25. Candice

CHAPTER 25

CANDICE

I 'm not happy about letting Aiden shoulder the entire bill, but he's a generous tipper and he is a billionaire, so it's not like he can't handle the financial burden. But it is a matter of pride. Next time we go out, I'll make sure I'm the one who picks up the tab.

Next time! It makes me angry that I'm not upset with him anymore and that I'm excited at the idea of a next time, but Aiden's been nothing but a gentleman this afternoon. That was what I always used to like about him — his kindness. He only ever treated me like a person, when none of the other interns did, despite the fact he was richer than any of us and could have acted like a complete snob.

I guess all he wanted was someone to treat him like a person too.

It's not at all late by the time we leave and head back to the hotel, the pizza box carefully cradled under Aiden's arm, but I'm exhausted from the emotional rollercoaster of the day and the fact that I've been up for more than twelve hours by this point. I'm glad that he's agreed it's time to go back to the room.

I only hope we can avoid June. I can't take any more of that today.

With a deep breath and a vague sense that I'm going to regret it, I slide closer to Aiden and thread my fingers through his. He freezes for a second before squeezing my hand tight, not saying a word as our hands swing between us. That's another thing I like about him; although he sometimes makes annoying and unnecessary comments, when it matters, he knows how to let the moment hang.

And the moment holds us all the way back to the hotel, our hands clasped and a bubble of warm affection wrapped around us. I get it now, why people say love makes you feel like you're the only people in the entire world.

It's not love, but it is nice. Nothing could burst our good mood right now.

The atrium of the hotel is abandoned when we get there, but we still scurry through to the maze of corridors in case someone does wander past. Yet again, it feels like being in a cheap spy thriller, but this time with the added excitement of being hand in hand. It makes our connection more dramatic than it really is.

Finally, we hit our room. Aiden fumbles in his pocket for his keycard, but then he's taking too long and all I want to do is lie down, so I grab mine from my pocket and slide it through the lock. This dress is great for its functional pockets. It's made my life easier today, anyway.

We slip inside and immediately I fling myself down on the bed, my aching feet glad of the reprieve from standing. It would be so easy to let my eyes close and have a nap right now. One hour…

Aiden takes off his shoes and comes to sit beside me. "I hate to break it to you, but it's barely five p.m., and if you sleep now, you'll be up all night."

"Go away," I groan, rolling onto my stomach to bury my face in a pillow.

"At least put your pajamas on if you're going to lie on the bed."

I twist my head to glare at him, my eyes bleary with tiredness. "What, are you saying I stink?"

"No," he says, rolling his eyes. "But you should be comfortable."

With a resigned sigh, I force myself up and wiggle off the bed. I'd discarded my pajamas on the floor this morning, left hastily in a pile, so I snatch them up and head for the bathroom to change. Annoying as it is that he's right, it is good to be comfortable.

When I wander back out, he's got into bed himself, the sheets tucked carefully around his waist, the TV remote in hand. He flicks through the channels, stopping only long enough on each one to let characters say half a sentence.

Normally, I'd be prickly about getting into bed with him, but I'm too tired to put up that front right now. And it is a front. Today has been really nice, actually.

Not at all how I'd expect a day with Aiden Fletcher to go.

He looks at me as I tuck myself in, and for a heartbeat I get the sense that he's about to shuffle over and try and hold me. I honestly don't know how I'd feel about that. This whole weekend has been such a whirlwind of memory and rage that whatever ground I think I'm standing on is crumbling beneath me. The more time I spend with him, the harder it is to keep hating him.

Finally, he stops on a gameshow, some old reruns of Minute Dollars , which stopped airing three or four years ago. It was a shame; it was a great concept for a trivia show.

Aiden grins. "Remember that night we stayed in the office till the sun came up, watching this?"

"I remember being the only one trying to get our code done while you and Blair lounged around getting all the questions wrong."

He brings his hand to his heart, gasping in mock offense. "I got most of them right."

"You got some of them right." I raise my eyebrow, smirking. I do remember that night very well, between the coding and the caffeine and the feeling of superiority at finishing the project single-handed. And neither of them were that great at getting the answers.

What's the capital of Albania? asks the host, a gray-haired man with a sharp sense of humor and dazzling smile.

"Tirana," says Aiden without hesitation.

"How do you know that?" I ask, impressed.

"Got weirdly obsessed with learning flags and capitals when I was twelve." He grins slyly. "See? I know plenty. Bet I could beat you at this."

"Bet you could not."

"Okay then, you're on."

"And what does the winner get?" I demand, and we both pause. My gaze flickers to his lips and I clench my fist against my weakness.

Would it be so bad to kiss him now? After all, we are meant to be engaged after this weekend. I press my hand into my forehead, suddenly dizzy with a hormonal rush that's trying to tell me I want him. Would it be so bad to give in?

"You okay?" he asks, giving me this look of such genuine concern that I crack and let myself flop against him, my head on his shoulder. His breath quickens under me, his shoulders rising and falling noticeably.

"Let's play," I say, avoiding the question.

The longer we watch the show for, the more heated we get. To my surprise, we are pretty evenly matched. I'm better at history and pop culture, but he's smashing me at geography and music, and neither of us are great at sport.

"In 1981, which song stopped Foreigner from hitting number one with ‘Waiting for a Girl Like You'?"

"Oh! ‘Physical,' Olivia Newton-John!" exclaims Aiden, punching the air in joy at his correct answer. "That puts us on twenty-seven, twenty-five to me I think."

"Did you look that up?" I screech.

"Would I do such a thing?" he says, his eyes wide with innocence I don't believe.

I rip the covers away from him, expecting to find him secretly searching on his phone, but his innocence is genuine after all. He gives me a wounded look, and it must be the shard of guilt that cuts through me because, without really thinking, I grab his shirt and kiss him.

His lips are as good as I remember them being. Even when I've been at my angriest, I could never quite make myself believe his kisses were terrible. And now his lips are on mine again, and he's kissing me back and I'm dizzy with a lust I haven't felt in a long, long time.

I tear myself away and wipe my mouth, breathing hard like I've run up some stairs. "Sorry," I say. "I don't know… I'm…"

"Do that again?" he says, and it must be the spell of those blue eyes, because I do.

He slides his arms around me as we kiss, and I let him pull me closer, his hands strong against my back, holding me up like he's promising he'd never let me fall, and from the way his lips press into mine, I'd believe it. If I can forget the past, it can be perfect.

Just one night of forgetting won't hurt, right?

My fingers find their way to the hem of his pajama shirt and start toying with it, enjoying the way he tenses every time I brush against his skin. His abs are as firm as I remember too, if not firmer.

"Wait," he gasps, pulling back. "Are you sure about this?"

"Don't you want me?" I frown. Why isn't he launching himself at me? Isn't this what he wants?

"God, you have no idea how much. I've wanted you for so long. But you…"

I fix him with my best glare. "Aiden, shut up. I'm horny and I've forgiven you at the moment — and I want you. Right now. Unless you really don't want to go through with it, don't insult me by pretending you know what I want to do."

"Protection?" he asks and I swear under my breath.

"Didn't exactly think I'd need it, did it?" I mutter. "I wouldn't want this to become a scandal."

He takes a breath and gives me a curious look. "What century do you live in? People don't marry because they're pregnant anymore."

"You'd be surprised," I say, my frown deepening. I can see the headlines now, and none of them are flattering for me.

He pauses to look at me, then slides out of bed, letting me see the way his hardness tents his pajama bottoms. A hot thrill bursts inside me, making me throb with desire. "Good job I always bring spare."

"Womanizer," I tease, watching him intently as he dashes to the bathroom to rifle through his toiletry bag.

"I only have eyes for one woman, thank you very much," he says as he strides back over.

My face grows hot from the compliment. I wish he'd stop doing that. It makes it all too real. So I don't have to answer, I crawl over the bed and grab him to kiss him again.

He sinks down, pushing me back onto the bed, his body pressing against mine. I fumble with his shirt again, this time managing to drag it up his chest so I can get a look at his well-built torso. Nearly a decade has changed him, but he's still firm and delightful to look at, and as he wrestles his top off, I let my fingers drift over his muscles, mapping them under my fingerprints.

Clearly his patience is running thin too, because this time when he leans down to kiss me, it's harder, more urgent, like if our lips don't meet now, we're never going to do this again. I can't think about the future now, though. All I care about is his body and satisfying the heat that's burning between my legs.

His kisses move from my mouth to my jaw and keep trailing down over my neck. His tongue flicks over my pulse, and I gasp at the sensation, at the electric buzz that shoots through my entire body. He smiles into my skin, then his hands are at my waist, his touch tickling me enough to make me giggle, which makes him giggle too, and we're both laughing and laughing until he drags my shirt from my body and stares down at my plain black bra like he's in awe.

"You're utterly gorgeous," he whispers.

"I wish I'd worn nicer underwear. If I'd known you'd be looking, I would've."

"You never need to pretend to be anything for me. I like you as you are."

I don't have time or words to react because before I can even take another breath, he's kissing my collarbones, making his way down to free my breasts and trail his tongue over them too. Each movement of his mouth leaves me with goosebumps and shivers, makes me unravel a little more, so by the time he's toying with the waistband of my pants, I'm writhing, a mess waiting to be cleaned up.

"Stop taking your time," I huff.

"But it's been so long! I want to savor the moment."

"I'll savor you in a minute," I say, even though that doesn't really make sense. He grins at me. I guess my ability to form lucid thoughts isn't that great right now.

And then, in one smooth motion, he pulls my panties off, leaving me utterly naked before him.

If I'd imagined this before, I wouldn't have imagined it all being so good, so right. It would have been embarrassing, the idea of being completely bare, under the scrutiny of his eyes, watching him look at every new stretch mark and wrinkle, watching him take note of every way eight years has taken a toll on my body. I'm still in great shape, but nothing compares to the perfection of a twenty-one-year-old's unblemished skin.

"You're perfect," he whispers like he can hear my thoughts. In fact, he's so creepily close to the mark that for a second I wonder if I said all that aloud. "You've always been perfect, and you always will be."

I moan, my hips grinding against the air, desperate for a release. "Stop taking your time and make me come already," I whine.

"Your wish is my command," he grins.

It should have been corny, but his tongue is so magical that I'm on the verge of blacking out in pleasure, the intensity of the orgasm he gives me shaking every cell of my body. And when he finally slides himself inside me, time stops altogether, leaving nothing in the world except us, connected in perfect understanding again at last, like fate has always been leading us here.

I'm not even sure I believe in fate, but in this second, underneath him, my fingers digging into his back so hard that I leave crescent marks with my nails, I do. Everything is right about this. Everything is perfect. It's like this was always meant to be.

We lie staring at the ceiling and breathing hard after, our arms entwined but our eyes not quite able to meet. "That was good," I murmur.

For a second, I think he hasn't heard, because he doesn't reply, then he says, quietly, "It was amazing."

There's not really anything else to say, so we don't. We lie there and let the hormonal glow wash over us. It's a turning point, like there's a decision that needs to be made. And I don't want to make it, not yet. A yes or no to the question that's looming over us will change everything, and I don't want to spoil this. Right now, I agree with him. This is perfect.

Slowly, I roll over, tracing a line down his abs. Into his ear, I whisper, "I still want you."

He turns his head to look at me, smiling as wide as I've ever seen. "Then have me."

As our lips crash together, a vague thought in the back of my mind tells me that I'm going to be sore tomorrow. But as his fingers find my clit again, I decide I really do not care.