Losing Control (Kerr Chronicles #1)(49)
Author: Jen Frederick

“How much does this place really cost?” I ask Ian, who has followed me in and is leaning against the wall. He’s closed the door behind him but hasn’t made a move toward me.

“Five million, give or take a few hundred thousand.”

I’m glad I’m lying down so I don’t faint.

“Is it the money that bothers you, Tiny? Because I thought you said you were all about the money.” He’s mocking me now but it’s gentle and without spite.

“I don’t know what it is,” I say slowly, staring up at the white ceiling. At least the ceiling looks normal here, if not a little higher than my old apartment. “I feel like I’m always playing catch up with you. I said I’d do the Howe project for you and now it feels like I’m getting fired. You’re spending money on me like . . .” I struggle for a comparison and use the clothing lady’s version, “like nothing is more than a latte from Starbucks, and it makes me feel like we’ll never be equals.”

“And being seen as an equal is important to you?” He’s moved away from supporting the wall and is now sitting on the edge of the bed. I move over, not sure if I’m making room for him or getting away from him.

“Wouldn’t it be for anyone?” I counter.

“I really only care what is important to you.” He settles next to me but is careful about not touching me.

“It’s so fast, Ian, and I’m not a plastics company. I’m a human and moving into this apartment, getting all those clothes, and now, having you say things that suggest you are interested in something serious when we don’t even know each other confuses me.” I figure there’s no point at subterfuge, not when I want honesty in return. “I don’t know how much is an act and what’s real.”

He shifts me closer and his implacable hand turns my head so that we are eyeball-to-eyeball. “That I want you? It’s no act,” he says harshly.

I can’t hide my misery. “This game is too hard for me. I don’t know the rules, and I’m afraid I’m going to get hurt in the process.”

Ian releases my neck and cups my cheek. “Let me tell you what you need to know about me. I’m loyal, generous, and I like to have things my own way.”

“The last one isn’t really a plus,” I mutter.

“Who said I was itemizing my attributes? This is who I am. I want you, Tiny. In my bed and in my life. You aren’t being fired. We’re reassessing the situation. Let’s enjoy each other in the process.”

“For how long?”

“For however long it lasts. Tell me what you want out of life, Tiny.”

Did I know myself as well as Ian? He was able to lay out a very definitive description of himself.

“You should know that I’m loyal, too,” I say slowly. “I care a lot about my family and would like to have one of my own some day.” A wave of longing hits me as I articulate something I didn’t even realize was a necessity in my life. My mother’s sickness and my relative personal isolation is part of why Ian’s intense attention is filling me with confusion. I want what he’s offering, but I realize that I want it too much and I want it to last forever. Ian is staring intently at me, as if everything I’m saying is of vital importance. I wish I could read his mind.

“I won’t deny that I was attracted to you from the first minute I saw you on the street. I love that you challenge me, but every minute I spend with you, it cements what I’ve already suspected. You, Victoria Corielli, were made for me. I’m not going to apologize for knowing what I want,” he argues. “Why can’t you take us one day at a time? Let me shoulder some of your burden?”

“Because I’m afraid.”

“Be afraid then. It’s my job to convince you that the fear is unnecessary.” He utters these words with complete confidence, as if by saying them he can will away my anxiety. The bed dips as he climbs off and saunters into the bathroom.

“Gee, thanks.” I listen as he runs water inside the bathroom. Could I go with the flow? What would be the harm? So what if my heart gets broken. Is that really something I can’t recover from? I’ve had bad breakups before.

When he comes out, he’s dressed in casual clothes, a pair of soft pants and a thin white T-shirt that clings to his hard frame.

“I’m going to work a bit.” He lifts a bag that I hadn’t noticed before. It’s so worn that it looks like it’s traveled twice around the world. The creases have creases. Noticing my stare, he pats the side with an affectionate hand. “This baby has been with me for over ten years. My first boss gave it to me. Said every man who aspired to prosperity owned one good leather bag. I couldn’t afford one. One night I was working late and fell asleep at my desk. When I woke up, the bag was sitting next to me. I’ve never used another since. Never will either.”

The words fall like rain on my greedy heart. He’s telling me that his affections aren’t so easily displaced. I give him a small smile and then rise up on an elbow to kiss his cheek. He turns so our lips meet and he gives me slow, wet kisses that make my toes curl. Drawing back, he cups my face with a gentle hand and rubs a thumb across my wet lip. “Get some sleep, bunny.”

After Ian leaves, I tiptoe down the hall to my mom’s bedroom. She’s asleep, lying in the huge bed with her reading glasses on and a book beside her. I pull off the glasses and move the book to the nightstand. “Love you, Mommy,” I whisper.

“Love you too, baby girl,” she mumbles as I walk out.

It takes me a long time to go to sleep, but Ian remains out in the living room doing whatever it is that constitutes work for him. Even when I do fall asleep I’m restless, missing his big, warm body. Later I feel him climb in beside me. A warm arm slides over my waist and a big hand cups my sex in a comforting rather than provocative manner, and I’m finally able to sink into a deep slumber.

Sometime in the night he rouses me and makes love to me gently, moving my limbs and kissing me warmly all over. When he presses inside me, it’s with tender intent. Our bodies move together leisurely and when my orgasm hits, it’s a gentle wave instead of the pounding hurricane of our previous encounters.

He breathes out my name in a long rush of air against my ear as he jets into the condom. I fall asleep with his warm body tucked around me again.

Ian is gone by the time I wake up. The clothes that were lying in the living room last night are hung up in the closet. Some of the items are strange runway-types of clothes that I thought no real person ever wore and I can’t imagine putting on my body but others—like a wispy dress with angled pumpkin and white stripes—are so lovely that my heart skips a beat.