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“Playing happily.”
Her eyes swept shut but despite that, he felt the uncertainty that was twisting inside her. He saw the battle being waged on her face.
“It’s your decision,” he said, pulling away from her, even when his arousal felt tight enough to explode right out of his pants. “When you realize you don’t want to fight this, I’ll be here.”
Chapter10
WHEN YOU REALISE YOU don’t want to fight this, I’ll be here.
His words swirled through her mind, making sleep impossible, despite the uber comfortable bed and softer-than-butter sheets. She stared at her closed – but not locked – door, wanting him in a way that was sobering and terrifying in equal measure.
It was an ache low in her belly that began like a knot then tightened her stomach and chest, spasming through her whole body, sending shockwaves of warmth to the tips of her toes and fingers, tightening her nipples, heating her abdomen, so even the soft sheet on her bare arms and legs was a form of torture.
Her mind wouldn’t stop racing, her heart was beating too loud, and blood washed her ears with a drumming that was akin to a waterfall.
She gave up on even attempting to sleep sometime around dawn and pushed out of bed. Bare feet padded across luxurious carpet. She hooked her threadbare robe from the back of the door, the incongruity of the material in this rarified apartment not lost on her. It wasn’t cold, but her standard nighttime uniform of underpants and a camisole didn’t feel appropriate for wandering around Gray’s cavernous home. Not that he’d be awake yet. Even with his predilection for early starts, this was still technically the night.
Nonetheless, she opened the door silently, peering out, her eyes latching to his closed bedroom door with a quiver in her pulse, then looking up and down the dark hallway to assure herself no one was up.
When she passed Charlotte’s incredible new bedroom, she checked on their daughter out of habit, brushing some flops of dark hair off her sweet little moon face, before pressing a kiss to her ski jump nose, so Charlotte made a contented sighing sound in her sleep.
Abby wished she could be as blissfully unaware of the upheaval to their lives as Charlotte evidently was. She wished she could sleep so peacefully, could trust that everything was going to be fine.
And she wished she didn’t have this lingering feeling in the center of her heart that she’d denied Charlotte so much, for too long. The material things, sure, but just seeing Gray with his daughter in his arms had clicked something into place for Abby. Their connection was unmistakable. She’d felt it resonate through their tiny apartment and into her soul the second he’d picked Charlotte up.
Being here was right.
Marrying him was right.
Even if, paradoxically, she was scared witless by the idea.
She tiptoed into the enormous kitchen in search of something to drink, deciding on orange juice, which she poured into a small crystal glass. Everything in this place was a sign of understated wealth. The best quality, luxury, exclusive and rare. Including the view. For her birthday last year, her mom and Angie had taken Abby to the top of Rockefeller Center. They’d lined up, been crammed into the elevator like sardines, waited patiently for their turn at the front of the viewing platforms. It had been stunning to see the city like this, from a bird’s vantage point. But it had also reminded her of Gray’s penthouse, and the way she’d always enjoyed tracing the eyeline of the city from up here.
Juice in hand, she opened one of the glass sliding doors, stepping onto the deck. A balmy breeze lifted her hair as she tiptoed to the very edge, staring out at the city – the park in the foreground was quieter in the small hour of the morning. Occasional lamps filtered a soft golden glow into the sky, and little flickers beneath the lamps were likely runners, taking advantage of the clear paths. The Park seemed to stretch forever. She’d take Abby there in a few hours. The idea of that gave her a trill of pleasure – unexpected, because she hadn’t really thought there’d be anything about the prospect of this new life that could give her happiness, yet. But these streets were teaming with beauty – not just the Upper East side, but the Library, mid-town, the west-side. One morning, she’d left Gray’s penthouse and walked through the park and across to Zabar’s, in search of a bagel, but the selection of food had made her heart thump and she’d come back carrying a paper bag bursting with delicacies, so excited to try everything. She’d take Charlotte there too.
To her left, the buildings of the city rose like sentinels from the ground. She studied their familiar shapes, taking comfort from them. New York was a city that was founded on daring and risk – qualities she’d need in spades to pull off this marriage.
“Morning.” His gruff voice scared the bejeezus out of Abby. She spun, guiltily, for no reason she could think of, slopping the tiniest amount of juice onto her robe, so she felt the damp stain through to the top of her breast. Awareness warred with the damp sensation, pushing arrows of need through her body. He was wearing a pair of low-slung boxers, navy blue, so his broad, beautiful chest was delineated by the moonlight, and she ached to reach out and run her fingers over the muscles there. Her fingertips stung with the effort of holding them back.
“Gray!” Her own voice was strained. “I didn’t know you were out here.”
He stepped closer, and a slice of light caught his face, showing his guarded expression. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“Something on your mind?” She enquired archly, because of course they were both plagued by the commitment they were making.
“More like someone.”
Her heart sped up and she looked away jerkily.
“I see.”
His laugh was soft, wrapping around her, so goosebumps danced across her flesh. “Do you?”
She turned to face him.
“I prefered the sleeping arrangements at your place.”
She’d loved being intimate with him again, but she’d also loved the simple act of sleeping in the crook of his arm, close to his beating heart, feeling his blood pounding beneath her. She’d liked the way they’d moved in the night, her rolling onto her side and him following, one arm possessively clamped over her shoulders. But that was just an act. He gave up those intimacies easily because they meant nothing to him, and her heart couldn’t cope with that kind of make-believe.
