Chapter 34

I’m especially delighted Nick has taken to mostly forsaking texting for actual phone calls.

I’m particularly pleased when he times out the calls on the nights I’m home a bit earlier in the evening and slipping under the covers just as he’s waking. I get his sexy bedroom voice and he’s not opposed to talking dirty to me. And he can still make me blush, with words alone.

Granted, I have the visuals to go along with his risqué murmurings. But I find it erotic that he can be so thoroughly descriptive on his end.

Additionally, when he’s feeling optimistic that his father is stable (not improving, but not deteriorating as rapidly as he initially had been), Nick does, indeed, fly over for a night.

Were I to reciprocate and have Claire send a plane for me every now and then—as she’s offered on Nick’s behalf—we truly would be long-distance dating.

Though… I suppose we are anyway.

And that makes me happy.

It also makes me yearn for him even more.

A double-edged sword, without doubt.

Except that when he walks into the foyer of the restaurant to collect me on those fateful evenings and take me home, I can forget how desperately I miss him and exist in the hours we are able to spend together.

His favorite thing is to strip us down, get us cozily settled in bed, and gently rub my stomach as he whispers whatever he’s in the mood to discuss.

This evening, it happens to be an idea he claims I’ve inspired.

He tells me, “The way you’ve been branching out of the cove and promoting the restaurant at festivals and other events makes me think I need to send more of my scientific and medical experts, top economists, and the like to global conferences. They can share information, network, spread greater awareness of our country. Market our principal initiatives and breakthroughs that win us awards and accolades.”

“So that the origin of the positive outcomes doesn’t get buried,” I muse.

“Exactly.” He draws lazy circles on my slightly rounded belly as I lay on my back and he’s stretched out beside me, propped on an elbow. He adds, “We’ve hit upon this before, and it’s been percolating in my brain.”

“And you’re close to a conclusion?” I prompt.

“Traditionally—historically—we’ve viewed ourselves as an exclusive pod. We’re a wealthy country and, as I’ve told you, a melting pot. It seems that not having a concentrated national identity has hindered us in ways, but it hasn’t been easy to portray a cohesive vision because we’re so diverse. It’s that diversity we need to craft messaging around and get it out to the world. Contribute more, at a higher level, on a grander scale.”

“It sounds as though you have the financial means to accomplish this.”

“Yes. It’s just been a challenge to build infrastructure around the notion, primarily because of our longstanding premise of being a best-kept secret.”

“Your ancestors clearly had a purpose for that. Providing amnesty without drawing too much attention to yourselves. Are you certain you want to break that mold, Nick?” I seriously ask him.

His hand stills. Then raises to brush strands from my temple. Or really, just to sweep over my skin.

He is contemplative, though I suspect he’s already chewed on this thought dozens of times. There’s something to be said for a “private island.” Especially a protected one. To step out of the shadows of England, France, Italy, and the other close-proximity countries would call great attention to Nick’s homeland. That could prove beneficial. It could also invite trouble, even a potential invasion, due its smaller size.

But I glean a very good understanding of why Nick has been so wrapped around this specific axle when he quietly contends, “We have much to offer the world, Bailey.”

“Then use your new position of power and influence, as king, to advance your agenda.”

He grins. Kisses my forehead. And murmurs, “I like being able to talk to you about this.”

That is a sentiment of grave importance, equal to his declaration of: I honestly can’t not think of you as mine, Bailey.

He trusts me. He believes in my counsel or my capability to be a sounding board. He comprehends I’m concerned with the state of affairs that affect him and his entire heritage; his family, such as it is at this point—and the family that will come to be, with all hope, starting with our little peanut. Also… The future of a place he adores and the residents he’s so obviously proud of.

I shift so that he’s forced onto his back and my head is now on his chest, his arm around my shoulders. I splay my palm over the swell of one pec. Kiss his neck.

I know in less than two minutes he’s going to be making love to me. We have the greenlight from Dr. Shaw. She’s cautioned us to be gentle. Nick will be precisely that.

At the moment, however, I’m giving him the space to tether off his thoughts.

I’m perfectly aware of when this happens. His arm tightens around my shoulders and his other hand presses to my lower back to guide me on top of him. I straddle his hips, but my torso melds to his, my hands gliding upward to thread in his lush hair. My lips graze his. He lets out a sexy groan.

This is for sure going to be a slow burn. Nick will take his time with me—and I will cherish every single moment.

He cups my ass cheeks and leads me into a gradual rocking motion that has my folds rubbing against the grooves of his abs. When I grind my pelvis, the skin-on-skin contact with my clit and his rigid muscles, has me wet in a heartbeat.

And speaking of heartbeats… Mine pick up, substantially.

“You’re going to tease me for a bit, aren’t you?” I whisper against his throat.

“Just a bit. As much as I can take.”

I laugh, softly. Tenderly bite at his flesh. “You manage to hold out quite nicely.”

“That is a complete and utter lie.” His eyes twinkle as he says, “I can’t look at you—or think of you—and not want to be inside you.”

“I’m a huge fan of you being inside me,” I flirtatiously inform him.

I suckle his bottom lip. Then kiss him. Seductively. Tauntingly.

“Vixen,” he mutters.

“You started it.”

He chuckles. “As long as I’m turning you on, babe…”

“Oh, how you are.”

It’s easy enough to ascertain how wet I am for him. I’m sliding along his skin and grinding with a little more pressure.

I know he’s hard and wanting me. I feel his cockhead against my opening.

I stare into his gorgeous grey-green eyes and say, “You can always have me, Nick. However you want me.”

His fingers trail up to the base of my spine and then faintly to my nape, slipping under my hair.

He touches me like I’m delicate.

I’m used to him being more commanding. More assertive.

This is sweetly sensual, though.

He’s a man with primal urges and yet… He’s so acutely attuned to this alternate paradigm. I’m not necessarily physically fragile; but there is an internal frailty we’re both highly cognizant of. Because we’d both been terrified when I’d gotten that infection.

And, perhaps, he’s sensitive to me being a bird on a wire, one possessing a degree of freedom and yet… One bound to circumstance.

Admittedly, I’m becoming much more accepting of circumstance. Of our reality.

As he gradually, carefully presses in, taking his time filling me—which is both titillating and deliciously fraught with anticipation—he kisses me languidly. I am as deeply enamored with this impish side of him as I am his aggressive, masterful side.

The man knows how to read between all the lines and temptingly tease me until I’m begging for more. Which he gives me.

His strokes remain languid, but his tip caresses that sensitive spot within me, stealing my breath.

He’s well aware of what he does to me. He applies more pressure, the perfect amount.

“Nick,” I mutter.

My clit is still rubbing against his abs and he pumps steadily inside me, wholly targeting that pearl of nerves within me.

My hands shift from his hair to his traps. My fingers curl into the sinew.

This excites him. I feel the jolting of his body. But he doesn’t kick the lovemaking up a notch. He keeps it contained in something soft, yet spectacular. Because I’m edging toward orgasm, and I sense he is too.

I squeeze his cock and he whispers my name.

I smile against his lips. And say, “Come with me. Now.”

“It would be impossible not to when you feel this damn good.”

My hips roll with the same measured pace as his and my eyelids drift closed. I lose myself in the scent of him and the muscles I’m melded to and the whole glorious experience of Nick Angelini.

My climax is a rush of searing heat and the unraveling of the sexual tension he evoked the very second he’d fetched me at the restaurant.

My pussy clutches and releases him as I revel in the sensations—and that sets him off.

“Bailey.” His hands grip my ass, keeping me in place. Not that I’m going anywhere.

His cock surges inside me and I continue to milk him, prolonging his orgasm, drawing out every ounce of it, until his convulsions dim.

They don’t fully dissipate. He’s still vibrating as much as I am.

I’ve brought him to his knees with something less feral and more intuitive than we’ve previously shared.

Emotion swells in my heart, in my throat.

And I start to confess, “Nick, I—”

I clamp my teeth down on my lower lip to stifle myself.

Oh, my God.

I can’t be this revealing! I can’t tell the man I’m in love with him.

Talk about complicating matters!

I instantly redirect my wayward thought and shakily say, “I’m so glad you’re here tonight.”

He’s silent for several suspended seconds.

Then murmurs… “That’s not at all what you were about to say. Is it, Bailey?”

I’m caught in a painful conundrum here.

I’ve seriously put my foot in my mouth. Or, at least… I’ve come damn close. So much so, Nick is onto me.

He doesn’t press, though. Just strokes my spine with one hand while the fingers of the other loosely twines the strands of my hair, a plump curl. Both are his signature moves and I believe they are as soothing for him as they are for me.

My face is burrowed against his throat, my fingertips still dipping into his traps.

Our breaths have slowed just enough that we’re breathing as one. Though, my pulse remains erratic. I can feel it in my veins, strong and… Insistent. I just can’t tell what its meaning is—urging me to confess all or… Take the low road. And lie.

If I pursue the latter, Nick will forgive me. I know he will.

He’ll completely comprehend my cowardice, in fact. He’ll understand my reasoning for not allowing myself to *fully* slip up.

Why add one more hurdle to our situation? would likely be his logic. And it’s a good call.

The most intriguing thing about the silence that has befallen us and his utter lack of prodding me further is that I think he’s contemplating what his response would be if I were to admit I’m one-thousand percent head over heels for him.

Of course, it’d be nice to be privy to this particular outcome before I speak again.

Yet because he’s sensational at reading my thoughts, gauging my moods—and he’s just so amazing, so in-sync with me—he quietly asks, “Would it help if I said it first?”

My head whips up. A total knee-jerk reaction.

I stare down at him, gaping.

He grins again. The ultimate sexy one that only quirks a corner of his mouth.

It is a knowing smile on so many levels.

It is placating.

It is encouraging.

It is genuine.

He can convey a million expressions with that one partial, yet wholly engaging grin.

I’m speechless. I don’t know what the hell to say!

If I tell him yes, I’ll be committing to having crapped out when the desire had struck me to tell him I’m in love with him.

If I feign absolute ignorance and pretend I have no clue what he’s talking about… Well.

That would just make me an asshole.

Which I am not.

Sure, uncertainty grips me fiercely sometimes. But having lived a relatively precarious life, that’s just second nature. A standard weapon in my defense arsenal.

Though I can very easily contend that Nick is not a man I have to protect myself from or against.

At all.

Other than when it comes to the tenuous and fragile emotions that don’t necessarily serve either one of us well.

He will not take my feelings lightly, though. And vice versa.

Hell, he’s putting himself on the line as much as I might be.

But… I’m not entirely convinced that him making any sort of declaration will aid our plight.

So rather than mentally beat this issue to death, I lean into him and kiss him.

Then I earnestly say, “Words don’t change how we respond to each other, Nick. I care more about how we treat one another than what proclamations we do or don’t make.”

I search his eyes for a hint of disappointment or dismay that I’ve effectively skirted this matter.

All I see is acknowledgement.

Really, we’ve both offered something of value. It’s just that not diluting the waters can also be priceless.

Sensible, even.

Regardless of our skirting the subject, something significant lingers between us.

This moment is special.

This moment is comforting.

It’s also… Quite alluring.

I’m more steadily aware of where I stand with Nick. I know he wants me and, again, if we existed in a perfect universe, were on the same trajectory, we’d be together. All the time.

What we share, though—when we’re able to share it—is rich and substantial enough for me.

I concede to this, further expounding, “The safe route may not be the most adventurous one, but it can be the smartest choice.”

I really don’t have to say more. I know he grasps where I’m headed with this notion.

Though he does alleviate some of the tension by murmuring, “You’ve been plenty adventurous, babe.”

My stomach flips. He has a very good point.

And as I’m gazing down at him and he’s still buried inside me, his cock begins to thicken.

I certainly can’t deny that I totally do it for this man.

Which brings a smile to my face.

He lets out an audible sigh of relief. “I don’t want you so wrapped up in your mind that it stresses you out.”

“We both know the fine line we walk.”

“Indeed.”

I would have anticipated a twinge of regret and sadness over this, but Nick’s hands skate down to my hips and he grips them gently, guiding me into a sensual rhythm—and I’m okay with letting our “painful conundrum” fall by the wayside.

Because what he’s doing to me currently is fantastically pleasurable…