Window Shopping, page 7
Please be something that distracts me from my boss and his effect on my libido. My . . . chest. Specifically, inside my ribcage and slightly to the left.
Until I open the box, I don’t stop to consider what might be inside. But when a necklace glitters up at me from the red velvet lining, I realize I was stupid not to anticipate jewelry. It’s a jewelry box. It’s just not what I expected. Not from Aiden. Somehow it seems too forward. Or . . . like there’s an expectation attached. From this man, though? I don’t know how to react. Was I totally off the mark about his personality?
“Stella.” I glance up to find him looking worried. “You hate it.”
“No. It’s . . . beautiful.” I search for the right words. “ A necklace.”
Aiden takes the box back and removes the thin gold rope, holding it up. Now that it’s out of the box, I can see a hook at the bottom that wasn’t visible before. “Not a necklace. It’s kind of a fancy key chain, I suppose. For around your neck. I thought you could wear the key to the window box, so you don’t get locked in again.”
“Oh.” The word blows out of me, along with my sense of disappointment. In flows the opposite. A sense of comfort. Relief. Appreciation. Not only did he pick out my gift quickly, he picked out the perfect one. “That’s really thoughtful,” I say, stumbling over my words. “I’d love to get this as a gift, Aiden. Really.”
He lets out a breath, chuckles. “It was touch and go there for a second.”
“My mistake. I should have known . . .” I trail off, shaking my head. “Okay, your turn.” I start to hand over the gift, then hesitate. “It seemed like a great choice until right this second.”
“Ah ha. You’ve got the gift giver heebie-jeebies. Totally natural.” He doesn’t try to take the small box from me, but sits and waits with his big hands resting on his outstretched thighs. “Whatever it is, it won’t be as bad as Aunt Edna’s gift on Christmas of ninety-four. She took me out in the backyard in my pajamas and taught me how to field dress a rabbit.”
“What? Jesus!”
“She nailed the surprise element. I’ll give her that.”
Blinking, I hand him over the gift. “Consider me cured of the heebie-jeebies, I guess.”
He weighs the box in his hand, his dark brows drawing together. “Huh. I can’t figure out what this is. Which department is it from?”
“No hints. I might not pull off a Thumper-slaying level of surprise, but mild shock would be nice.” I realize my knee is bouncing now and reach down to stop it.
Aiden follows the action and smiles.
“Open it,” I clip out, crossing my arms.
“Yes, ma’am,” he drawls, drawing off the deep brown leather of the top. “Binoculars.”
I wait for a reaction. And I don’t get one.
Of course he would choose this moment to be stoic. His expression is giving away nothing. “Uh huh. Binoculars,” I say, as he continues to look down at them in a considering way. “You know . . .” I uncross my arms and wave a hand between us. “You know, because you’re always looking up.”
Wow, says Nicole’s voice in my head. What a try hard.
“I love them,” Aiden says, turning them over in his hands. “Thank you.”
The genuine appreciation in his tone makes me feel good. Too good. Better than I’ve felt in a long, long time. The combination of pride and pleasure is almost a shock to the system.
“It was just a game. Anyway . . .” I come to my feet so quickly, I nearly upset the chair. “Tomorrow is the window unveiling, so I should probably catch the train soon—”
“I’d already given some thought to what I’d get you for Christmas. That’s how I found the neck chain for your key so fast,” he says in a low voice, shaking his head. “Hell, I shouldn’t be telling you that.”
He . . . he’d already thought of what he’d buy me for Christmas? That weight on my chest from earlier continues to press down, but now it’s lower, too. Over my belly button. Everywhere. My lungs aren’t working as efficiently as usual. I’m standing now in front of his chair, so close that our knees would touch if I shuffled forward ever so slightly. “Why shouldn’t you tell me that?”
The way his eyes lift and rake over me quickly, filling with smoke, is my only answer.
“Oh.” I wet my suddenly dry lips. “Because of the rule. I . . . read it in the handbook.”
“Did you?” Without breaking eye contact, he sets the binoculars on the table. “What did it say, Stella?”
His use of my name in this instance seems . . . heavier. An anchor dragging along the ocean floor. Or is that my neglected hormones playing tricks on me? I’m going to feel like a moron if I’m totally misreading the situation and this annoying attraction is completely one-sided. If he’s just being nice and my social skills are too out of practice to see it. “Well.” Just say it. Get it out. “It said there is a strict non-fraternization policy between any member of management and an employee of The Cook Corporation.”
He nods, searches my face. Seems to be deciding whether or not to say something. “Unless . . . those two people were to sign some paperwork with human resources. Acknowledging their intention to date and releasing the company from any liability. It’s called a love contract—and I know, it’s a little on the nose.” The chair creaks under him as he shifts, visibly restless. When his gaze ticks back to mine, they’re deep with meaning. “But with the love contract signed, two people would be free to do whatever they want.”
“What do they want?” I whisper, before I can think better of it. Before I can remind myself of all the reasons getting any closer to Aiden Cook would be a mistake.
He’s my boss. I’m trying not to break rules anymore. Trying to figure out what and who I’m going to be in this giant world. A world I’ve been absent from for a long time and still seems like an alien planet to me most of the time. Breaking the non-fraternization rule wouldn’t put me in prison again, but it would jeopardize my dream job.
A job I barely qualify for to begin with.
All of this is at the forefront of my mind, yet when Aiden stands, his height forcing my head back, I can’t move away.
Slowly, smoothly, he closes most of the distance between us, stopping when there is half a foot of space between us. His gaze slides down the slope of my cheekbone, landing on my mouth. It dawdles there, heats, traces down to the hollow of my throat, leaving electrified skin in its wake. Then it falls away with a curse. “What would these two people want? I can’t answer that for you.” He releases an expulsion of breath. “I only know I think about you to the point of distraction. The board meeting wasn’t the only reason I was drinking tonight. I had to stop myself from going downstairs. I knew I’d end up here again, feeling like I’d melt unless I kiss you.”
Oh boy. How am I supposed to keep from collapsing into a puddle of goo let alone continue to keep the barrier between us up when he goes around saying things so baldly honest and romantic? “But the rule,” I whisper lamely.
“Yeah. The rule.” A line snaps in his cheek, thought churning behind his eyes. “I need to be extra vigilant about that rule with you, Stella. There’s already an imbalance of power. Boss. Employee. Then you throw in the fact that I hired you with what some people might call a black spot on your résumé. Whether you’re qualified or not—and I believe you are—I have to worry that maybe on some level, you feel indebted to me. You shouldn’t. But if I took advantage of that, of you in any way . . . I feel sick just thinking about it.”
My knee-jerk reaction is to reassure him that I don’t feel indebted. It would be a lie, though. There isn’t a single other department store in Manhattan that would have hired me straight out of prison. None but this man with his optimism and willingness to look at the person, not the paperwork. But my attraction—which, I’m very worried could extend beyond a chemical reaction—has nothing to do with gratitude. I’m earning the chance he gave me. I’m working myself to the bone for it and hopefully, that will become obvious tomorrow. Hopefully I won’t let him down.
But the tug and ripple in my belly is separate.
It’s chemical. Organic. Not bred of any thankfulness or sense of obligation.
No, it might be the purest thing I’ve ever experienced.
What worries me more is the squeeze in my chest when we’re close.
I need to back away now. Make some excuse to go home, cut off the magic that is brewing around us relentlessly, making the red garland sparkle where it hangs above the coffee maker. Giving the Christmas lights a more romantic twinkling glow. My feet don’t even feel like they’re touching the floor. I knew I’d end up here again, feeling like I’d melt unless I kiss you.
“You have to say something, Stella,” he laughs softly, his eyes concerned. “Feels a lot like that first day of school, no clothes dream.”
He’s so vulnerable, standing there, having taken a leap and bared himself to me. I want nothing more than to reward him for that courage. I want to reward myself with him. But for what? I’m not right for this happy-go-lucky man. God, I’m all kinds of wrong. When I walk through the main floor of Vivant to use the bathroom or break room, the jewelry saleswomen guard the cabinets. They eye me up and down. They either know about my prison stint or they’ve decided there is something undeserving about me.
I’m barely out of Bedford Hills a month and I’m trying—I’m trying so hard to be a good person. The kind of person I always scoffed about growing up. I’ve gone straight. But I haven’t even proven to myself than I can do it yet. What if I’m fooling myself? What if I backslide? How many women did I meet while serving my time that were released, then ended up back inside? I’m not better than them. I’m one of them. I was there for a reason.
And now I’m out for a reason. One I haven’t had time to grasp yet.
Why does none of this seem to matter when he’s looking at me with his heart in his eyes? It takes me a moment to speak. To get enough air into my lungs to respond. “Paperwork . . .” I push through stiff lips. “I mean, that feels like a big step. Feels . . . official.”
He’s already nodding. “I know. If there was another way to try this, try us—”
“I know.”
“It’s more than making sure you’re not seeing me out of some misplaced sense of gratitude, Stella, even if that’s my main concern.” He gestures to himself in kind of an exasperated way. “I’m a rule follower, you know?”
“I do. And that’s okay. That’s good.”
“Rule follower,” he repeats, thoughtfully, his forehead knitting. As if something just occurred to him. “Stella. Can you do me a favor?”
I eye him dubiously. “What is it?”
“Name one other rule in the employee handbook. Besides the non-fraternization policy, I mean.”
Heat seeps out of my pores like molten metal, engulfing me.
I don’t know the other rules. I only skipped to that one. Oh God.
“Sorry, what?” My airways shrink to the size of licorice. “Can you repeat that?”
I don’t like the knowing smile that transforms his features. I don’t like it one bit, even though I experience my own relief that he’s no longer looking out to sea. Lost.
Mainly, I’m panicked.
Aiden takes a step forward and now I’m tipping my head back to meet his eyes, the rich male scent of him fuzzing up my brainwaves. “Name one rule in the handbook. Besides the one saying I can’t take you out. Can’t . . .” He drags his full bottom lip through his teeth, a low sound kindling in his throat. “ . . . bring you home to bed. Without signing paperwork.”
Bed.
Aiden’s bed.
It would be amazing.
Big and sumptuous and heavenly. Especially with him in it.
“I, um . . . well, there’s the one rule that says . . .”
“The one that says employees must enter and leave through the rear entrance on weekends?”
“Right,” I say brightly, snapping my fingers between us. “That’s it. That’s the one.”
His eyes twinkle. “There’s no such rule in the handbook, sweetheart.”
Even as I glare up at him, I can’t be anything but impressed. He caught me. He caught me considering what could be between us, and now there’s significantly less restraint radiating from his body. A change that makes me nervous, while also making my toes curl in anticipation. Of what?
“Well played, Cook.” I place my hands on his chest with every intention of pushing us apart, but his pecs flex as if starved for my touch and his eyelids droop, his nostrils flaring, and I can’t remove my touch for the life of me. Now I’m just standing in the break room feeling up my boss, scrubbing my hands lightly up and over his hard slabs of muscle, then back down, watching him enjoy the treatment so openly, so eagerly. “Fine, you caught me, okay?” I try to swallow the choppiness in my voice. The arousal. “I was curious.”
“About us,” he clarifies, studying me. “If it could happen.”
Despite warning signals from the back of my mind, I hum in affirmation and he grins the grin of a lifetime. It’s so gorgeous and bright, transforming every one of his features, I almost liquify in the face of it. “Maybe,” I whisper. “But I-I’m not paperwork curious.”
His expression doesn’t dim a single watt. “If you don’t mind, Stella, I’ll be sticking around until you are.”
He leans down and kisses my forehead, tucking a loose wisp of hair behind my ear. Then his eyes take one last lap around my face and he takes my hand, guiding me out of the break room. He leaves me outside the entrance to the storage room where I’ve been working most of the week, emerging a few seconds later with my purse and jacket. He holds the puffer open so I can slide my arms into the holes and I can’t help but savor it. The first time anyone has ever held my coat for me.
“How are you feeling about tomorrow?” he asks, his vibratory thrum just beside my temple.
“I don’t know. I don’t know what you meant by ‘sticking around.’ That could mean anything, really. Are you threatening to woo me or something? I don’t get—”
“Stella,” he interrupts with a smile in his voice. “I meant how are you feeling about unveiling the window in the morning.”
My face has to be magenta. “Oh. Sure.” I duck my head under the guise of lining up the zipper of my jacket. “A combination of nervous and . . . more nervous. Mostly.” When I straighten, his curiosity and patient attention on my face makes me want to say more. “But no matter what happens, I’ll know I didn’t take shortcuts or pass on any ideas because they were too hard. I’ll know it was my best effort. I have the sore lower back to prove it.”
He makes a sympathetic noise, circling around the back of me. Before I can guess his intention, he slips his hand beneath my jacket and runs a firm thumb up the center of my lower spine. My shameless moan is echoing off the walls of the main floor of Vivant. “If only we had the proper paperwork filed. I’d be taking you home for more of this.” His thumb digs in, circling on top of my sore muscles. It feels so good, my vision doubles, my neck falling back on my shoulders. “I’d do my part. A hot bath would do the rest.” From behind, he rests his mouth on my ear, his hand settling on my waist very briefly, squeezing. “Tell me you want to hear what would happen next, Stella. Give me permission to say it.”
“Permission granted,” I say with embarrassing quickness, because who wouldn’t? Who wouldn’t want this beautiful man rasping secrets into their ear?
Aiden prowls around me slowly, stopping when we face one another. The hand on my waist has been dragged low, along the small of my back and that’s where it remains now, burning me through my clothes. “Once we worked out the strain in your back . . .” He leans in and settles his mouth on top of my ear. “We’d work on making the right parts of you nice and sore, wouldn’t we?”
“Aiden,” I breathe, half admonishing, half stunned. I really thought I had a read on this man. He’s a wholesome rule follower who believes the best in people. A man who has a few demons lurking but is innately good at his core. Now we’re throwing a dirty streak into the mix?
Good grief.
“I tried to warn you,” he says, taking my hand and leading me out of Vivant onto the street where bitter Manhattan cold does its best to cool my flaming cheeks. “I’m not always nice.”
“Oh, don’t worry, I remember,” slips out.
His lips twitch while he’s flagging me down a cab. “I was hoping you would.”
At this time of night on the avenue, taxis are in abundance and one slows to a stop at the curb immediately. Aiden hands the man a twenty through the passenger side window, tells him to keep the eventual change and opens the rear door for me. I’m tempted to make an issue out of him paying for my ride home—I’m fine with walking or taking the train—but it’s late, I’m ready to drop and getting to my bed faster sounds like an ideal plan. “Thank you.”
“Hey. You took my mind off the board meeting and saved me from a bourbon hangover tomorrow. It’s the least I can do.” I take a seat in the back and look up at him. “Good night, Stella,” he says, a little hoarse, looking me over top to bottom as if memorizing me. “See you bright and early for the unveiling.”
“Yes.” I swallow hard. “I’m definitely not thinking of skipping town or anything.”
“Hey,” he says seriously, making me look up in time to catch his wink. “When in doubt, remember Penguin Chernobyl.”
For the second time tonight, I laugh and he pauses in the act of closing the taxi door, as if waiting for the full sound to play out before finally pushing it shut, leaving us separated by glass. He shoves his hands into his pockets and stands back on the curb, looking so perfectly old-fashioned and debonair in the streetlamp glow, I can barely catch my breath.
And I lose it completely a half mile into the ride when I find the long, slim, black velvet jewelry box in my jacket pocket containing the gold key chain necklace.
6
Aiden
