“I did have a thing for him.” I place my palm to Nathan’s cheek and meet his eyes. “But it pales in comparison to the thing I have for you.”
A slow smile creeps across Nathan’s face as he leans into my touch. It’s like watching the dawn chase away the shadow of night. A thawing. A warming. And then, the sun in all its blinding glory.
He kisses me, his lips gentle then commanding, his hands whispering up my back, slipping over silk to find skin. His body presses to mine, strong and hard, and mine answers, supple, clenching, a low, throbbing need burning in my belly.
Nathan pulls back, brushing his forehead to mine. “Is that why he gave you back so early? Your thing for me?”
One kiss.
Another.
People are watching and I’m suddenly shy.
“Apparently this was all a big marketing scheme.”
“Marketing…?” Nathan cocks his head. “What the hell, Mina?”
“This is pretty much the best night of my life for a number of reasons.” With the man beside me being the biggest of those reasons. I can’t stop smiling and the look in his eyes is like coming home. Like becoming whole. Like knowing all is right in my world.
Nathan glances at the gathered crowd, then leans close to whisper, “Why don’t we get out of here and you can tell me all about it.”
And suddenly all I want is to be alone with him, so I can finally be with him. I want to tell him I stopped faking weeks ago and I want him to agree. I want him to touch me and take me and fulfill the promise he made with that first kiss in the parking lot at The Pact when the moon was full and expectant and hinted at wonderful things.
I nod and he smiles, then takes my hand and we wind through a crowd whispering questions as we leave.
There’s one thing I know for sure:
I want more time with Nathan West.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Mina
I tell Nathan about Benjamin’s offer in the car. My words trip over each other, each one more eager than the last to get out. “Bancroft and Blake Design. I mean…how awesome is that?”
“That’s amazing, Mina. I’m so proud of you and not at all surprised. You’re so incredibly talented. Benjamin would have to be blind not to see.”
He hasn’t let go of my hand since we got in the car, his thumb brushing my knuckle in a soothing dance. Everything’s shifted now. The nerves I felt when he picked me up have dissipated, burnt off like morning fog giving way to the sun, dewdrops glittering. A surge of anticipation effervesces through my bloodstream as Nathan’s driver pulls to a stop in front of a modest two-story house on the water. It’s so much smaller than the one Benjamin and I are designing for him, smaller even than his parents’ house, that I don’t immediately unlatch my seatbelt, certain there’s been a mistake. But Nathan climbs out of the car and the driver steps out to open my door, so this must be where we’re supposed to be.
I emerge into a night filled with expectation.
It pulses through the air.
The stars glimmer with it.
The sea roars with it.
I’m bursting with it.
“This isn’t the house I imagined for you,” I say, as Nathan crosses in front of the car to take my hand once again.
“Had something more lair-like in mind? Something better suited to The Prince of Darkness?” He grins as he brushes a strand of hair behind my ear, his thumb brushing my cheek. He can’t stop touching me and I don’t want him to.
“It’s a quarter the size of what Benjamin and I designed for you.”
“I’ve only recently decided to take Dom’s advice and play the hand I was given. Let myself enjoy being rich.” With a familiar hand on my back, Nathan leads me towards the steps.
I pause as I reach for the handrail.
“Are you enjoying it?” I ask, though what I really want to know is what now? What about us? Who is Dom and why does no one like him?
“I haven’t enjoyed much of the last couple months.” Nathan takes the stairs, then slips his key into the lock, pausing to look at me. His eyes simmer with heat, with meaning, with something that has me stepping closer.
“That’s not true.” His voice is low. Personal. “I’ve enjoyed my time with you very much.”
Nathan gestures for me to enter and I step inside his home, aware of how close he is as I pass. Being here with him feels more intimate than having him on his knees for me in the dressing room. This is his space, filled with his things, a personal glimpse into who Nathan West really is and what he values.
I enter into an open living room with a straight path to a dining area. Windows and a sliding glass door to my right reveal a covered deck that overlooks the water—a spectacular view if I’ve ever seen one. To my left is what looks like an office. The furnishings are expensive, though a few years old. Three gorgeous guitars with gleaming wood line one wall with several paintings hanging above, all by the same artist.
“My mother did those,” Nathan says, brushing his fingers against my bare shoulder. “Those two, she did while she was pregnant with me. The others happened throughout my childhood.”
I step closer to one done in the exact shades I imagined for Nathan’s new house—blues, grays, browns, and greens. Focusing on the paintings gives me a break from the tension smoldering between us.
“They’re beautiful.” I glance his way, stoking the fire. “They capture your essence perfectly.”
“Mom’s good at everything she does. Wine? Whiskey?” he asks, then heads toward the kitchen without waiting for a response, almost as if he’s feeling the same way I am. Like we’re constantly resisting a pull that will eventually overpower us.
“Wine would be nice,” I say, then follow, taking in my surroundings, surprised by how normal everything feels. When I first met Nathan, I’d pegged him as one of those Hollywood trust fund types. A man used to having everything he wants, whenever he wants it. Spoiled. Entitled. The kind of man who hires the best of the best to build a house that could fit three families rather than just one person.
