“What are you going to do? Tell me.”
“No.”
I blink, stunned all over again. “Kace if I’m going to spend the rest of my life with you, I mean, live with you,” I quickly correct, my cheeks heating, “then I should be the person you trust.”
His hand covers mine, heat radiating up my arm, nerves jittery in my belly. “There is no if, baby,” he says. “You already live with me. And I do want you to spend the rest of your life with me. Exactly why I do not want you to see this part of me.”
He wants me to spend the rest of my life with him. I thrill at this knowledge, but I force myself to focus on the obstacles he himself has put in front of us to prevent it from happening. “I thought we got rid of the secrets?”
“This isn’t a secret. You know I’m dealing with him. It’s just me protecting you from the more explicit details.”
“And hurting us in the process. Be you, Kace. Good, bad, ugly, sweet, wonderful, whatever. Just be you. I need things that are real in my life and so do you. I need to know the real man.”
“You do, like no one else knows me, Aria.”
My lips press together with this reply. He still doesn’t trust me. Maybe he will never and that’s not a path to forever. It’s a path to goodbye. “Apparently not.” I slip into my coat.
He scowls. “What are you doing?”
“I need an icing-topped cookie, or ten, really badly right now, emphasis on the icing.” I stand up and start gathering the trash. He does the same, awkwardness pinging between us. We walk to the door and he opens it and I can feel his heavy scrutiny. I don’t look at him. I walk outside where the snow has faded, and a pinch of sunshine peeks through a cloud, and I don’t stop. I turn, but three steps into a path that leads to cookies, I’m halted.
Kace captures my elbow, turning me to him, his gaze colliding with mine, his expression dark, almost haunted. We are near a wall, and people are busy around us, almost shoving us. He backs me up, closer to the building wall, lowering his head. “I’m trying to protect myself.” His voice is tight.
My chin lifts in defiance of that statement. “Why do you want to live with someone you don’t trust?”
“I trust you completely, Aria.”
“And yet you can’t stand the idea of me seeing every part of you,” I say and it’s not a question. It’s a statement of fact.
The muscle in his jaw tics and his hand goes to the wall over my head, his lashes lowering, a turbulent look etched on his handsome face. I catch his jacket and force his gaze to mine. “You told me you were going to handle him brutally, Kace,” I say. “I didn’t run then. I’m not going to run now.”
“You think you won’t.” His voice is gruffer now, his tone deeper.
“I don’t want a fair-weather relationship,” I say. “I can’t do fair-weather. I need to know that nothing is off limits with us. And to you.”
His expression is unreadable, his eyes fixed on me, a beam of scrutiny, and when I think he will reject my words, instead he says, “We are not fair-weather.” His hand slides to my back, just above my backside and he molds our hips together. “We aren’t.”
My hand flattens on his chest, over the leather of his jacket. “Then trust me.”
“For now, Blake’s digging into Maggie’s death. He feels like there’s a real chance Alexander killed her. I cleared a path for him to dig without pushback from Alexander.”
“How?”
“Alexander is in oil. I own substantial stock in a large oil company under a holding company name. In other words, he won’t know I’m involved. I arranged for him to be offered a large contract if he proves capable with the culture. That means spending three months in Africa.”
“But he won’t get the contract.”
“No,” he confirms. “He will not.”
“And when he comes back, Blake plans to have him arrested?”
“If he finds the evidence, yes.”
“I don’t understand why you wouldn’t tell me that.”
“Because, baby, he won’t have the resources to hire a lawyer, let alone maintain his lifestyle. I hired someone to ensure he spirals financially.”
“And then he’ll offer to sell you your music.”
“Not if his assets are seized. When they’re sold off, I’ll get my music back.”
“I don’t understand. Why would they be seized?”
“Because they will.”
“Because there’s more to the story.”
His cellphone buzzes and he grabs his phone from his pocket and glances at his messages. “More cookies, apparently. Jenny is anxious for us to arrive and try the cookies fresh from the oven.” He catches my hand and kisses it. “Let’s go finish our visit. The realtor I talked to about finding a new apartment wants to meet us at six. Knowing Jenny and Jerry, they won’t want us to leave.”
I blink, surprised by how fast he’s moving on this new apartment deal, but I don’t push him, not right now, but I’m no fool. There’s more to his reasoning for this, clearly, but he doesn’t think I can handle. I am reminded that you don’t have to trust someone to love them. Obviously, my father didn’t trust my mother. That’s not what I want for us.
Kace pushes off the wall, and I slide my arms under his jacket and stare up at him. “I can handle the more, and one day, you’ll know me well enough to know that’s true.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Kace and I enter the busy cookie shop to the sweet scent of baked goods and a squeal from Jenny from behind the counter. “Finally, she’s here!” she exclaims, drawing the attention of a good half a dozen customers. “And just in time,” she adds. “We have a fresh batch of cookies we just pulled from the oven.” She motions toward a back area. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”
Her reaction to my visit warms me inside while the toasty heater has me shrugging out of my coat. Kace steps behind me and aids my effort, leaning in to whisper, “I think she likes you better than me.”
I laugh and glance over my shoulder at him. “I am an icing expert,” I inform him quite seriously.
“So I’ve heard,” he says, as I rotate to face him. “You’ll have to prove it today.”
“Gladly.” I rub my hands together. “I’m all about the tasting.”
He tosses my coat over his arm and leads me through the seating area, which I only now notice the tables having cute little cookies imprinted on the tops. In the process, I don’t miss the way two women at one of those nearby tables are eyeing Kace, their heads together, all smiles and whispers. Kace notices—I know he notices—and his response is a possessive hand on my lower back, a wordless statement of ownership—his and mine. With it, I feel this sense of security that I haven’t asked for but that he’s offered freely. It matters. I don’t know if I knew how much, but I’m beginning to, so very much.