“And I’ve never invited a woman into this condo before.In fact, I’ve never felt like this about another woman.”
“Like what?”
“Like I’d risk everything just to get to know you better.”The confession surprises me with its intensity—and the truth of it.
“Get to know me?”Her lips curve into a smile, like she’s doubting my veracity.
“I won’t pretend I’ve been celibate.But no one was you.The way you taste, the way your breath breaks when?—”
“I get the point.”
“Do you?”
“I’m the first woman who walked away.”
“Don’t do that,” I say, tightening my grip on her hand while fighting the urge to pull her onto my lap or no, to tug her like a caveman back to my bedroom.
“Don’t what?”
“Minimize what I’m saying.Compartmentalizing is another word for constructing walls.Don’t do that.”
Outside the windows, signs of life abound with golden lights turning on and off, but here in this kitchen, with candles flickering between us and her hand in mine, everything else fades into oblivion.The crystal glasses catch the candlelight the way she once caught me—unexpectedly, irrevocably.
“Stay tonight,” I say—not as an invitation but as a plea.
“Adrien—”
“Not for sex.Though I won’t pretend I don’t want that.”I stroke my thumb across her knuckles.“Stay because I want to wake up knowing you’re safe.Stay because I’ve spent years wondering what it would be like to wake with you in my bed, to have breakfast with you again.”
She’s quiet for a long moment, studying our joined hands.
“One night,” she says finally.“Perhaps one night is all it will take for you to see that we’re different now, and we can’t recreate a holiday from years ago.”I narrow my eyes, pointedly doubting her words—another wall.“If I stay, tomorrow we’re back to being professional.”
“Deal.”I lift her hand to my lips, pressing a soft kiss to her palm.“Though I reserve the right to cook you breakfast.”
“You can cook?”
“I can make coffee and toast without burning down the kitchen.”
Her laugh is the most beautiful sound in what has been a very long day.
“Then I guess I’ll stay.”
“Excellent.Before we head upstairs, there’s something I want to show you.Something happening at the club tonight that I think you’ll appreciate.”
“At The Sanctuary?”
She’s tentative, but the event tonight is special, and I want her to see it—to understand the club’s value.
Within twenty minutes, the waiting driver delivers us to The Sanctuary, and I lead her past our doorman to the event space.
Tonight, for this performance, there’s a small round elevated stage, a stool with a warm wash of light over Miley Cyrus.Seventy-five seats are arranged in a semicircle around her.She’s been doing these intimate shows for a while now, but this is her first at The Sanctuary.We arrive mid-set, and the room is held in the hush only a voice like hers can command.As she sings about being good and gold, I lean against the painted black wall, gesturing for Brie to lean against me.
“It’s a sold-out event, but I thought you’d like to hear some of it.”
“She’s different than I remember,” Brie says.
“She’s in a different era.”I lift Brie’s hair from her shoulders and place a kiss on the slope of her neck.“I prefer this one.”
