I’ve had enough of my own to handle, but now that I'm thinking about it, Tobias and I might have dealt with our problems in similar ways. Sure, he’s more social than I am and leaves his house on a regular basis, but that doesn't mean he's not isolated. Lonely.
Mariah's head tips to my shoulder as we walk up the stairs side-by-side. Dinner ran way later than I expected, and it's past the time she normally goes to bed. I walk her straight to her rooms, soft hand tucked in mine, kissing her on the top of the head and wishing her good night before going to my own.
I walk inside, leaving the door open the way I always do now. Peeling away my sweater and jeans, I trade them out for a pair of shorts as I go to the workout area just off my bedroom. Seeing Mariah fitting in so well with my family has left me with a lot to work through. A mix of emotions I don't know how to untangle.
I want to give her everything, and that includes a support system. But right now, being around my family means I have to act a certain way since I'm not quite ready to broadcast what's really happening between us.
Which is another problem. I don't actually know what's really happening between us. Being the one who signs her paychecks puts me at a serious disadvantage. If you look at it objectively, I hold all the power in this situation. I control her money. I control her housing. I control her insurance. To anyone looking from the outside in, our dynamic would be heavily skewed in my favor.
Except, when it comes right down to it, Mariah is actually the one in control. She’s the one making the decisions. She’s the one with the power.
And I need her to know that. I need her to feel it. I need her to understand her employment here isn't conditional. Not in any capacity. And I need her to know it before I bring up the subject of us. What we are.
What we could be.
Unfortunately, I don’t know how the fuck to accomplish it. I can’t just tell her. She’s had plenty of men smoother than me tell her what she wants to hear, and I’ll be damned if I ever give her a reason to lump me in with them.
Jumping onto the treadmill, I kick the speed all the way up, hoping the physical activity will help kickstart my brain. Unfortunately, five miles later I'm still no better off than I was when I started. But at least I am worn out, so hopefully I'll sleep well and wake up with some brilliant idea on how to make her mine.
Going into my bathroom, I strip down, making sure everything goes into the laundry hamper before stepping under the spray. I'm all the way scrubbed down and rinsing off, when a soft voice has my spine snapping straight.
And my dick perking up.
"Titus?"
I back up, peeking around the corner of the angled shower stall. "What's wrong?"
Mariah is standing in the middle of my bathroom, face scrubbed and moisturized, her blonde hair pulled up in a messy knot at the top of her head. She's wearing the same pajamas she had on the night she accidentally slept in my bed, and I swear my mouth starts to water at the memory of peeling those pants off of her.
She shifts from foot to foot, looking nervous.
Scared?
Slapping one hand against the touchscreen that runs the water, I switch it off and grab a towel from the hook beside me, swinging it around my waist without bothering to dry off.
"What's wrong, sweetheart?" The endearment slips out, but I’m not fucking taking it back. She is sweet, and fuck if shehasn't figured out how to wrap her hands right around my heart.
"Well…" She shivers a little, but it doesn't seem like she's cold. "I went to get in my bed, and I had just put my feet under the covers, when I felt something crawl over my toe." She shivers again. "I jumped out really fast and flung the blankets back and there was a spider in my sheets."
I drop down, looking over her cute little toes. "Are you okay? Did it bite you?" Living out where we do, it's pretty common to get spiders, especially in the fall. But this time of year it isn't as normal, and that has me worried what the fuck sort of eight-legged nightmare could've been lurking in her bed.
And what else could be there.
"No. I'm okay." Her toes wiggle, the pink painted tips curling as I continue to inspect each digit. "I just wondered if maybe you could come help me make sure there's nothing else in there."
I almost immediately agree. I want to give Mariah everything she asks me for.
But I also want to give her other things she hasn't yet learned how to ask me for. And this might be an opportunity to make that happen.
I straighten, raking a hand through my dripping hair so it doesn't send droplets onto the flannel keeping her warm. "You can sleep in here. I'll sleep in your room."
I'm holding my breath, waiting to see what she's going to do. It will tell me a lot about where I stand and how far I have to go. Because every day it becomes more and more clear to me Mariah is someone I want as more than just my chef.
"I don't want you to get chewed on by a spider either." She glances down, wiggling her toes against mine. "But they might think someone beat them to it considering all the hair on your toes."
I love how she teases me. Not once has Mariah treated me like I'm broken or fragile. Most people do. I get it, but I don't fucking like it.
Dragging a hand across my chest, I watch her eyes follow the movement. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm not a big waxer."
