He chuckles, but the sound is tight. “Edna would tell you herself that she’s meaner than a snake. But she taught me different. She taught me what would work for me, not her. Two steps away, Stella.”
The door opens and Aiden appears in the doorway, his tall frame taking up every inch of it. And I can see he’s not as calm as his voice portrayed. There’s a shine of sweat at his hairline, his chest puffing up and down. And I don’t know what I’m thinking. Or if I’ve gone momentarily insane to have missed him? But I throw myself at this big, solid, reassuring man who tells the most ridiculous stories. I throw myself at him and he picks me up, cradling me against his huge chest like a baby.
“Okay, sweetheart.” As if he senses that I need to be anchored, he squeezes me tight with his left forearm, stroking his right one down the back of my hair. “You’re okay.”
Relief. It hits me even harder this time than it did when I finally walked out of Bedford Hills, free to leave. Free to go home. A home that didn’t really exist for me anymore, but still. I could walk and walk and no one would stop me. How can this feel even better? Maybe because if we were smack dab in the middle of a tornado right now, he’d shield me. I just know it somehow. And that assurance turns my limbs to jelly, melting me against him.
“I don’t know what happened,” I say in a gulp, digging my nose into the peppermint scent of his dress shirt lapel. “I just freaked.”
Slowly, he turns and walks us out of the window box. “You don’t get locked up somewhere for four years and leave without a few soul scrapes.”
“I know you’re not speaking from experience.” My heart rate is steadily coming down but now I’m shivering. “What would be the charge that sent you up the river? Telling too many dad jokes? Over-complimenting while intoxicated?”
“Hey, I took an extra sample of tandoori chicken at the supermarket once. Been looking over my shoulder for eight years since.” The vibration of his rumbling laugh makes me close my eyes, resting my head on his shoulder. When his steps turned muffled, I crack an eyelid and realize we’re crossing the main floor toward the elevator bank. Seamus is standing in between two jewelry cases with his mouth hanging open. “You never saw us, Seamus,” calls Aiden.
Seamus nods, gives a thumbs up and goes back to vacuuming.
A moment later, we’re about to step into the elevator when Aiden hesitates. “Are you going to be all right in here? It just occurred to me you took the stairs on the day of the interview and now…”
Have I unconsciously been avoiding enclosed spaces?
It’s not as if I was in a classic prison cell while locked up. There was a giant room of beds separated by partitions. I was never in a tight room with bars, like in a super max. The fear seems to stem from not being able to leave. Not having an exit. Lacking control. Right now, though, the thought of stepping into an elevator with Aiden doesn’t strike me as scary. “No, I’m fine as long as I’m with you.” Realizing what I said, I scramble to jog it back. “I mean, you know. You own the store. You probably have keys and codes and phone numbers if something goes wrong. You know?”
“Yeah,” he says warmly, near my ear. Still holding me close, he steps into the elevator and hits a button. We say nothing as the car begins to move. But his chest is still rising and falling. Only now, I’m noticing that every time his chest puffs up and down, my breasts rasp over the slopes of his pecs. Yeah. Pecs. He’s got them. Big ones.
Dammit.
I’m also becoming very, very aware that over the course of Aiden carrying me from the window to the elevator, my legs have crept up around his hips. When? I have no idea. But they’re there now, my very tips of my knees brushing the back of the elevator wall when he steps farther inside, his forearm snaking under my bottom to keep me held. I’m slightly too high on his body for anything private of ours to touch, but my neglected body is potently aware that I could slide down, just a little, and feel him between my thighs.
Not with your boss, idiot.
I’m now trying to calm my pulse and libido at the same time.
But Aiden blows my progress to smithereens when he turns his head, ever so slightly brushing his lips against the lobe of my ear. “Don’t let the bow tie fool you, Stella. I’m not always nice,” he says, a deep burr in his voice. “When the situation calls for it, I can be downright rough.”
My vagina clenches so tight, the very wind is knocked out of me.
I’m seeing nothing but twinkling stars as the metal door rolls open and Aiden carries me off the elevator onto a floor that is decorated within an inch of its life for Christmas, Hanukkah and Kwanzaa. All of the decorations are intermingled, done without artifice, but lovingly placed and somehow, some way, I know that Aiden is the one who did the decorating. The abundance of flutters that gives me is truly alarming.
We leave the brightly lit reception area and enter his dark office where only a small lamp is on. Over his shoulder, I spot paperwork scattered on the floor, his chair halfway across the room, as if he charged out of here when I called.
Gulp.
Aiden settles my backside on the edge of his huge desk, remaining between my legs just long enough for us both to suck in an unsteady breath, before stepping back. He crosses to the floor-to-ceiling window and stands looking out, hands on hips for a moment. Getting himself under control? “You feeling better?” he asks me, looking back over his shoulder, his smile not quite enough to hide the hunger.
Phew. Okay, we’re attracted to each other.
It’s not one-sided.
This is going to be a problem.
Maybe what we need right about now is a defining of the lines here. Because they should be thick and easy to spot. Like a fresh, black Expo marker on a whiteboard.
For one, he’s my boss and the handbook was clear. Employers are not to have romantic relationships with their employees, of which I am one. Even if it’s on a trial basis. I broke a lot of rules in the past and I’m not sure I want to do that anymore. Maybe at heart, I’m still the girl who trespassed with impunity and vandalized the sides of buildings. Do I still have that in me? Or am I capable of permanently changing?
I don’t know. I’m still trying on this new identity for size.
Two. Aiden is the real deal. He’s…genuine. And delightful.
There, I said it. By my third encounter with him, I should be noticing a crack in his aura of kindness, but I’m really thinking there isn’t one. And he is not—not—a man who sleeps with or dates or anythings with an ex-convict.
If he did, it would be another Good Samaritan move.
Show the tragic goth girl she’s worthy of love!
No, thanks. Not happening.
As badly as I’d like to find out how he kisses—and just how “rough” he can be—I will not start making major decisions when I’ve only been out of prison for a single month. I’m not letting him make any bad decisions, either. Aiden is the guy who wants to save people. Look at the way he charged downstairs and rescued me, carrying me upstairs like Prince Charming.
But I’m not a princess. Not the kind of girl who ends up with Aiden Cook.
Nor do I want to take advantage of his good nature. Isn’t that what I’d be doing if I let this turn into something when I know he’d only be in it for noble reasons?