“Hey, watch it,” Jensen calls from far away, laughing.

Aaric is still standing before me, waiting, starting to scowl at me.

“You okay?” Aaric asks, his gaze deep.

“Yes.”

“Good. Be careful. Where do you want these?”

I see him with the box on his shoulders and stare stupidly at him.

“You came?” I gasp.

“You needed me here, didn’t you?” He raises his brow in challenge, looking cocky and a little bit more handsome than I’d like.

“Yes, but I thought you were teasing me,” I counter.

“You’ll know when I’m teasing you, bit.” He sets the box down, moving closer, taking a lock of my hair and looking down at me. “You’d be laughing very, very hard,” he warns.

“Ha.” I pretend not to believe him. “You’re not a funny guy.”

He tsks at that, looking disappointed at my revelation. “Damn bad.” He looks at me thoughtfully for a moment, causing my heart to keep pounding harder and harder. “But hey, I’m a hell of a box lugger.”

He props the box over his shoulder and chuckles as he moves it to where I’ve been pushing boxes across the room. I wonder what it would feel like to kiss that smile on his lips.

I swallow and avoid making eye contact. “Over by the windows. But you don’t have to move them, I can just open them here and put the clothing on the racks.”

Christos makes the box seem small and weightless as he lugs it across the room, then he comes back and reaches for my cutting knife and starts slicing boxes open.

I try not to look at his hands, at any part of him, even the tattoo I can see working under the white shirt he wears.

He moves effortlessly and fast, like only a guy who’s actually worked with his hands for years knows how to move.

Minutes later, a dozen men appear. Christos instructs them to open the boxes and set the clothes on the racks, and though I thought Jensen, Sara, and I would take ages to finish, we’re done in a few hours.

“I suppose we’ll have time for the salon tomorrow night after all,” Sara bemusedly tells me. She doesn’t try to hide the reverent amazement on her face.

I glance at Aaric. “Thank you for helping.”

He looks at me for a long moment with a twinkle in his eye, then he winks. “Still a hell of a box lugger.”

I can’t get away fast enough, because even his smiles hurt to see now.

Christos

Present day

I sit alone in my brownstone, the city noises outside as loud as usual, my eyes on the clock on the nightstand. I sit on the edge of the bed with a drink in my hand. I picture making love to her at 1 a.m.

I remember that first night, here in my bed, when I brought her here the first time.

Setting my drink aside, I head to the bathroom to wash my face. I’ve got scruff I haven’t bothered to shave. Reluctantly, I scoop up some shaving cream, run the razor along my jaw, then splash lotion on my face before I head for bed and sit there watching the time. Picturing her in her bed.

My little bit—

Frustration simmers in my veins.

God. What the fuck is the matter with me?

I can’t let this girl go.

I am going to be a father. I lost a child once, and it nearly killed me. The grief and guilt I felt has been a regret that’s weighed heavy on me for years. I still pay Leilani life support, even though we never got married, simply because that child should have been born. Should have had a father, a loving home.

I have another on the way; and still, letting go feels wrong.

As if I’m betraying her, and me. Us.

I sit in bed and remember the first time I brought her over.

How I sat in my bed at 12:58 a.m. and stroked Bryn’s hair. She’d curled up on her side, her cheek on my chest, her hand close to my cock. Hell, if that didn’t make things harder for me. I was ripping through my slacks and battling the urge to scoop her up, lower her down on me, and make fucking love. I’d been running her hard. Not only to teach her. But to prolong the times I saw her.

I couldn’t resist teasing her, but I’d behaved. I was sick of behaving that night. My exhaustion wasn’t work related, it was related to the non-stop, relentless throbbing in my gut to grab her to me, kiss her to pieces. I wanted to finish what we started on the way to my place that night. Yeah. Maybe I just didn’t give a shit. Maybe all I gave a shit about was the girl with the soft brown eyes, the teasing smile, and the burning desire. I wanted to grab her, kiss her, hold her—get lost in her. I wanted her to promise me she’d never doubt my intentions again.

I sat there, fighting my battle, when I heard her breathing change. She shifted when I stroked my thumb over her lips. They parted, and the alarm started buzzing.

Her eyes opened. My chest knotted up when I saw the fear in them. Wide-eyed, scared, she looked at me, and her eyes lost the scared look as I reached out to my phone and shut off the alarm.

“1 a.m.,” I said, gently.

She looked at me, starting to breathe a little better.

“You’re okay,” I said.

“Am I…?” she breathed.

I didn’t know how to answer.

We both knew we were fucked. I knew she probably had an inkling that I wasn’t going to let her go now, that I was after her—into her. Silent, I pushed my thumb into her mouth, making her lick it. She shuddered. Undone, I leaned my head down and groaned and sucked her tongue into my mouth, savoring her again.

She tensed—whispered that she shouldn’t be doing this, thinking that I was with another woman maybe, but a part of me wanted her to think that. To feel the pressure of losing me, so that she could get over her resistance and open up to me.