The Cornerstone (27 page)

I felt him smile against my neck as he pressed my hand to his cock. “I don’t know. You might need to give me a thorough inspection.”

“I’m not kidding,” I said, stroking him. “I want to know that you’re okay.”

“Peanut, everything I need is in my lap.”

Will’s hand traveled up my belly to squeeze my breast, and it stole my breath. “Owww,” I moaned. Not a good moan. “Don’t, please don’t.”

He leaned back, his hands suspended away from my body. “What did I do?”

I shifted in his lap. “My boobs hurt.”

Will peered at me with concerned eyes. “Oh. Okay. I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” I said. “My boobs always hurt the week before my period.”

“Oh. Okay,” he repeated, nodding.

“Shit,” I said, noticing his pinched expression. It was the same way I looked whenever the boys talked about sweaty balls or dick chafing in my presence. “Sorry about the
ick
factor. Didn’t mean to over share.”

He rubbed his hands together for a long moment, and fitted his chest against my back. “There’s nothing icky about a functional uterus,” he said. “Tell me if this is all right.”

His warm hands settled on the sore undersides of my breasts, massaging with the gentlest strokes imaginable, and I couldn’t recall anyone ever touching me with such tenderness. Those hyper-hormonal tears slid down my cheeks, and I didn’t try to stop them.

“Good?” he asked. I murmured in agreement and snuggled into him. “Anything else hurt?”

I shook my head. “No, I just feel fat, and I’m irritable and tired, and I’m so hungry, but none of that matters because I haven’t seen you in forever and you’ve been
shot
and I don’t want to waste any of this time because my boobs are being moody and I’m crying like a bitch. And you have to leave in twenty-nine hours.”

“You’re counting, too?” He kissed a line from my shoulder to my earlobe. “There’s something I want you to let me try.”

“If you think we’re having anal sex right now, you’ve truly misinterpreted what I’m saying.”

“You have a filthy mind, peanut. Really filthy.” Will laughed against my neck, and I smiled through my tears. “That’s not what I want. I want you to let me take care of you. You think you can handle that?”

Six months ago, the answer would have been a definitive
no
. Maybe even three months ago, or last week. But that desperate need for control wasn’t clawing at me right now. I listened for it, waiting to hear the noise of all the things I should be worrying about, and I searched for it, waiting for the snap of anxious adrenaline to tighten across my shoulders, but it didn’t come to me. All I had was the heat of Will’s chest against my back, his hands on my breasts, and the bubbly pressure of feeling possessed.

“I don’t think I know how,” I said, sniffling, “to let you.”

“Let me show you,” he whispered.

I wasn’t sure how long he held me, and I didn’t protest when he carried me into the bathroom like a freaking doll. The tub was gorgeous, and when he filled it with water, I tried to explain that I wasn’t a bath girl. I never felt particularly clean afterward. Most bubble bath formulas left my skin irritated. I got bored quickly. Will wasn’t interested in my opinions on the topic, and said, “Stop arguing with me. Get in the fucking tub and relax.”

But this was nice. I
did
relax, and repeatedly toed the knob for more hot water. When I emerged from the heavy steam, Will was seated on the end of the bed, watching college basketball. He was wearing the same faded jeans he wore last summer, at Matt and Lauren’s place, a dark green Killer Dana t-shirt. My heart was too full to be a single organ in my chest because what I felt for him right now couldn’t be contained with muscle and blood alone.

“Come on,” he said. “You need to eat.” He cradled my head against his chest while running his hand down my back. “And after you eat, I’m going to kiss your entire body.”

We nestled up against the headboard, drinking wine, eating cheeseburgers and cupcakes from room service, and watching a marathon of
Arrested Development
. Will pointed at the television and said, “I imagine this is what your office is like.”

“No,” I said, studying the dysfunctional family of real estate developers. I could see the similarities when I looked at the right angle. “Well, no, not
exactly
. We’re not hiding anything in a banana stand, and Patrick would die if someone called him a real estate developer.”

Will turned to me, his brow furrowed. “I never asked you how you got into this work.”

“Family business,” I said, and reached for my wine.

His brow was still furrowed. “The family business is architecture. You’re not an architect.”

“Oh, you don’t need to remind me,” I groaned. “Every time I’m in a meeting with one of the boys and I make a comment about anything that isn’t the property’s listing price, someone always says ‘Shan, we’ll handle the building if you handle the selling.’ I’ve learned to make them believe they come up with every idea on their own now.”

Will released a long, impatient sigh that morphed into a growl. “I hate your brothers,” he said under his breath.

“You do not,” I said. “You don’t know them. You just run around, all macho and pissed off, and threaten to kick the shit out of them when they annoy me. My brothers are a handful but they aren’t that bad.”

“I hate hearing about you dealing with one issue or another because they dropped some balls, or these shitty things they say to you, or all the things that happened when you were a kid and—”

I pressed my fingers to his lips and shook my head. “Not tonight, commando. We only have a few hours, and we’re not leasing that time to my brothers.”

He grabbed my wrist and placed a kiss on my palm, nodding. “Tell me how you got into not-architecture.”

I drained my glass and held it out for a refill. “The universe opened a door, and I walked through it.”

Will finished his burger and the remains of mine, and gestured for me to continue. “That’s a little vague, peanut.”

“Yeah, well…”

That wasn’t a time I liked revisiting. Angus kicked me out not long after Patrick left for college, and it forced me to bounce between friends’ homes unless I wanted to sleep in the girls’ locker room at school. The friend angle was tricky, considering I didn’t devote much time to friendships in high school, and convincing them to let me stay for days or weeks often required many layers of lies.

Will stroked my neck, his fingers unwinding the knots.

“I always knew my brothers were going to take over the family business. There was no question about it for Patrick and Matt, and Sam got there, too. Riley’s always been special so I didn’t know what to expect from him, but he’s secretly great when it comes to design. Less great with structures and math and physics, but that’s why we keep Matt around.”

He made another growly sigh, and tugged me closer.

“Like I said, they were always going to take over the business,” I continued. “I had a friend in high school, and her father was in real estate development. He specialized in converting old mills into luxury condos and lofts. Things with Angus were…difficult, and I spent a lot of time away from the house. This girl, Rosalie Goff, let me stay at her house. Her dad was making a killing on condos, and he let me pick his brain about the business. He gave me some advice, and helped me get my license.”

Fred also let me live in his home long after Rosalie left for Vanderbilt, and offered me a loan to cover my licensing coursework. He was kind and generous when the world kept closing doors in my face, and I’d never found the words to summarize how much that mattered to me. How he saved me.

“He knew everyone, and pointed me in the right direction to get started.”

I turned my attention to the television, watching the last half of the episode without saying anything else. I was comfortable sharing many things with Will that I usually kept locked away. But this…I didn’t want all of these details spilling out and taking over this night.

“I discovered that I had good instincts when it came to buying and selling, and the market was cranking at that time,” I said when a commercial started. “Everyone was making a killing on everything, and that meant we didn’t have to rely on Angus anymore.”

“Just tell me one thing.” Will slipped his hand under the robe and over my belly. “Do your siblings appreciate everything you’ve done for them?”

“Usually,” I said. “I do sign their paychecks.”

He murmured in approval and dipped his head to my neck. His lips moved down my skin, kissing and licking, while he rubbed my abdomen.

“I should check my phone,” I said, groggy.

“You should not,” Will yawned.

“Sam’s going through something, and I want to make sure he doesn’t need me.”

“You know what the guys in my unit do when they’re going through something?” He continued before I could respond. “They remember they’re grown men and deal with their shit. They don’t go crying to their sisters.”

I traced the anchor on Will’s chest, and the trident woven through it. He was probably right. This thing with Sam and his girlfriend was going to be fine. He wouldn’t have let a situation get that far out of control without telling me. And Riley was with him, which counted for something.

“What’s really going on with him?” Will asked. “Sam. All I know is that he’s been a pain in the ass who refuses to see a therapist. If I had any sense, I’d let that dog sleep but I keep chasing you so
sense
isn’t part of my skill set.”

“Sam and I are really close. Or…we were. He’s in his own world right now. Obviously, he’s noticed that I’ve been spending time away from the city,” I gestured to Will, “and he’s not pleased about me keeping the details to myself.”

“Why do you?” he asked. “If that’s part of the issue, why not tell him?”

“I have my reasons,” I said. “It’s none of his damn business to start. I’ve given him the space he needs to deal with his problems and date a woman who seems like she’s making his life more hectic, even though I probably shouldn’t have. There was a time when we shared everything with each other, but he hasn’t wanted that from me for more than a year. And…fuck, Will, all I really want is one thing I don’t have to share with everyone. Something I can keep all to myself without anyone touching or judging or interfering. I don’t…I don’t want to share you.”

“That’s my girl,” he said.

“When will I see you next?” I asked.

Will was quiet for a moment, and I leaned up on an elbow to look at him. “I’m not sure,” he said. “The next six months are up in the air right now. I’ll know soon.”

“Six
months
?”

“I’m up for another tour,” he said. “But I don’t want you worrying about that now.”

Will’s lips met mine, firm and deliberate, and his hands brushed down my body, over my thighs and between my legs. Though our time together was rapidly vanishing, his touch was careful and unhurried, almost reverent. He settled over me, and my heart was again overflowing when he paused to ask whether I was feeling well enough for more.

“Yes,” I said, reaching up to wrap my arms around his neck. “Yes.”

He kissed between my breasts and up my neck, and said, “You’ll tell me if it’s too much. If anything hurts.”

I nodded, canting my hips toward him when he reached between us and pushed into me. “I will.”

Will twined his arms around my torso, holding me tight as he moved inside me, and I anchored my legs on his waist because even this close wasn’t close enough right now. We rocked together as if we had all the time in the world, and perhaps knowing that we didn’t made those sweet, drowsy moments that much more perfect.

He stilled, lifting his head from the crook of my shoulder that he’d claimed as his own private destination, and smiled down at me.

“What?” I asked.

His hips rolled gently while he continued gazing at me. “You’re beautiful,” he said. “I don’t say that enough.”

Will took my hand from where it rested on his bicep, and pressed a kiss to my palm. With his eyes locked on mine, he placed my hand over his heart. He leaned down, kissing my cheeks, my jaw, and finally my lips, and the orgasm that arrived was a pleasant bonus to the wordless everything that was passing between us now.

*

I woke up
alone on Sunday morning.

I knew Will was gone before my hand swept over the mattress, but there was something about confirming his absence that made it sting even more.

It shouldn’t have. None of this should have been a surprise to me. I walked in with my eyes wide open, and I knew this weekend was going to be over almost as quickly as it started.

Going home was always the worst. It was a lot like cleaning up after a big party: the house was a mess, everyone was gone, and all the anticipation was replaced with emptiness.

And my ladybits were usually sore.

My flight wasn’t until later in the day, but I went to the airport and waited until a standby seat came available. My phone wouldn’t turn on and nothing happened when I plugged it in, so I spent my afternoon paging through magazines and devouring some juicy romance novels with bare-chested men on the covers.