He searched her features, but her expression gave nothing away. Her mouth was set in a line; her eyes were stoic. He tried to read her, to understand what was going through her mind, but he came up empty. And that’s when the real fear shot off inside him. Had he scared her away? Asked for too much from a woman who needed to live life on her terms? He opened his mouth to backpedal, to say he’d take what he could get, because a little of her was better than losing her.
But then she turned around, face to face. “I could give you some long answer about how that’s too hard or too complicated, and how I don’t know how to pull it off or make it work, and how I have a job and a family and a business in San Francisco, and that’s all true . . .” she said, then stopped talking, and in that silence his heart thumped hard against his chest, and he swore she could hear every heartbeat of his fear, could tell that each persistent pound was the soundtrack of his misery, of her leaving him.
“And?” he asked, his throat dry.
“And,” she answered, the corner of her lips curving up, “and if you’re willing to work with me and help me figure all that out, then I can’t give you a single reason why this shouldn’t be my bathroom, because I love your tub,” she said pointing at the tub, and a smile broke across his face. She leaned back and tapped the mirror. “And I love this mirror.” She gestured to the bedroom. “And your bed.”
“Our bed,” he said, correcting her.
“Our bed. I love our bed. Now, take me to bed, handsome. Because I want to sleep in my home. Tomorrow we can figure out all the details.”
Yes, tomorrow. There were so many details for tomorrow.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
They’re freaking out about the film. CALL ME.
The message blared at him, his phone vibrating on the nightstand, his eyes bleary from little sleep. But this was the third time his phone had rattled on the wood. He read it one more time, an emergency text from Flynn. Shit.
Grabbing his phone, he scrambled out of bed and down the stairs so as not to wake Julia.
“What’s going on?” he asked, stepping out onto the balcony, greeted by the early morning June sun rising in the sky. The hot and muggy days of late spring were coasting into New York. Heat vibrated in the air.
“They’re worried that we can’t handle the studio. That we’re not big enough,” Flynn said, his voice shaky.
“That’s crazy. I’ve dealt with that studio many, many times. So have you.”
“I know,” Flynn said, exasperated. “And they were fine with it from the start. But now I think they’re getting nervous. I’m worried they’re going to back out. I have a breakfast meeting with them in thirty minutes on the Upper West Side.”
Clay didn’t stop to consider the sleeping woman in his bed, or whether she’d be annoyed that he had to take off. All he could focus on was making sure this film deal went through. Flynn had busted his ass to land the Pinkertons, and if they needed to have egos smoothed or cold feet made toasty, it was his job to do so. The bottom line rested with him.
“I’ll be there. Text me the location.”
“Thanks man, I need you,” Flynn said, relief loud and clear across the phone line.
He headed inside, walked quietly past a sleeping Julia, curled up on her side with her red, flaming hair spread across the white pillowcase, looking like a goddess. His goddess. And he was going to have to tell her what he’d done before they met Charlie.
He showered and dressed quickly, and she snoozed the entire time, barely moving. He imagined she was in the most peaceful land of dreams, finally sleeping easily now that the price tag was off her head.
At least he’d been able to do that for her.
He bent down to softly kiss her cheek. She sighed lightly, but didn’t wake. Gently, he shook her shoulder. He was greeted with an inhale, and an exhale. “Julia,” he whispered.
Her eyelids fluttered. “Hi,” she said, opening them briefly.
“I need to go. I have to meet Flynn and the Pinktertons,” he said, glancing at his watch. “Should last an hour. Two, tops. I’ll meet you at ten thirty and then we’ll see Charlie together.”
She nodded sleepily. “Call me at ten, so I can shower?”
“Of course. Don’t go without me.”
“Do I look stupid?”
“Sassy from the moment she wakes up,” he said, shaking his head in amusement.
“Back to sleepy time for me,” she said, roping her arms around his neck. “But first. This.”
She pressed a sweet kiss to his lips. “I love you,” she murmured, and his heart thumped painfully against his chest, lurching toward her. He desperately wanted to stay, to sit her down, and to explain. She’d forgive him. Of course she would, right? But he also had made a promise to Flynn and to himself that he’d take care of business. He had time for both. He could manage both. He’d tell her before they met Charlie. “Can we go shopping later for new towels?”
“You don’t like my towels?”
She shook her head. “I like big, fluffy ones.”
“Then let’s get you some big, fluffy towels.”
“And I kind of think you could use a more comfortable bench on your balcony. Those wooden slats are hard.”
“Considering what I will do to you on that, let’s get it today.”
She smiled again. “My flight’s at three.”
“Then we will shop or we won’t shop, but whatever we do I will love every second of it because I’ll be with you, and I love you so much,” he said. “And if I could blow this off and spend the morning inside you, I would. Believe me.”
Believe me. His words echoed. He needed her to believe him.
“It’s okay. Soon, we’ll have plenty of Sunday mornings to be lazy and naughty together.”
“Lazy and naughty. Gorgeous, that is a promise.”
He’d keep that promise. He would absolutely keep that promise.
Coffee. She needed coffee, stat. Her brain was fuzzy and her muscles were sluggish, and the late-night poker and even later-night sex had worn her out. After a quick shower, she grabbed her clutch purse and her phone, and headed downstairs. She didn’t bother hunting out coffee in the kitchen. She was a coffee-shop kind of woman, and besides, she really should get to know the cafes in this neighborhood. It was going to be her neighborhood soon, and that prospect brought a grin to her face as she pressed the down button in the elevator.
Her elevator.
Her lobby.
She couldn’t believe she’d said yes so quickly, so easily to his question. She should be terrified of packing up and moving across the country. She should hem and haw, and think and consider. But as she pushed open the door of their building, stepping out into the bright morning sun on their block, she knew.
There was no question about it.
She and Clay were more than solid. They had a future, a bright and beautiful, smart and seductive future. He was her match; he was the one she hadn’t been looking for, but who had found his way to her regardless. He was the one she couldn’t imagine being without. To think they’d started as a one-night stand, and now they’d become . . . well, they’d become indispensable to each other.
As she ordered her coffee—black with room for cream—she considered that it might be a risk moving here with him. She could get hurt. She could be left. Worst of all, she could be played like a fool.
And yet, this was Clay, and he wasn’t that kind of a man. He’d be more likely to travel to Pluto than to play her. Maybe love made you take chances, or maybe real love made you take the right chances.