But that only worked when I dropped all the blame on Cal. He didn't insist I marry him and bear his children at any point this week so clearly this unsettled mood was his fault. Unless it was my fault and Cal was merely holding up the mirror, reflecting all my problem areas and weak spots back at me. And maybe it wasn't about problem areas or weak spots but climbing out from behind the fortress of my routines and structures, and letting go of the ducks. Of the fears.
That was the root of it: fear. For everything I said and all the times I insisted I wasn't rusty in my long-healed cracks, I was afraid. Of the unknown. Of being wanted more than I could live up to. Of being rejected. Of getting left behind all over again. Of allowing myself to care for a man only to end up hurt.
Tucking all this noise away and starting fresh tomorrow was the right approach. Instead of doing that, I leaned toward the driver. "Change of plans," I announced. "I'm not going back to the office. I'm heading to Beacon Hill. Here's the address."
22
Cal
Stella: I can't believe I'm typing this but…are you up?
Cal: Yeah
Cal: What do you need?
Stella: Maybe you could let me in?
Cal: Let you in…where?
Stella: I'm outside your building.
Cal: What?!?
Stella: Maybe let me in first and then we can discuss the hows and whys, okay?
I chuckedmy phone on the coffee table and darted toward the door, into the vestibule, out into the cool night air. Stella stood on the sidewalk, her hands shoved into her raincoat's pockets and her tote bag slung over her shoulder. "Hi," she called with a shrug. "Can I come in?"
Shuffling back to hold the door open for her, I said, "Yeah. Get your ass in here."
She gifted me with a sweet smile—all dimples—as she slipped past me and into my apartment. "Thanks," she said. "I wasn't sure you'd be awake."
I pushed the door shut and locked it but stayed rooted there, staring at the knob for a long moment. "It's not even midnight." Turning, I continued, "What's up, Stella?"
With her phone in hand, she hooked a thumb over her shoulder, her brows drawing down. "Should I go? I don't want to intrude."
I stepped toward her, wrapped my fingers around the belt cinched around her waist. That damn raincoat. I tugged her closer. An inch or two at first, then all the way to my chest. "What's got you on edge, sweet thing?"
She rolled her shoulders, tucked her phone in her pocket. Set her bag on the floor. "Nothing," she murmured, glancing down. Not meeting my gaze. "I just had a long night with McKendrick and that sumbitch is trying my patience like whoa and do you want me? Like, really, really want me?"
She tipped her chin up then, meeting my eyes. Worry creased her forehead, flattened her lips. No dimples for me now. "I didn't realize that was a question I'd left unresolved," I replied. "But yes. Fuck, yes. I've wanted you for—god, I don't even know how long."
"Would you put up a fight for me?" she asked, lifting her chin as she spoke.
I traced her belt around her waist, slipped my hand under the band at the small of her back. Frustration and arousal warred inside me. I wanted to shake her, to make her see the way I adored her. And I wanted to fuck her senseless. Perhaps the two were more similar than I thought. "If you don't know the answer to that, I'm doing something terribly wrong."
"Maybe I just want you to say it," she whispered.
I ran my hand along her waist, loosened the belt's knot. Then I went to work on the buttons, all seventy-four thousand of them. "Maybe you just want me to show you," I said, finally pushing the coat over her shoulders. It fell to the floor, leaving a rustlingwhooshas it went. "Maybe you came here because you want me to pick you up, take you into the bedroom, show you what it looks like to belong to me."
"I belong to myself," she countered.
"No argument there," I said, blowing past frustration and heading toward exasperation. "But you didn't come here for that. That's not what you want right now." I ran my hands down her arms, settled on her hips. She shook her head once before flattening her hands on my chest. "Give me the words, Stella. Nothing is happening until I hear them."
She nodded, her head bobbing barely enough to notice. "I want that. I want"—she glanced up at me, her bottom lip snared between her teeth like an offering—"you to pick me up, take me to the bedroom."
Her eyes met mine when the word "bedroom" passed her lips, wide and dark and sparkling. That one word contained a million others. She knew it too. She knew this wasn't going to be a quick tumble in the sheets.
I brought my hands to her backside, squeezed. Squeezed a little harder. "Let me tell you what's going to happen next."
