by Ana Sparks
“Magnanimous boss aside, I’m exhausted and my face hurts. Come on Carson, let’s leave the old married couple to their bickering,” I announce cheekily.
Mike sputters, and Taylor reaches out to give the chunky man a playful shove.
“We’ll wake the two of you up once we’re back in safe territory,” Taylor calls back to us.
I walk back into the cabin and settle into my seat. Carson sits down beside me, and I sleepily allow my head to rest on his shoulder. He wraps a comforting arm around me, and for the first time in what seems an eternity, I feel at peace.
As strange and unlikely as it is, this small town girl from Colfax has made a place of her own in the big city of Seattle. Beyond that, I’ve forged a place in the heart of the intense, sweet and utterly amazing Carson Sharpe, CEO of SharpeFocus and trailblazer in the global real estate industry.
Except maybe in Russia…
A smile sneaks its way onto my face in spite of myself, and I resolve to tell Carson that joke a little later, perhaps when the wounds—both literal and figurative—are less fresh. For now, I can hear his breathing slowing to an even tempo, indicating that he’s drifting off to sleep. The last thing that crosses my mind before I fall asleep myself is what a PR nightmare this could be.
Chapter Sixteen
Aimee
When the news doesn’t seem forthcoming about the Russian scandal, Carson and I decide to keep things as quiet as possible. There’s no sense in getting the entire company worked up over nothing.
With the difficulty behind us now, it leaves plenty of time for us to actually get to know each other. I’ve been a bit doubtful, but Carson has agreed to meet me at a simple bar and grill down the street from my apartment. I know it’s not exactly his style, but the lap of luxury wasn’t really my style, either.
Mostly, I want to make sure that we enjoy each other’s company without all the flash and glamor of my lover’s upscale life. It’s easy enough to fall in love with the idea of a person when you’re going to the fanciest restaurants in town and making love on sheets with a thread count that I can’t even count to.
While I doubt my feelings for Carson will change, I want to give him a chance of an out before he’s decidedly in too deep.
As much as I’m tempted to wear one of the expensive couture dresses he’s bought for me, I’ve chosen a simple T-shirt and jeans for our date. I urged him to do the same, but I’m pretty sure I’ve never even seen Carson in a T-shirt before. Baby steps, I suppose.
I’m not looking to change him, and if I look a bit out of place beside my billionaire boyfriend, well…I can live with that. Feeling my cellphone vibrate in my pocket, I grab it and swipe the screen to read the text I know he’s sent.
Over the course of the last few days, I’ve been able to determine that Carson is the most endearing man I’ve ever met. In spite of his previous playboy lifestyle, he seems a bit bewildered as to how an actual relationship works.
Actually, thinking about it, it’s probably because of that lifestyle. I’ve been holding his hand along the way, and though there have been some missteps in the time we’ve known each other, he’s become incredibly accommodating.
Still, he has his share of struggles. The message he’s sent is a picture, comparing two, nearly identical T-shirts with a crying face emoji and a question mark. I wait for the text message that will invariably follow, smirking as a long paragraph appears on my phone screen.
I scarcely have the time to read the whole predicament he’s made for himself, but from what I’m able to gather, he’s concerned as to whether wearing the name brand T-shirt would be too pretentious. I snicker to myself, debating having a bit of fun at his expense.
Deciding I like the man too much to toy with him, I assure him that the name brand is fine, and that I’m sure he’ll look great regardless of what he chooses. He doesn’t reply, but I imagine he’s smiling at my response.
Setting my phone down, I consider my reflection in the mirror for a moment. All I’ve really sprung for, as far as makeup, is a bit of eyeliner. I had entertained the thought of a nice shade of lipstick, but considering we’ll likely be eating wings or something similar, I don’t want to waste the effort.
I don’t look bad, but I don’t look nearly as nice as I’ve made myself look for work ventures. The woman that stares back at me from the mirror is remarkably average. A remarkably average woman, going on a date with a billionaire.
I almost expect him to send another text, begging me to go somewhere a bit more upscale. He hasn’t been particularly insistent about the expensive places we go, but I feel like he has a self-imposed obligation to try to impress me hanging over him.
If I hadn’t seen his huge package, I might think he was overcompensating for something. I’m not about to tell him that, though.
After leaving my apartment, I begin the short walk to the bar where we’re spending the evening. It’s been a staple of my day-to-day life since moving here, and I’m eager to share the simple and cozy little place with the man I’m growing to care more and more about every day. I’m watching my phone more than where I’m going, and I nearly run into someone as I move to step up onto the outdoor deck.
“Sorry,” I blurt, cutting myself short when I see who it is. Rather, what he’s dressed like.
Though I’ll admit that Carson cleans up nice in a suit and tie, there’s something about seeing him in a simple T-shirt and jeans that sends a surge of arousal through my body. I smile warmly at him, and he considers me somewhat awkwardly.
“How do I look?” he inquires.
I smile, brushing away some invisible lint, more as an excuse to feel his chest muscles.
“You look perfect. Come on, we’re sitting out here. It’s a lot more peaceful, and it tends to get a bit rowdy inside and, well…” I trail off, meeting his gaze with a half-smile.
“Baby steps,” he chuckles, looking at the deck with faint appreciation. “This is nicer than I expected. Then again, I’m not quite sure what I expected,” he muses, walking towards a table and taking a seat.
I sit across from him, trying to keep the dopey, lovey-dovey grin off my face.
“You were expecting a dive! Admit it,” I tease. He rolls his eyes, but his almost bashful smile tells me that I’m right.
The dinner goes well, considering how long it’s been since Carson has been to a simple bar and grill. His face ends up covered in wing sauce, and I try not to laugh as he gets a little too upset over it. Instead of mocking him, I tenderly dab at his face with the wet napkins we’ve been provided with. He pouts adorably, and unable to resist, I lean across the table to kiss him.
With an expression that is both startled yet pleased, he pulls me in for another, deeper kiss. I run a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair, curling my other fingers in the collar of his shirt. As good as he looks in it, I’m becoming increasingly eager to see the outfit on my bedroom floor…
Wait. My bedroom floor? The thought strikes me abruptly, the fact that I’m actually considering taking him to my dingy little apartment. He seems eager to continue our intimacy away from the public eye, however, and I’m not sure I feel patient enough to make the drive to his place.
“Do you want to…come to my apartment? It’s nothing fancy, but—” I begin, cut short as he leaps up from the table.
“Yes, of course,” he says urgently.
Carson throws a wad of bills on the table, as if that’s how you’re actually supposed to pay at one of these places. The waiter doesn’t seem particularly bothered as he comes out to collect our plates, however, and Carson offers the other man a kind smile.
“Keep the change,” he says simply, stepping towards me and offering his arm.
Grinning, the two of us walk arm in arm to my apartment complex. Though he seems eager to see the place, doubt rises within me at the idea of letting him see the place I live in. I hadn’t even cleaned up before meeting him at the bar! The kitchen is a disaster, and I haven’t folded clothes in weeks.
Every time I go to his place, it’s clean and tidy—perfectly well kept, with not a single thing out of place.
Beginning to wonder if he’ll think less of me upon seeing the mess that is my apartment, I tighten my grip on his arm as we approach the door. I fumble with the key for a moment, and his hands idly roam up and down my back.
I shiver at his touch, managing to push the door open and stumble inside. If he’s surprised by what he sees, he doesn’t show it. I’m not sure if I should be offended or grateful, but he seems preoccupied with other things.
“Where’s the bedroom?” he asks huskily.
My breath catches in my throat, and I lead him through the apartment to my tiny bedroom. I’m immediately ashamed of my scratchy sheets and the modest mattress that has honestly seen better days. I part my lips to apologize, but he slips his hands beneath my shirt, lifting it up and over my head.
“It’s not as nice as I’d like,” I mumble, and he smiles.
He leans in to press a tender kiss to my lips, and I sigh against him.
“It’s perfect. Just like you,” he breathes. He nudges me towards the bed, and I sit on the edge before drawing him closer to me. He shifts awkwardly, grabbing the front of his jeans in a rather obvious gesture. “There’s not much breathing room in these things,” he mutters. I smirk, popping the button and sliding them down his hips.
“All the more reason to get out of them,” I reply cheekily.
He chuckles, and I note he’s still wearing his expensive underwear. He pulls off the T-shirt, exposing his broad and strong chest. I pull him onto the bed with me, and he lifts my hips to guide my pants down my legs. Arousal is already flooding through my veins, hot and almost painful in its intensity. He smirks at the simple pair of white panties I’m wearing, and I blush as I avert my eyes.
“I wasn’t expecting to get laid,” I offer weakly.
“Well, you should know better than that,” he teases, reaching around me to unsnap my bra.
Once I’m nude, save for my panties, he pushes me onto my back, settling his knees on either side of my hips. He stares down at me with an adoration that no man has ever shown me before. I feel myself blushing at the attention, tilting my head to avoid looking him in the eye. It’s too much for my heart to take.
Undeterred by my sudden timidity, Carson leans in to brush his lips to the side of my neck. He drags his tongue down my chest to the peak of one of my breasts, then takes my nipple between his lips, sucking gently as he pinches the other between two fingers.
A strangled gasp spills past my lips, and I realize that I’d really been worried over nothing. It doesn’t matter if we’re in his high-end penthouse or my simple apartment. We simply can’t get enough of each other.
I arch into his touch, tingles shooting through my body just from the attention to my breasts. Every other encounter we’ve had has felt hurried, but there’s something about the patient attention he lavishes upon my breasts that has me aching for more. Carson draws away slightly, exhaling a breath of hot air against my already hard nipple. He flicks his tongue against it a final time before switching off, taking his hand to the right and moving his mouth to the left.
My hips are already rolling against him, desperate for contact. I drag my nails up his back, hissing in pleasure as he grazes his teeth against the sensitive flesh of my nipple. I jerk my hips up, giving him a rather obvious look. He seems to take the hint, slipping his member free from the confines of his briefs. He presses against my slit through my underwear, and I let out a needy moan.
“Please, Carson. I lov—I need you,” I gasp, managing to catch myself.
He considers me rather strangely for a moment before pulling my panties down, then positions himself quickly, and I can feel his eyes watching every slight movement of my face. He gauges my expressions for what I like, pressing into me slowly and sweetly. I moan, a long and guttural sound, as he fills me completely.
“You’re beautiful. I love you so much,” he whispers, almost too softly for me to hear. Though he already confessed his feelings on the plane, it still startles me to hear the words.
He presses his lips to mine, and I allow my eyes to flutter shut as he begins to move inside me. Breathy gasps spill past my lips, and I find myself babbling incoherently from how damn good it is. I brace against him, pressing my face against his shoulder as he continues to thrust.
Hips moving erratically, it’s obvious that he’s nearing his peak. It strikes me to tell him to pull out, but something stops me. I want to feel him come inside me. I want him to fill me to the brim. I clench my muscles around him and he groans haggardly as he orgasms. I reach my own climax mere seconds later, and my inner walls work to milk him for every drop.
If he realizes what’s just happened, he gives no indication. He simply slumps against me, nestling his face between my breasts.
“I love you, too,” I say quietly. “I know it means very little, when you already have so much, but…you have me, as well,” I continue nervously.
His breathing is soft, and I wonder if he’s already gone to sleep. However, he shifts beside me, tugging me on my side so that he can remain sheathed inside me.
“With you, I’m richer than I ever dreamed,” he murmurs.
We share an adoring smile, and in spite of my scratchy sheets and lumpy mattress, I drift into a sleep that’s more peaceful than any I’ve had prior. I know in my heart—somehow, someway—that this love we share will withstand the ages.
What good is money, without love in your heart? It seems that neither of us will ever have to ponder that question again.
Epilogue
Aimee
Wow. What can I say? Life really has a way of turning you upside-down, doesn’t it? It’s been six months since the Russian incident, and Carson has managed to put the fiasco behind him. It’s a good thing, because we’ve had our share of exotic offers from worldwide.
I like to think I play a part in landing his deals, however small. Then again, marketing is a pretty big deal in the real estate industry. While I certainly don’t run the marketing department, it feels like it sometimes. Jack keeps me on a short leash when it comes to work tasks, though Carson makes time to pay a visit to the department every day at lunch.
Things couldn’t be better, really. We may be moving a bit fast, but Carson asked me to move in with him a few months ago, and I couldn’t be happier. Though I was proud of my first Seattle apartment, I’m even more proud to spend every night beside the man I love.
Speaking of which, what Carson doesn’t know yet is that our near-constant lovemaking has had a somewhat predictable result, as I found out just a few days ago that I’m carrying his child. Our child!
I’m still not sure how to break the news to my beloved. While I like to think I know the man like the back of my hand by now, it’s hard to tell if he wants to be a father. I honestly think he’s at an age where he’s put the possibility behind him.
Then again, I have a way of changing things in his life. What can I say—I snared the playboy in more ways than one. I know I have to tell him, but how do you tell the man who has everything that he’ll be a father in a matter of months?
I suppose that’s part of why I’ve been putting it off; I’ve been trying to get a gauge on how he might feel about expanding our family, and while I’ve learned he’s never expressed a real interest in children, I know it’s not entirely out of the question that he’ll be excited.
Without a doubt, I know Carson will be a wonderful father. He has the kindest heart of any man I’ve ever met. I haven’t wanted for anything in the time we’ve been together, and I know he wouldn’t allow his child to live any life except the best one. The entire world will be at his or her fingertips.
I’m pulled from my thoughts as my beloved steps through the front door, carrying a bag full of Chinese takeout. I grin; the pregnancy cravings have already hit me full force.
“Honey, I’m home,” he announces, carrying the food into the dining area and setti
ng a plate down for each of us.
I trail behind him, biting my lip and contemplating if this is the right time to tell him. It’s sudden, but is there ever really a perfect time to tell your boyfriend that you’re pregnant?
Distracted by the scent of the takeout, I take a seat at the table, and begin to pile food on my plate. He watches with a curious, almost amused expression, taking a quarter of the serving for himself. I dig in, my appetite voracious. He continues to watch me, his head tilted to the side as if he’s trying to get a read on me.
“Is there something on my face?” I inquire teasingly, wiping a bit of sweet and sour sauce off of my lips.
“Oh, no. You look beautiful. Absolutely radiant, actually. It’s just a bit strange; you seem like you’re absolutely starving. Have you not been eating lunch?” he murmurs, concern etched in his face.
I hesitate, bringing an egg roll to my lips. I meet his gaze, seeing nothing but love and understanding.
Admittedly, I do have some misgivings about ripping his normally extravagant lifestyle out from under him. While I know we won’t be like some parents who struggle to pay for diapers or formula, it will be a stark shift from our carefree nights spent watching over-the-top action movies and making love until the break of dawn. Gone will be the peaceful nights, replaced with long hours of staying up and seeing that the baby is fed, that the baby is changed, that the baby isn’t crying.
Without realizing I’ve been crying, I reach up to wipe a tear from my cheek. Damn pregnancy hormones. Carson is staring at me through wide, concerned eyes, and he reaches out to take my hand in his.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt abruptly. He hesitates for a moment before stroking his thumb along the back of my hand, moving in gentle circles.
“Sorry for what, my sweet?” he inquires nervously, but his lovingness just makes me cry more. His face twists in anguish for a moment, but he tightens his grip on my hand. “Just tell me what’s going on, my dear Aimee. I love you. You can tell me anything,” he soothes.
