He nods, a quick, sharp movement. “The foundation provides housing, education support, job training. Things I didn’t have. Things that might have made a difference.”
“But you’ve never been to the gala,” I say carefully, remembering what he told me. “Never shown your face at your own foundation’s events.”
“No.” The word is clipped, final.
I turn in his arms, water sloshing over the edge of the tub as I reposition myself to face him. Bubbles cling to his chest, sliding down hard muscle slick with water. “Because of the scar?”
His jaw tightens, confirmation in the gesture even before he nods.
“I understand,” I say, and I mean it. I can’t imagine how difficult it would be to walk into a room full of strangers, all of them staring, judging, wondering. “But if you ever decided to go... I’d go with you.”
Surprise flashes across his face. “You would?”
I nod, suddenly shy. “I’ve never been to anything fancy like that. Never had a reason to dress up. I was homeschooled. Neverwent to prom or homecoming or anything like that. Bea wasn’t big on formal events.”
His expression softens. He reaches up, cups my cheek in his palm. “You’d want to go? To stand beside me while everyone stares at this?” He gestures to the scar.
“They’d be staring at us,” I correct him. “The mysterious founder and his...” I trail off, not sure how to define what I am to him after just three days.
“His princess,” he supplies, voice low and certain.
My chest tightens again, warmth spreading through me. I lean forward, pressing my lips gently to his. Not a kiss of passion, but of connection. Of understanding.
When we part, something has shifted between us yet again. Some new layer of trust.
“The water’s getting cold,” he murmurs, though his arms tighten around me as if he doesn’t want to let me go.
I nod, settling against his chest for one more moment. His heartbeat is strong and steady beneath my ear.
Caleb rises from the tub first, water cascading down the hard planes of his body as he stands. I can’t help staring. The man is a work of art, all defined muscle and smooth skin, strength contained in a perfect package. He steps out and reaches for a towel, one of those oversized, impossibly soft ones that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe. Then he turns and extends his hand to me, helping me stand on legs still weak from everything we’ve done tonight.
“Come here,” he says, his voice a gentle command.
I step out carefully, water dripping onto heated marble floors. Caleb wraps the massive towel around me, enveloping me in warmth and softness. But instead of handing it over, he begins to dry me himself, running the plush fabric over my shoulders, down my arms, across my back with careful attention.
“You don’t have to—“ I start.
“I want to.” He cuts me off gently. “Let me take care of you.”
He kneels to dry my legs, starting at my ankles and working his way up. This powerful man on his knees before me, focused entirely on the simple task of drying water from my skin. I don’t know what to do with the feeling it gives me.
When he finishes, he stands and wraps the towel around himself with a quick swipe that leaves his hair adorably mussed. He takes my hand and leads me back to the bedroom, where the rumpled sheets still bear evidence of our earlier passion.
I expect him to get into bed, to pull me down beside him into sleep. Instead, he stops in the middle of the room, turning to face me with an expression I can’t quite read.
“Tomorrow I’ll have Franklin move your things in here,” he says, the words casual as if he’s discussing the weather rather than completely upending our arrangement.
I blink, trying to process what he’s saying. “My things? In here? You mean...”
“This is where you belong now.” His tone doesn’t invite argument, but there’s a question in his eyes, a vulnerability beneath the certainty that tugs at me. “With me.”
A flutter of panic rises in my chest. This is happening so fast. Three days ago, I’d never met this man. Now he’s talking about me moving into his bedroom, the most private space in his carefully guarded fortress.
“Caleb,” I say carefully, “are you sure? We barely know each other. We haven’t even known each other a week. Don’t you think this is moving really fast?”
Something flickers across his face. It vanishes almost immediately, replaced by that calm certainty that seems to define him.
“I don’t do anything I’m not sure of,” he says, reaching up to tuck a strand of damp hair behind my ear. “When I know what Iwant, I don’t see the point in waiting. And I want you here, Nola. In my room. In my bed. In my life.”
