“Yeah, that’s Freedom.”
“Freedom as in a relaxing day out?” I inquire.
“No. That’s her name.”
I get the feeling he doesn’t plan on saying much more on the matter, so I enjoy the quiet between us for now. But I conclude, with his structured life, his boat takes away from a stuffy reality. It makes me wonder even more about the man next to me. It makes me wonder how much he does because he wants to and how much he does because he has to and because people expect it of him. It makes me wonder if he’s ever done this, just sit and enjoy someone, talking about nothing in particular, not because you have to, but because you can. “Will you take me out on her sometime?” I ask.
A pause.
A long enough pause that I’m now realizing he’s never taken a woman to his house or out on his boat before. My heart rate kicks up a notch, but then he finally answers me. “I would like that.”
I breathe a sigh of relief, which I hide from him, of course.
Leaning my head against his bicep, I devour a few bites of cotton candy, enjoying the easy and comfortable silence between us. I look over at him, watching him stare out at the bay, eyeing a boat drifting by. I’ve met people before who seem to hold the weight of the world on their shoulders—Darius being one of them—but with Micah, it seems like he holds so much more. His gaze is unfocused and so haunted, eyebrows pinching together.
“Are you okay?” I ask gently.
“Tonight has been…” He glances at me, his expression relaxed, eyes so soft. “Tonight has been nice. Thank you for taking me here.”
“You’re welcome.” I give him a big smile.
Micah has a lot of layers. Complicated, complex, and confusing layers. Yet I’m beginning to see that maybe he wants what I had growing up. A life that’s different than the one he’s got. I wasn’t sure I could give anything to a billionaire who has everything he’d ever want, but finding happiness in the little things is something I can provide him. And maybe, for the first time ever, Micah feels what it’s like to be around someone who doesn’t want anything from him but his company. I guess that makes me feel pretty good about me, too.
His arm wraps tightly around me, making me feel like nothing would get to me when I’m right here, as I stare at the lights of the Golden Gate Bridge reflecting on the water. Time begins to tick by as I finish off the cotton candy, but I don’t count the seconds, I enjoy them.
Then, surprising me, he asks, “If I had taken you here for our first date, that would have made you happy?”
“Yup.”
“Hmm,” is his reply.
I angle my head, gazing up at his gorgeous face. “What would make you happy?”
A pause.
“This.” He tangles his free hand with mine. “This makes me happy.”
Chapter 13
Micah
I stare up at the coffered ceiling, with soft feminine skin surrounding me as the sun is rising in this sky, doing a completely foreign ritual for me. I’ve held Juliet, if she’s needed that from me, after a rough session of sex. This, having Allie against me now, however, has nothing to do with duty to a woman and everything to do with the fact that I like a sleepy Allie in my arms. Christ, she’s making me soft.
I’ve welcomed the comfortable silence that’s been between us while we’ve slept on and off throughout the night, but I also don’t mind when Allie’s sweet voice fills the air. “Sometimes do you wish you could stay in a moment forever and never leave?”
She moves out of my arms, grabbing a pillow to put beneath her head, to help her see me better. I notice her flinch in pain and make a mental note to take it easy on her the next time I slide between her thighs. “I didn’t before, but I do now,” I answer honestly. Because right now everything seems very simple and uncomplicated between us.
“The world can’t touch us here.” She smiles.
“No, it can’t.” Secrets couldn’t touch us here either.
I drag a finger over her bare shoulder, enjoying the warmth and smoothness of her flesh. My muscles tighten at how she looks into me. Sometimes it feels like she can read right through me. But I don’t want her to dig too deep, so I focus on her. “Tell me: how are you not married?”
The soft light from the bedside table casts over her face, showing the slight arch of her mouth. “Never met the right guy, I guess.”
“I can’t see how that is even possible.” I turn onto my side, facing her. I need to see her expressions; they tell me everything about her. “What about almost the right guy?”
She slides her hands between her cheek and the pillow. “Met him. He married someone else.”