Rusty Nailed (30 page)

“You really care?” he asked, slipping his fingers underneath the lace of my panties. Slippery already, and he moaned at the first touch.

“Not really.” I marveled at his strength; I always had. The idea of being actually wall banged always seemed impossible to me. Until Simon. He was strong without being beefcake. And he could carry my body around like I weighed next to nothing, when that wasn’t the case at all.

“How much do you care about these?” he asked, tugging on the waistband.

“One guess.” I smirked.

Off.

And then we were off.

We were half naked on the stairs, where he made me walk in front of him. We were lying on the floor, half in and half out of the bedroom. We were on the window seat, highlighted against the bay window.

We were hanging off the edge of the blow-up bed when a particularly powerful thrust made the bed blow up and poof to bits all around us.

And when I rose above him, sliding him inside deep and thick and heavy and oh so deep, my orgasm rocketed through me, bursting behind my eyelids and tingling through my skin, and every single part of me cried out as he grinned from underneath me, saying, “There’s my sweet girl.”

I exploded again and again, our bodies soaked with sweat and gleaming as I rode him hard and fast, his voice now bellowing his own release. I slumped down across him, panting heavily. He lifted his face to mine, kissed me deeply, and before he coaxed my head back down into the nook, he looked me straight in the eyes and said, “Don’t ever shut me out again like that, you hear me?”

He knew.

I kissed him back. “I promise.”

He was still wearing the tool belt.

•  •  •

A
n hour later we were in the kitchen, heating up yet another microwave dinner. The avocado appliances had been removed, but the new ones not yet delivered. So every meal was prepared in the microwave, then usually eaten on a tarp-covered box.

“Potpie or Salisbury steak?”

“Salisbury steak? Is this 1979?” I asked as he held up two boxes.

“Don’t mock the steak, this is the best! My mom used to make these the nights I had soccer practice. Dad complained, but he secretly loved these frozen dinners,” he said, plugging in the microwave. It moved daily.

“Potpie for me, then. I don’t want to come between you and your steak,” I replied, pouring a glass of wine into a plastic cup. I watched him as he moved around the kitchen, thinking how much more freely he mentioned his mom and dad and his childhood these days. That reunion had really changed things. He’d finally created a Facebook account, and was in touch with the apostles almost daily.

Though I’d released a lot of tension upstairs only a short while ago, I could feel it beginning to creep back in.

“So, something a little epic happened at work today,” I offered, examining my toes.

“A little epic?” He laughed, peeling back the plastic and popping in our dinners. I dug through our silverware drawer (read, the plastic bag) for forks.

“Well, a lot epic. Did you know Jillian and Benjamin bought a house in Amsterdam?” I eyed him carefully.

“They did? That’s great. He mentioned something about that, but I didn’t know for sure.”

“Benjamin mentioned something as huge as buying a house in mother-flipping Amsterdam, and you didn’t tell me?” I asked, incredulous.

“What’s the problem?”

“The problem is Jillian is ‘semiretiring,’ ” I snapped, air quoting so angrily I almost got a finger cramp. “And she offered to make me a partner.”

“Whoa, what does that mean?”

“I don’t know yet. We just talked about it for the first time today and I don’t know all the details.” I filled him in on the details I did know: the six months she’d be gone, what I’d likely be doing in her absence.

We settled across from each other with our dinners.

“Well, it’s obviously a tremendous opportunity for you. Congratulations,” he said.

I couldn’t figure out what he
wasn’t
saying.

“Thanks?” I said, making it a question.

“It’s a huge deal. I’m proud of you,” he answered, stabbing at his Salisbury steak. He didn’t look up at me.

“What’s on your mind, Simon?”

“It’s just—you’ve been working so hard. And so much. I thought things were going to slow down a bit for you now.”

He only said everything I’d been thinking, but it bothered me to hear someone else say it. I balled up my napkin in my fist. “I can’t turn down a huge opportunity like this. No one gets a chance like this at my age. And I love my job—how could I ever say no?” I chewed my potpie angrily. “And as far as us not seeing each other, that’s kind of how we’ve always been, right? We’re used to that. I mean, we used to be used to that—you used to be gone more often than you weren’t,” I said pointedly.

“I’m home now, though,” he said back, just as pointedly.

I wanted to scream, “
But no one asked you to do that!
” And then I was horrified that I’d even think such a thought. Who the hell complains about that when a boyfriend’s as incredible as Simon? Case in point: the tool belt and the multiple orgasms I just enjoyed not thirty minutes ago.

But I said nothing about that. No, I went right ahead and opened up another jar of pickles. “Plus the money is going to be incredible.”

“We’ve got plenty of mon—”

“
You’ve
got plenty of money—not me. There’s a difference.” I pointed my fork at him. “Speaking of which, we need to talk about the car situation out there, while you don’t have your hands in my panties.”

“What’s wrong with the car? Don’t you like it?” he asked, truly not getting it.

“I love the car. How could I not? But you can’t just buy me a car.”

“I think I just did.”

“I know, and it’s incredibly sweet. And incredibly kind. And incredibly expensive, and I incredibly don’t need it,” I said, standing up to throw away my potpie.

“Caroline, come on. You loved driving Jillian’s car. Don’t tell me you didn’t.”

“This isn’t about whether I love the car, Simon. It’s about you
buying
me a car.”

“Dammit, I wish I’d been outside when you pulled up. I had this whole thing planned out, and I think if you’d—”

“Simon, there’s a brand new-car in the driveway with a red bow on it! I think I see what you were trying to do. And it’s incredibly sweet, but it’s just too much!” I sat back in my chair, at a loss. Was I out of line here?

“I don’t get it.” He sighed, standing up and throwing his dinner into the trash can. As he turned back to me, I saw total confusion in his eyes. “When I was thirteen, my dad bought my mom a new car. She came home from the grocery store one day, and bam—there it was. Red bow and everything. And she said all the same things you’re saying. It’s too much, you shouldn’t have done this—everything. And my dad kissed her, handed her the keys, and said, ‘Let’s go for a drive.’ And that was it. She gave in.” He
leaned against a sawhorse, dragging his hands through his hair. “You know why? Because she knew how much it meant to
him
. Everything
he
did was to make
her
happy.” His voice deepened toward the end, sounding rough and a little choppy.

His blue eyes were huge, and I could see his jaw clenching. He cleared his throat. Twice. Then he swallowed hard. Shit.

“So keep the car, don’t keep the car, whatever. I just wanted to do something nice for you, because I could.” His voice wobbled a bit, and I couldn’t take it anymore. I was in front of him, pulling him close and wrapping his strong arms around me. I held him tight. A minute later, I felt him hang on. Sweet boy.

What the hell was wrong with me? Picking a fight with my favorite person on the entire planet.

I pulled away just a smidge, placing my hands on either side of his face. I kissed one cheek, then the other, then his eyelids. My lips came away just the tiniest bit damp. I cringed inside, but all he saw was my smile.

I backed away and started pulling on my jacket. “You’re leaving?” he asked.

“Yep, and you are too,” I said, handing him his coat. “Let’s go for a drive.”

There is nothing like a Wallbanger grin. It gets me every time.

Just before we left, I heard the telltale rattle of glass. Racing, Simon beat me to the dining room and snatched up Clive, who was halfway through the rusty old casement window again. I checked Clive over, then slammed the window shut.

“I’ll keep the car if you fix that damn window,” I said, pointing my finger at Simon. He nodded and I turned my finger on Clive. “And if you do that again, you go on catnip detox. Permanently.” He rolled his eyes at me.

Then Simon and I went out for a joyride in my new effing convertible, which I admit, was totally sweet. The things you do for love.

•  •  •

I
t was late, well after three in the morning. We’d been lying in the dark talking for what seemed like hours. It was as if once I started, I couldn’t stop telling him everything.

“And now this thing at work—I mean, how in the world could I ever say no to this? It’s such a great thing. If I had to do this on my own, do you have any idea how long it would take to try and build my own business? It’s not enough to just be a great designer; there are very talented people who try to go it alone all the time, and it just doesn’t work for whatever reason.”

He nodded, rolling over to be closer to me as I talked it out. It helped.

“But now, to be offered the chance to basically help run things? Permanently? It feels amazing. That Jillian has that kind of faith in me, you can’t know what that feels like. It’s a lot more work, sure, but I can do it. I’d have to be crazy not to, right?”

He just showed me his teeth. He knew better than to answer that one.

“And then this house—it’s literally a dream come true. Well, it will be when all the work is done. But holy shit, it’s overwhelming! Living through a renovation like this is a pain in the ass! And I know it’s been tough on you too, being stuck here all day while it’s going on. It’ll be worth it, though; this place is going to be amazing.” I sighed, laying back and curling closer.

I wanted to say the other things, the bigger pickle things, but I couldn’t. It was as if I said them out loud, especially in this house, then I was admitting I had a problem. Not “the first step is admitting you have a problem” kind of thing, but—

Actually. Maybe that’s exactly what I needed to say. Maybe I needed to give voice to the bigger issue here—the one that was so terrifying that I was even avoiding it in my own head. What
was
my problem?

We met under very unconventional circumstances. We fell in love in the most unconventional way possible. The first time we made love? Conventional. Didn’t work. The first time we fucked? Definitely unconventional, what with all the flour puffing and the raisins. Fucking fireworks, baby.

And for a year we lived unconventionally. He was gone, I was here. We traveled together when we could, seeing places and doing things I’d never imagined were in the cards for me. I didn’t need spooning every single night; I liked having a bed to myself every now and again. We laughed, we loved, we nooked. And it worked.

Now we were moving closer and closer to a more conventional relationship, which was packed with awesome, no doubt about it. But it was almost . . . too . . . shit. I didn’t know what it was. I just knew I needed to say it out loud.

I was once herded—very delicately, but herded nonetheless—toward a conventional relationship. I didn’t want that. So at some point I was going to have to share this pickle.

“Keep this between us, okay, mister?” I said, scratching under his chin.

Clive gave a soft meow, and nodded his head toward the stairs. I picked him up and took him back to bed, where Simon was sound asleep in the remains of the blow-up bed.

chapter twenty

I drove my new car into the city the next morning. It generated quite a stir in the office, something I quickly tried to defuse.

I spent the morning with Jillian going over her proposal privately. She didn’t want to worry anyone, and of course she didn’t want our clients to know until she was ready to announce her semiretirement.

As we went through everything and I saw how it looked on paper, I admit it was a pretty heady thing. I’d continue to run things as I’d done before, essentially taking over the day-to-day operations. And since I made it clear that I still wanted to keep up with my clients and be able to bring in new business, it was also clear that we would need to hire another full-time designer.

She told me to think it over, to talk to Simon about it, but more and more, I realized that this wasn’t something I could say no to. I mean, I could, but why would I ever want to?

So before we broke for lunch, I accepted her offer. I was now a partner in Jillian Designs! We shook hands, popped a bottle of champagne, and did everything but throw our hats into the air like Mary Tyler Moore.

Feeling a little on edge, from all the excitement, of course, I
left work early and celebrated on my own that afternoon at World of Tile—favorite store ever. It was time to select the all-important backsplash for my kitchen.

Oh my
goodness,
my kitchen. Now here was something I could get excited about. Let me tell you about my kitchen.

White custom cabinets. Glass front on some, a few with open shelving. Deep gray soapstone countertops. Sub-Zero fridge. Two wall ovens—count them, two. And the best part of all?

Viking.

Stove.

Angels.

Sing!

And it gets better. A custom island with an inlaid sink, covered in white Carrara marble with veins of the barest gray and blue. Seating for six on one side, with custom cooling drawers on the other.
Just for dough.

Deciding how tall to make the island was an exercise in ridiculous. Simon carried me around the house, setting me down on different heights to see what was the most comfortable. I’m sure the entire crew knew exactly what he was up to, and I didn’t care. I was getting the kitchen of my dreams, and if my boyfriend wanted to make sure that the counter was a perfect height for sexy times? That kitchen just got dreamier.