Changing me.
I close my eyes and taste her lips, smell her shampoo, feel her soft body.
I feel her yielding, hear her begging, see that look of surrender—
I clear the cups. Hang her attire.
Undress. Shower. Don pajamas.
She's in my bed, sleeping soundly.
She looks right there, her dark hair blending into the black sheets, her body soft and still, her expression serene.
She looks right in my bed, in my space, in my life.
It shouldn't be a revelation. I asked the woman to marry me. Of course she's going to be in my life.
But this—
This lightness in my chest—
This warmth filling my entire body—
It's familiar.
The warm, soft, sweet danger that ends in pain.
I can't fall in love with her. It's out of the question.
But still, I climb into bed next to her.
Still, I pull her body to mine.
Still, I hold her close as I fall asleep.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Indigo
The sun streams through the windows, casting morning light over the black sheets and hardwood floors.
I close my eyes. Turn to the pillow. Soft, cool cotton. And it smells like Ty. His soap, his shampoo, his sweat—
Some perfect mix that's entirely him.
I roll onto my back. Stretch my arms over my head. Soak in the warmth of the sun.
Did I dream it?
Or was he really here last night?
Did I really feel like he loved me?
No, not loved. He isn't going to love me. But there must be some word that works. Something between the painful stab of care and the sweet promise of love.
I rise. Move to the bathroom, the one here, in the master.
It's already set up for me.
Purple toiletries. Toothbrush, razor, comb, towel set.
Dark purple. My purple.
Did he pick them out for me? Or was it Paloma, taking care of everything? Ink purple is straight out of her playbook.
Maybe that's his life. Maybe he lets the help run his household. But it's hard to imagine Ty ceding that much control.
He picked this out.
He made space for me.
He really is ready to commit to a lifetime with me, even though he'll never love me.
It's strange, but it makes sense in a Ty kind of way.
I brush my teeth, wash my face, comb through my messy locks as I move into the main room.
Fuck, this place is just as gorgeous in the day. The sun bounces off the river, casting a soft glow over the leather and hardwood.
Ty isn't here. And it's quiet.
According to my cell, it's early. And Sienna is proud of me for staying out all night. She's taking a victory run in my honor.
I can't help but smile. Some of this is hopelessly complicated. But helping my sister find a better life—
That's pure, unadulterated good.
I tap a coy reply. Move into the kitchen.
It's incredibly neat, of course. A French press and coffee grinder against the wall. Next to an electric kettle. And in the sleek cabinet above them—
Jackpot.
Some dark roast coffee and a neat row of tea tins. A Japanese green tea, a spicy chai blend, and the black tea I loved at his office. Yunnan Hong Cha.
I set the water to two hundred degrees. Find a teaspoon. Scoop leaves into a sleek white mug.
While the water heats, I check the apartment for signs of him. The room at the end of the hall is an office.
It's exactly what I expect of Ty. A modern sit to stand desk adorned only with a computer. No decorations, no touches of home, no photos of family. Work. Ergonomic work, sure, but only work and the view.
If it was my office, the view would be enough. The Hudson on one side. Uptown on the other. Beauty everywhere I look.
But it's hard to imagine Ty sitting at his desk, staring at the river or the Empire State Building.
No, more likely he lowers the fancy, almost invisible blinds so the light doesn't cast a glare on his computer.
There's another room, similar to his bedroom, but clearly designed for someone else. The purple sheets and black desk are a dead giveaway.
Then there's the guitar in the corner.
The model I have at home. The one I told him about three years ago.
Plus a very expensive stereo and a bookshelf stocked with old favorites.
This is supposed to be my room.
Maybe that's for the best. The feeling of his arms around me, his chest rising against my back—
I'm still craving it.
I can't sleep next to him for ten years without falling in love with him.
I move toward the stereo. Connect my cell.
Play Back to Black.
Amy's throaty vocals fill the space. I close my eyes, soak in the warmth of the sun, the coolness of the air-conditioning, the sweet sound of the music.
It feels like home.
Already, it feels like home.
That's scarier than anything. But it's a nice place to spend the next ten years. Big room, gorgeous view, walk-in closet.
The hangers are filled with my clothes. Finds from my trip with Paloma and a dresser packed with Ty's picks.
Lingerie.
Handcuffs.
Harnesses.
My thighs shake as I run my fingers over the soft leather. Two delicate cuffs joined on a thin metal chain.
Ready to attach to the wall, desk, bed, harness.
There's more in the next drawer. A riding crop. A paddle. A sleek vibrator, new, in a velvet box.
Did he buy all this in the last week?
The lingerie is my size. Everything. From the sexy yet practical black nylon bra to the sheer.
"Your water's ready." His voice interrupts me. He's standing there, in the doorframe, in running shorts and one of those sweat-wicking tanks, bathed in soft light.
"You're quiet."
"Your music's loud."
"Too loud?"
"No. I like it." He stands there, all tall and broad and sexy.
He's handsome in his suit, but this—
Sweat dripping off his strong shoulders, down his muscular thighs, over his tattooed arms—
Fuck.
What if I throw this harness on the bed? Ask him to go right now?
Will he get naked with me?
I want him naked. I want to touch every inch of his skin. Feel every ridge of his muscles. Trace every tattoo.
There's something new on his chest. And another, on his arm, above the geometric rose he shares with his brother.
"Would you like me to fix your tea?" he asks.
"You were on a run?"
He nods. "I can invite you next time."
"Please no."
He chuckles. "Your sister then. If she moves into the building."
If. That's a lot for him. An if, not a when. That's practically a promise to compromise. "She's fast."
"So am I."
Probably. Really, Sienna only invites me out of some mix of pity and sisterly duty. She says I need to exercise. Then she does a few laps with me, lets me walk the rest, breaks into a gazelle-like run. "She would like that. She likes you."
"Because I'm hot?"
"Mostly." I can't help but smile. "She texted her congratulations."
"Oh?"
"On getting laid."
He smiles. "Did you tell her?"
I shake my head. "She assumed. Since I didn't come home."