through the lobby.
When she sees me, her mouth drops open and she freezes in place, eyes locked on mine.
“Ace,” she says, and it’s like there’s nobody else in the lobby. Nobody else in the entire world. Or it would be, if the doorman—Artie?—had decided not to flip his newspaper down onto his podium to watch.
He is nothing to me.
Carolyn is everything.
It hits me that I’m clutching the folder so hard that the edges are curling, and Arnie’s eyes are flicking back and forth from me to Carolyn.
I can’t stand here forever, even if it feels like time has stopped.
I take a deep breath and move toward her, across the suddenly vast expanse of the lobby, and it seems to wrench Carolyn out of her frozen stillness.
If she starts to run right now, I’ll die, because I’ll be in the middle of a Lifetime movie.
The thought would make me laugh if this moment wasn’t so deadly serious.
Carolyn meets me in the middle of the lobby, and everything around us disappears.
She’s so close that I can smell the light, flowery perfume she wears—not every day, but sometimes, and I can see a slight quiver in her chin. All the words I’ve prepared over the last several hours fly right out of my mind.
I’m rendered speechless by her.
But I can’t be speechless. This is my moment to shine, damn it, and I’m not going to stand here tongue-tied until she makes the first move.
“Hi.”
The word comes out unbidden, and not nearly as confident as I hoped, but Carolyn sucks in a little breath like she’s surprised that I could think of something so genius.
She swallows.
“Hi, Ace.” Her eyes are dark, deep, and shining. The charge between us is palpable, running up and down the length of my arms. I want to reach out and take her into a hug and never let go again, but there’s housekeeping of infinite importance to be done first.
I can’t remember a damn word of all the things I wanted to say to her, but as the moment stretches on I start to think it doesn’t matter. It’s just absolutely essential that I say something, anything, to break the silence and thrust us into the future.
Even if it scares the hell out of me to do that.
Something shifts inside of me. It does scare the hell out of me. I’ve never liked to admit that shit terrifies me. I’ve never liked to be that kind of man. But it does. Things that are this important make my heart pound.
I take in another breath and fall into Carolyn’s eyes.
“It scares the fuck out of me to say this,” I start, my voice tight with emotion. “But I’m sorry. I never should have walked away from you.”
Carolyn’s hand flies to her mouth, and her eyes go bright with tears. Just as suddenly, she drops her hand. “No, you should have.” If I know her at all, she’s struggling mightily to keep her voice level. “It was none of my business. I just was wrapped up in—” She looks away, shaking her head. “I was wrapped up….”
I can’t stop myself. I reach out and put a hand on her shoulder, soothing, and then move my hand down to her wrist, taking her hand. “Carolyn.”
The sound of her name brings her up short, and she looks up into my eyes, blinking back tears, biting her lip. “Yeah?”
“I should never have walked away from you,” I say again, emphasizing every word. “It was a huge fucking mistake. Because I love you.”
Her smile is so brilliant, so wide, that it’s almost blinding. “Don’t break my heart, Ace Kingsley.”
“I’m trying to put it back together. Here.” I push the folder toward her.
She takes it, her eyebrows drawing together. “What is this?”
“Everything that happened in Italy. And more.”
With one swift movement, Carolyn pushes the folder back into my chest, insistent, with an expression that’s half grin, half pleading. “I don’t need it.”
“Carolyn—”
“I don’t need it, and I don’t want it.”
“You do.”
“I don’t.” She laughs, her voice high and free. “I don’t need it for me, and I don’t need it for my former website.”
“Former?”
“I shut it down,” she says, dropping the folder to the floor and taking both my hands in hers. “Rumors are bullshit!” she cries, and Arnie laughs and tries to hide it with a cough. “I’m done with rumors. I’m done with anything that could possibly take me away from you. I don’t need your folder. To hell with your folder. If you want to tell me something, you can tell me, on your own time, and—”
I take her face in my hands and muffle her words with a kiss that makes my chest hum with warmth and security and stability and the knowledge that I am never, never going to be alone again.
The meaning of it breaks over me like the dawn.
Carolyn pulls away. “I’m such an asshole.”
“You are not,” I say, going back in for another kiss.
She puts her fingers to my lips while my hands go to her waist, pulling her in. “I never answered you.”
“Answered you about what?”
“I love you, too! So much! Do you hear that, Arnie?”
Arnie guffaws behind his podium and lifts up his newspaper, and I lose myself in another kiss that’s so deep and so strong, I never want to come back to the surface.
With Carolyn by my side, I’m invincible.
“I love you,” she whispers into my ear the next time we come up for air.
It’s the beginning to the world’s most beautiful eternity.
Epilogue
Carolyn
“Wake up!”
The playful whisper is close to my ear, and I roll over and try to pull the pillow back over my head. It’s swiftly pulled out of my grasp.
“Wake up, gorgeous.” This time the tone is sultry, and a strong hand slides down over the bare, smooth skin of my stomach, toward the space between my legs.
I giggle and push the hand away. “It’s the middle of the night.”
“It’s almost dawn.”
“Why are you waking me up before dawn?”
“Because we’re leaving.”
I push myself upright in the massive bed in the center of Ace’s penthouse bedroom. “Leaving?”
“Yes. We’re going on a vacation, and we’re leaving with the sunrise. The plane is ready to go. It’s just waiting on us.”
“Where are we going?” I rub the sleep from my ey
es and run a hand through my hair.
“You’ll find out when we get there.”
Ace’s hand goes to the back of my head and he kisses me, lighting up my entire body with need for him. The tease blocks my hand when I reach for the front of his boxers.
“Come back to bed. We don’t have to leave yet.”
“If you want time to shower, you’ll have to get out of bed this very instant, love of mine.”
I fall dramatically back on the bed and sigh.
Ace scoops me up into his arms and carries me, laughing, to the master bathroom, where he deposits me before the shower and turns on the water. To the perfect temperature, as always.
I step into the shower and let the warm water cascade down over my skin, my heart picking up speed. A surprise vacation almost makes up for the fact that Ace has woken me up at this ungodly hour. Of course, he’d never dream of flying commercial, and his private jet is one of the best-outfitted I’ve ever seen.
Not that I’ve had many opportunities to fly on it, since we’ve been busy figuring out which of our combined properties to keep.
I finally sold my apartment, to Angie’s delight, and moved into the penthouse with him. Over the past few months, he’s shared many of his properties with me—one in Phoenix, another in Seattle, one on the Gulf Coast—and there are more. He’s far more invested in real estate than I ever have been, and he’s got the gorgeous homes to prove it.
While I shampoo my hair and soap up my body, running a razor over my legs as quickly as I can, Ace disappears from the bathroom, returning when I’ve stepped out with a complete outfit in his hands.
“You forgot panties,” I say as I towel off my hair.
“I didn’t.” He holds up a silky, yet comfortable pair.
That’s my man.
The rest of the outfit is standard travel fare—yoga pants, a tight-fitting hoodie, and a tank—only boosted several notches by the fact that Ace had it custom-made for me by his own tailor. As a result, all of it fits like a glove.
