“That was interesting.”
“What? You don’t like my cooking?” The dishes empty, I placed the tray on the floor.
“The food was good. You surprised me with your skill.”
“I have a lot of hidden talents you’re not privy to yet.” I arched my brows, and he groaned.
“Oh God, that was bad.” Presley chuckled. “And I meant the delivery. I didn’t expect you to be so…forceful.”
My cock hardened, desire rising hot inside me. “Did you mind?”
“N-no. I mean, I’m not into being dominated, but I like your strength.”
“I like you.”
“I’ve noticed,” Presley said and kissed me. “And I like you too. But I should get going.”
A wet trickle of precome slid down my thigh, my cock aching to the point of pain. “Why? It’s Saturday. We can hang out.”
“I open the store on Saturday. I have to work.”
I didn’t want to let him go and spend my whole day alone. “No. Play hooky with me.”
But he was already out of the bed and hunting for his clothes. “It’s my busiest day. I can’t afford to shut it down. I’m already going to be late even if I hurry through a shower. And don’t pout.”
“Okay.” I swung my legs off the bed and pointed to the club chair in front of the fireplace. “I put your clothes over there after you fell asleep. How about I come hang out with you, and we go out to dinner afterward?”
He stopped at the bathroom door and stared at me. Damn, he looked…deliciouswas the best word for it. Bedhead, dark stubble, and soulful dark eyes were my new weakness. The tattoos were a bonus. If it were anyone else, I’d know how to persuade him, and I’d be on my knees. Not Press, though, and it made our time together more special, knowing I wanted to be with him for something else besides sex.
“Let me take that shower.”
He disappeared before I could answer, and I heard the water running. It was less than five minutes before he came back out, damp and smelling like my body wash. I liked that. I liked everything about him. I wondered not only why he was different from anyone else I’d ever been with, but why I was okay with it.
He pulled on his suit pants, a small frown on his lips coming and going. “You want to hang out in my antiques store? Won’t you be bored with me working?”
I bounced off the bed. “No. I have the sections of theSunday Times, and I can get us lunch. Maybe I can even convince the owner to close a little bit early?” I held him around the nape of his neck and pulled him to me easily. “Please? I’ll be your best friend.” His laughter mingled with mine as I kissed him.
“I haven’t heard that since I was a kid. You can’t be serious.”
He didn’t know I hadn’t been so serious in years. I held on to him and buried my face in his damp hair. What had happened to me? I’d never crawled like this for a guy before, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Presley. Something about him made me act like a fool and want to open myself up to possibilities. And as tied up in knots as Presley had me, I’d slept through the night. Slept like a baby, in fact, and I’d awakened a new man.
“One thing you’ll learn about me is that I say what I mean. I don’t believe in bullshit talk. I understand you can’t close your store today, but I want to be with you, and this is the only way I see that happening.”
Presley stood before me, uncertainty etched across his brow. “It’s just…I’ve never had anyone say that to me before.”
I kissed his cheek and buttoned up his shirt. “Then I guess I’m the lucky one to be the first. Because anyone would have to be a fool not to want to be with you.”
* * *
Press flipped the store sign to OPEN and rolled up the metal gates protecting the windows. To my surprise, the hours passed quickly. I read through the newspaper, answered work emails, and fetched us coffee. I’d braced myself to be bored. After all, being cooped up inside an antiques store all day wasn’t my norm. But I found it fascinating—though Presley might’ve thought otherwise, as he’d had to answer my innumerable questions.
Chippendale cozied up to mid-century modern furniture on one side, while delicate blue-and-white Wedgwood and the less common, green-and-yellow colors sat side-by-side with jewel-tone Limoges china in heavy wooden display cases. An impressive sterling silver tea set rested in the center of an intricately carved buffet table, while various knickknacks sat on tables placed throughout the store. It was overwhelming to me, but Presley moved through the space in a specific manner, rearranging pieces and taking stock.
“What’s this?” I picked up a pink glass bowl.
“That’s Depression glass. It was sold during the early part of the twentieth century or given away free in supermarkets. Much of it isn’t valuable, but some pieces have become collectible.”
I set it down, my attention drawn to the window display of plates, bowls, and vases, their lustrous colors gleaming in the light. I reached for a jar. “These are beautiful.” Presley’s eyes widened in alarm, and he stayed my hand with his.
