It Matters To Me (The Wandering Hearts Book 2) (26 page)

His expressionless stare shifts into such an intense glare that I’m tempted to look away, but I force myself not to.

“Safe?” I gently press him.

He shakes his head, “Part of me was always afraid of what people would think of me. Would they pity me? Would they believe my father’s version instead?” He looks into my eyes. “I don’t know why I told you about all of it.”

“I’m glad you felt you could,” I say.

He smiles. He doesn’t pull his hand away. “You never disappoint, do you Kenzie?”

“I try not to,” I say in a teasing voice, but he won’t let me just shrug off the compliment.

“I mean it.” His voice is serious. “I tell you the things I’ve been hiding behind from the world for all these years, and you respond by feeling my pain.”

Huge, heavy sobs rip through me.

“Why are you crying now?” he asks, in a panic, his hand on my chin before moving to my arm.

I huff, “I don’t know, it’s all just so horrible, what happened—”

He laughs, wrapping me into his arms like they were ribbons and I am a present. “Because of what happened to me? You do realize those things happened to me, and not you?” He’s trying to be humorous, but it’s not working. All I can think about is the torment it must have been for him. For the child he was.

“I know, but nobody should have to go through what you did.” I can’t stop my bottom lip from trembling as I speak, certain I look like an emotional fool.

His eyes soften more. “It happened a very long time ago, sweetie.”

I stiffened. “I don’t care, it’s not fair.”

“Life’s not fair,” he reminds me of something I once told him. “But it’s a little easier now.”

“Why?” I ask naively.

He laughs, showing me tenderness in the way he moves. “I’m trying to pay you a compliment.”

“I make your life easier,” I say more as a question.

“Of course.”

I shrug, “I mean, I know I’m a hard worker and all, but I’m not sure I would say I make your life easier.”

He squeezes me tighter and presses his lips against mine. There’s a smile on his mouth as we connect. I feel a stab of tenderness that gives way to a deep ache in my belly. He releases me, staring into my eyes, creating a longing within me.

“You make being happy easy,” he whispers into my hair, and I melt a little more. “That’s saying something. Happy has never been easy for me.”

“Aiden,” I sigh. He supports me all the way back down onto the sheets. His lips graze against the flesh of my stomach, searing a hot trail as he inches down my body. My hand slips down to his head, fingers entwining into his hair. “Aiden,” I moan again.

Our bodies collide and find a tempo that renders me completely at his mercy. In this moment I am his to do with as he pleases. Perhaps even more terrifying, I think my heart may be his as well.

O
UR APPETITE FOR EACH OTHER
has been insatiable. I managed to convince her to take a break for some food after the last time we made love, but now, watching her as she walks in front of me, back to her room, I find myself once again aroused.

She looks over her shoulder at me with a wicked glance, but I can’t tell if it’s an innocent flirtatious glance or if she’s telling me she’s ready for dessert. I adjust the growing bulge in my pants and grimace as I fully grasp the actual tenderness I have down below from the marathon love-making session we’ve shared in.

She stops at her door, turning to face me. With a smile, she asks, “Ready for some editing?”

I narrow my eyes. “Is editing a euphemism for something?”

She laughs that damn sexy laugh of hers. “Well, I didn’t intend it to be.”

We move inside. I kiss her, my hands resting on her hips and then fall back onto the bed. This makes the decision hers. If she wants me, I am in a great place to be had.

She sits on the bed across from me and begins to swing her feet off the edge, flipping off her shoes in the process. “What are you thinking about?” she asks me.

“Honestly?” I ask with a lifted eyebrow.

“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want you to be honest.”

“I’m wondering how long until my cock isn’t sore.”

She laughs again. This time, it’s loud and comes from deep within her. Her laughter trails off and her look shifts. She seems so serious. “When do we go back to the preserve?”

Surprised by her question, I shake my head. “We’ve got everything we need, there’s no reason.”

“What about Jumanda?”

“What about him?” Confusion clouds my head.

“We didn’t say goodbye. We didn’t say goodbye to any of them.” She’s concerned. I can’t help but love this about her.

“We’ll be back, eventually,” I reply.

“We’ll?” She picks up on the word quickly.

“I mean if you want to continue being my assistant.”

She thinks about my offer, her face emotionless. At last, she says, “I guess, or the other option is I could always file a sexual harassment lawsuit.”

“Yes, that is always an option.” I grin.

She bites her bottom lip with her top teeth, and I feel the bulge begin to grow in my pants again. I want to see those lips and teeth nibbling on something else.

“Or you could stay on here with me for a while,” I add spontaneously.

“What?” she gasps.

“We don’t have to hand deliver the images to the client. We can edit them, ship them off, and then explore together,” I suggest.

Her mouth drops open.

“Is that a good shock or bad?” I ask, desperate for some sort of response.

“I don’t even have an apartment,” she says.

“What do you mean? Here? You don’t need one.”

Shaking her head, frustrated, she says, “in Chicago. I had to move back in with my mom. And oh my God, what would my mom say if I called and told her I was going to stay even longer? Here? With you?”

“Good for you, sweetheart?” I suggest innocently.

“Ha!” She boldly exclaims. “That woman would never support any decision I make. I tell you what, I could win the lottery, and she would tell me I should have won it differently.”

“I see.” I smile. “I’ll remember, Mom equals touchy subject.”

“Sorry, it sounds amazing, but my life is a mess right now. It’s not like this job would ever be full time or anything. I’m going to need to find a real job.”

“Ouch,” I wince at the statement.

“You know what I mean.”

“I know talent when I see it,” I reassure her. “I can keep you busy enough to make the cash you need while you build up a client list.”

“Client list?”

“Kenzie, I wasn’t lying when I said you’re a natural. It would be a shame if you didn’t do this for a living.”

“You really think so?”

“Absolutely.”

“And here I just thought you were trying to hook up.”

“Well, been there, done that, and I’m still saying you’re good.”

“Maybe you just want more sex,” she suggests.

“Always, but I don’t think I need to compliment you to get it.”

“Compliments would help,” she chirps.

I smile. “But I don’t need them.”

“You’re cocky!” She announces, trying not to smile.

“Come here and I’ll show you just how cocky I am.” I reach for her, and she dodges my reach, squealing.

“Stop, this is serious,” she protests, laughing.

“Okay, fine, I’m completely serious. Chicago and all the problems will still be waiting for you. What do you say? Are you up for a little African exploration?” I wait for her answer.

She says nothing, deep in thought.

“You only live once, baby,” I remind her.

She looks at me and her eyes widen. Leaping up and jumping across the divide between the beds, she wraps her hands around my neck. “I’m in!” She announces. I pull her curves in closer to me, kissing her repeatedly.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

“I’m the one who should be thanking you,” I say.

O
NE DAY HAS SEEMED TO
flow into the next lately. We hadn’t spent a night apart since the first night we made love. Quite honestly, there haven’t been many moments we’ve spent apart. He makes my blood start pumping and my heart race. Butterflies erupt to perform a perfect swan dive into the pit of my stomach when he walks into the room. There’s comfort when he’s next to me all the time. A comfort I am simply not ready to part with.

Staying in Africa went over about how I expected it would when I told my mom. It was so bad the first few days that I shut my phone off altogether. After about a week the messages every hour stopped, and we could at least have semi-civil conversations by text. Though, I made it very clear that if her behavior reverted back, I would return to powering down my cell phone.

Most of our trip has been funded by Aiden picking up small jobs here and there, but I know those funds can’t possibly be covering all of the expenses. I don’t like handouts, which he’s well aware of.

After well over a month in Africa together, Aiden and I know the time is quickly approaching when we will be returning home. I haven’t admitted it to him, but I’m worried. Our relationship is perfect right now, but what will it be like in the real world?

What happens when we aren’t going along on safaris or dining out at exotic restaurants in a magical foreign country? Back in Chicago, there are family members to contend with, and grocery store trips are the norm. Don’t even get me started on figuring out where in the hell I’m going to live when we get back. Mom has made it clear on several occasions that since I don’t need her help making decisions, then I certainly don’t need her roof over my head.

I throw the door of the hotel room open, drop my things on the bed and prepare to hop in the shower. Aiden is taking me to dinner at a local family’s home tonight. They are cooking us an authentic meal, and I must admit, after Aiden went on and on about the wife’s cooking all night, I’m pretty excited. Hotel restaurants have become predictable and boring.

Falling onto the bed, relaxing for a moment, I find myself smiling as I recount the numerous jobs Aiden and I have shot since coming to Africa. Probably the funniest moment was when he let me take the lead on a session where we were photographing a prominent political family. When I encouraged the husband to place his hand on his daughter’s shoulder, Aiden subtly informed me the young girl was in fact the gentleman’s wife. He’s still teasing me about that one.