But I do like her.
I more than fucking like her.
“Umm,” I announce, suddenly needing to know now before it drives me completely crazy.
“You have someone you need to call?” I ask her bluntly. “Boyfriend… Husband?”
I don’t mean it to but it sounds more like an accusation.
Her brow creases and she stands up slowly, clasping her robe closed over her cleavage.
She shakes her head stiffly. “No, uh… Maybe my dad. I can go as soon as my clothes are dry,” she offers, suddenly looking awkwardly away. Her eyes darting to the floor and her whole face looking worried like she’s done or said something wrong.
It’s music to my ears though, and I rush over to her, startling her a little as I grip both her elbows with my hands.
“Your dad? So you don’t have…?” I half ask, just needing to hear it one more time.
“No, I don’t,” she says gruffly.
She turns away from me and hugging her elbows, follows the sound of the dryer, which I hear stop as she checks to see if her clothes are dry.
Valentine is giving me the look.
He always knows how to bring me down a peg with a single glance.
I return it with my ‘I know, I know!’ face, and sliding the pans off the stovetop, I make my way to the laundry.
She’s holding her wet bra and panties in one hand, checking the definitely still wet clothes in another.
“I was gonna put these in to dry too,” she murmurs, and I hear the emotion in her voice.
“I don’t want you to go,” I tell her quickly. “I just wasn’t sure if you…”
“If I what? Was actually involved with anyone?” she almost spits, turning to face me with tears in her eyes.
“I’ve heard it my whole life, Conor, and once already today from my dad. No I don’t have a boyfriend and no, I don’t really see how it’s any of your business either,” she manages to get out before turning away again, her shoulders jerking as she sobs.
Nice work Romeo, now you’ve made her cry.
On the one hand, I’m relieved. I can’t believe my good luck that she’s single.
On the other hand, I may have just burnt the only bridge that leads to my happiness with her by asking her so soon. So directly.
“I thought we were starting over?” she asks, sniffing and forcing a laugh.
A wry, cynical chord I don’t like but at least she’s not bawling.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur. “I didn’t mean anything by it… I just had to know,” I tell her truthfully.
“Why would it matter?” she asks, sniffing again and wiping her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose between her eyes.
I don’t answer her but settle for the fact she’s not crying now.
“Hungry?” I offer, trying to change the course this conversation’s taken and glad again when she nods feverishly.
“Starving!” she announces and I usher her through to the kitchen, deliberately avoiding the fact she’s forgotten to close the dryer door.
No dry clothes, not even her bra and panties.
I think Rachel might just have to stay a bit longer than she anticipated after all.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Rachel
The smell of good food cooking is enough to lift my mood straight away.
That and the sight of Conor in tight faded jeans and a sweatshirt, cooking it for me. Asking me how I like my steak and not taking no for an answer when I marvel at the size of it.
“I could never eat all that,” I exclaim, my eyes darting from the meat on the plate to the meat in his pants.
He hit a raw nerve asking me if I was taken, but only because it’s what set me off in the first place today with my dad.
Being reminded I don’t have anyone interested in me like that isn’t usually an issue, but with the move coming up and it being Valentine’s Day this weekend. I guess I’m a little more sensitive to it all right now.
“I’ll just give Valentine a little something too,” Conor says, hinting for me to watch the food.
“I can do it,” I suggest, offering to feed Valentine instead, not surprised when Conor makes a face.
People and their dogs.
Like they’re kids or something.
He looks hesitant until I feel Valentine pushing between us both and looking up at me, licking his lips.
Conor laughs. “I guess I forgot who I was dealing with,” he says, handing me a glass bowl filled with the same steak we’re having, but raw and cut into slightly smaller pieces.
“He’s eating this too?” I ask, bewildered.
“Sure,” Conor shrugs. “He’ll have some other food later on, but it’s raw meat. It’s what I always feed him.”
I’m no a butcher, but I know prime steak when I see it.
“He certainly doesn’t look any worse off for it,” I observe, not minding when Valentine barks loudly in reply.
And neither do you, Conor, I tell myself, watching his fine ass when he bends down to get something from the bottom of the refrigerator.
“He’ll show you where his bowl is,” he adds, his back still to me. Valentine tugs at my robe, which almost comes undone.
I realize just how much I could stare at Conor all day, food or no food. Even though I was upset a few minutes ago, I feel like a new person.
Valentine leads me to his bowl and I fill it. He sits patiently, blinking up at me and I wonder if he needs more or if I’m doing it wrong.
“Oh, he won’t eat with anyone watching. It’s just a thing with him. Leave him to it and he’ll be fine,” Conor calls out.
His brows rise up when he sees how much is missing from the bowl, “Too much?” I ask, but he shakes his head and smiles.
“It’s alright. We’ve all had a big day and I need about as much as that myself.”
Conor takes the bowl and puts it aside, guiding me by the elbow to a bench by the windows.
“Take a seat, and we can eat,” he says, making me feel like I’m right at home instead of with what should be a complete stranger’s home.
I’m more like Valentine than I thought too.
Once Conor sits opposite me, our plates almost touching, I realize how self-conscious I am about eating in front of him.
Let alone this freakin’ mountain of food.
Conor shrugs and ignores my silence, setting to work eating his food without a care.
He’s not a noisy eater either, which is a relief. But it does make me feel better that he’s started first, I start to eat shy at first until I realize just how damned good this steak is.
And everything else on the plate.
We eat in silence for a while, until I’m about halfway and feel like taking a rest. Looking up, I notice Conor staring at me, looking pleased.
“You mentioned you needed to call your dad?” he asks, in a friendly way, not in the ‘I’m trying to get rid of you’ way I imagined before.
“Ugh!” I groan without meaning to. “I guess I should at some point. I’m not keeping you from anything am I?” I ask, needing to know now, not wanting to leave.
Looking for a reason to make this last as long as it can.
I’ve never felt so at ease with anyone else, ever.
The fact he’s the sexiest man alive, obviously wealthy, and knows how to cook… those are just the cherry on top.
His look intensifies and I feel his hand hover over mine like he wants to take it in his.
He blushes slightly, smiling. “No, you’re not keeping me from anything. In fact, I kinda like the way today’s panning out, don’t you?” he adds, his smile taking on the same glint of mischief in his eyes.
I have to agree, but I don’t know anything about him, and he really has no idea about me.
If he did, I wonder if he’d still… I mean, he did almost kiss me, right?
“Tell me about yourself,” he asks, reading my mind again as well as beating me to it. I want to know everything about him, about his house an
d his amazing life.
I feel pretty boring and very plain by comparison.
“At least a little,” he encourages me, “maybe your last name. Where you live, that sort of thing?”
I laugh a little too loudly but feel myself relaxing even more. I don’t have to give him my life story, just some small talk, I can handle that.
“Rachel Beckett,” I tell him and notice he doesn’t even flinch once he knows I’m from the poor side of town either.
“But, we’re moving!” I rush to add, watching his face fall. “Dad’s got a new job and so we’re moving up to…” I hear my own voice trailing off.
I can hear myself saying it out loud and it’s the last thing in the world I want right now.
I don’t want to move. I don’t want to go anywhere.
I want to stay here, forever.
With Valentine the wolf-dog and Conor the greatest man alive.
I feel myself choking up again, and Conor’s expression isn’t helping.
He takes a deep breath and collects his thoughts, wiping his mouth with a napkin before forcing a friendly smile.
“Moving, huh? Sounds exciting.” I feel my stomach drop, thinking maybe he doesn’t care after all.
Maybe I have imagined he feels.
“When?” he adds firmly, his eyes growing intense like he’s actually not very happy about the idea after all.
I shiver a breath, feeling once again how beautifully complicated my life has become today, and all because I went for a walk instead of arguing with my dad.
“This weekend,” I murmur, jumping when Conor’s knife and fork slam down onto the table.
I almost feel like apologizing. Like I need to explain things so Conor doesn’t hate my dad.
So he doesn’t hate me when I have to go, something I’m trying to wrap my head around but I just can’t picture it.
I can’t see myself moving upstate, away from Conor and Valentine. The whole idea seems suddenly ludicrous.
But at the same time, I don’t have a choice. I’ve got nowhere else to go. No job, no money, nothing.
If I don’t live with my dad, then what?
I can almost hear the gears of Conor’s mind turning as he stares at me intently.
He’s not mad with me, but his face is set with the expression of a man who’s been handed a challenge.
A challenge he’s not going to back away from. At least, I think that’s what he’s thinking.
“Beckett…” he muses to himself, turning the word in his mind as his eyes leave mine and focus on something outside the windows.
“What was your dad’s name again?” he finally asks, breaking a long silence.
“Uh… David. David Beckett,” I tell him, not remembering him asking me a first time.
For the second time today, I watch Conor’s face fall, his huge shoulders dipping too like a sudden weight is crushing him, pulling him down from the inside.
“What’s the matter?” I ask, noticing how worried I sound. A ripple of nerves runs across my belly and I suddenly don’t feel like eating anymore.
I don’t know what it is this time, but Conor and I seem to be swinging from almost gravitating towards each other with passion, and then being spun apart again, leaving us both hurt and confused.
“Nothing,” he says reassuringly after a moment, and I finally feel his hand over mine.
He gives it a gentle squeeze and creases another smile. “Nothing,” he says again, but I can tell it’s not nothing.
Determined not to let anything ruin however much time I have left, I decide to change the subject for both our sakes.
“Enough about me, how about you?” I ask. “This house is amazing. You must be… No! Don’t tell me, let me guess,” I gush, trying too hard to change the mood glad to see it’s working when Conor leans back and gives me the floor.
Waiting to see just how accurate my impressions of him are so far.
I think hard for a moment, surveying him again and wishing I could see more of him, that pant bulge for one.
But that doesn’t tell me much about what he does, or who he really is.
“A doctor, surgeon!” I blurt out, quickly changing it to, “Lawyer,” then “Banker.” Watching his face twist and contort as he chuckles to himself, holding up both hands in surrender.
“None of those,” he says, matter of fact. “But my last name’s Fox,” he adds cryptically, looking deeper into my eyes as if it should mean something.
It’s a perfect name for him, but I’m not sure how else I’m supposed to react.
Mr. and Mrs. Conor Fox maybe? But I dunno if we’re quite there yet.
Not at this rate.
Valentine suddenly barks, and trots over, nuzzling his master’s leg. Maybe jealous at being left out of our little game of twenty questions.
“Well? I can’t guess. Maybe you’re more mysterious than I first thought,” I admit.
“Mysterious?” he exclaims with some excitement, leaning over. “Tell me more about just how mysterious I am.”
“And exciting,” I blush, feeling that familiar thrill rising in me again, the energy between us going back to where I know we both like it.
“Handsome?” he asks, and laughs loudly, making a joke at his own expense but he doesn’t even know just how handsome he is.
Doesn’t seem to know just how much of an effect he’s having on me.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Conor
I can’t eat another bite once she tells me.
It feels like every time something good happens to me, there’s always a price.
Except for Valentine. He came with no strings, no dues payable.
But I almost groan aloud when Rachel tells me who her father is, not to mention the fact she’s moving away the day after tomorrow.
Who the fuck moves in February?
But David Beckett’s daughter? What are the odds?
I can tell it’s confused her, my reaction. But I’m not going there.
Not just yet.
I’ll hold back some things for now, but I can’t deny my need to touch her a moment longer.
My hand covers hers, giving it a little squeeze of reassurance.
My problems aren’t her problems, and I’m grateful once she deliberately changes the subject.
Looking down at Valentine, I think he knows the odds. He’s the one who went out and found her, brought her to me.
Something I’ll owe him for the rest of my life.
We both laugh for a while as she tries to guess some more about me for a change. She makes me sound so exciting.
“I’m an architect,” I finally tell her, watching her eyes grow wide.
“No way so’s my dad,” she says excitedly.
“I know,” I hear myself murmur, hoping she hasn’t caught it, but she has.
She glances at me sidelong for a moment, then shifts her view to the garden and then back inside to the house.
“He’s more a designer now though,” she adds tactfully. “His new job, it’s with a foreign company, designing.”
Feeling myself nodding slowly, I’m not surprised. David could always do amazing stuff. He just never had the confidence to go out on his own.
Never forgave me when I did either. Probably still blames me for everything too. But Rachel doesn’t know any of that, not as far as I can tell.
I know what she’s thinking though, architects don’t all live in houses like this.
There are architects, and then there are architects I guess.
But I suddenly don’t feel like talking about myself anymore. Not what I do anyway. I want to know more about Rachel Beckett, the one that doesn’t have her father attached to her in my mind.
It takes some time, but we slip away from the uncomfortable conversation and into easier things. She tells me about her own studies at college, her interest in history and maybe wanting to write books of her own someday.
I feel Valentine laying down, his muzzle across my feet, and before l
ong he’s snoring happily, giving little yelps and twitches as he jerks in his sleep, dreaming. As glad to be home as I am to have him with me again.
Even more glad that Rachel’s here too now.
We talk long enough for the food to get cold, but both hungry enough again to start to pick at it after what must be hours.
It’s getting darker outside, the afternoon light fading into evening in what feels like seconds.
“I never finished drying my clothes,” she gasps, suddenly breaking the spell that’s been us just sitting, chatting like old friends for hours.
“I know,” I confess, cocking my brow and not caring if she sees my eyes moving down to her chest again.
Something I’ve been careful to take in in small doses when she’s not looking, but damn if this girl isn’t the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
“I guess I should-” she starts to say, but I don’t let her finish.
I won’t let her say it.
“I don’t want you to go, Rachel,” I tell her. Hoping I don’t sound like too much of a lunatic but it’s true.
I don’t ever want her to go, not anywhere ever again, not without me and Valentine.
A pained expression is in her eyes and she looks from me to the laundry. I don’t have to guess what she’s thinking.
I know we both feel the same way, but is it too soon for me to just come out and say it?
She’s half my age and the daughter of the man I have more than a little professional history with, to say the least.
I could try and talk myself out of it for a hundred years, but I just know Rachel’s the one. I know she is.
I want her to be mine, I need her physically sure. But there’s a bigger part of me that needs her in a different way too.
A way I can’t explain.
A way I can only show her, and for that, she has to stay.
But I can’t keep her prisoner either, I don’t know if she’s ready to go ahead with everything I have planned for her.
Everything I want for us both.
I need to know she wants me and everything I have to give before I can show her just how much I want her.
“I can’t,” she finally whispers, making my chest ache all over again as she stands and walks through to the laundry.
Lost And Found: An Instalove Possessive Age Gap Romance Page 4
