Page 42 of Meant For Love
“Are you watching cat videos?” he questions, annoying me that he knows what I’m doing.
“No.” I turn the phone off. “We are landing any second,” I tell him.
He reaches around my head, pulling me down to him. “Kiss me, baby.” Here in the middle of the private plane, while we are landing, I kiss him.
I’m exhausted by the time we get in the car and are on the way to his house. “Tired?” he asks, and I nod. “We’ll get you home and fed and then you can go to bed.” He looks over at me. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, why?” I ask.
“I was just thinking that maybe you might miss your family.” I turn my head to look at this fucking man. Never, and I mean never, in my life has someone taken the time to think about how I feel. I mean, sure, my family, but not a man in this universe has gone to that extent.
“Yeah,” I say, clearing my voice when I feel it fill with a golf ball, “but I’m okay.”
“Maybe we can invite Zara to come out here for a week,” he suggests. I look out the window instead of to him, the tears filling my eyes, making it hard to see. “See if she’s free.”
“Okay,” I reply, hoping like fuck my voice doesn’t crack. He doesn’t say anything else as we make our way over to his house. We go through a wrought-iron gate when he puts in a code and then turns down the street toward his house.
He slows down and turns into a driveway, and I finally get a look at his house. The lights from inside illuminate the outside. He stops the car, and I get out to take a better look. There are two double-car garage doors. He opens the trunk and takes the bags to the front door. The house looks like it’s all windows in the front, but you can’t see in. You can only see the illumination from the lights. Even the front door looks like it’s all glass all the way to the roof.
“Shall we?” He holds out his hand, smiling at me, and I know he’s probably nervous I won’t like his house. I walk with him up the driveway to the front door, going up the three steps. He stops at the door and enters the code before turning to me, grabbing me around my waist, and picking me up.
“What the hell are you doing?” I ask, wrapping my arms around his shoulders.
“I’m carrying you over the threshold,” he declares, kicking open the door with his foot. I can’t help but laugh as he takes a step into his house. “Welcome home, Zoey.”
Eighteen
Nash
Her laughter as I carry her over the threshold goes from my chest to my stomach, and then straight to my dick. I kick the door closed with my foot as we stand in the foyer. “Um, Nash?” She looks up at me. “Our bags are still outside.”
“I’ll get them after I give you a tour, and you can settle in.” I lean down to kiss her lips.
“Are you going to carry me for the whole tour?” she asks.
“If you want,” I answer her without even caring. If she wants me to carry her through the house for the tour, then that is what I will do.
“I think I’m good to walk.”
“Fine,” I pout, reluctant to let her out of my arms but making a mental note to carry her to the bedroom, even if it’s over my shoulder or on my back. I make sure she has her balance before I let her go. “This is the foyer,” I tell her, and her eyebrows rise at the square staircase in the middle of the open-concept house. “That’s the formal living room.” I point at the room on my right-hand side. “And the dining room.”
“Do you even use these rooms?” she asks as she steps into the living room, looking around and stopping when she spots a mirrored frame on one of the coffee tables. “Wait.” She walks over and picks it up. “How did you do this?” She looks at the picture of her right before she walked down the aisle. She’s looking at the camera with her hip cocked to the side, one hand on her hip and the other hand by her side, holding the bouquet. She looks sexy as fuck but also fucking beautiful.
“The photographer emailed me the link for the pictures,” I tell her, “and I got a couple to put around the house so you would feel sort of at home.” She puts the frame down. “Since you’ll be in every room.”
“That’s very sweet, Nash.” She walks over to me and gets on her tippy-toes. “I would also very much like to see the pictures of our wedding.”
“I’ll send you the link after,” I tell her, slipping my hand in hers. “Now, come so I can show you the rest of the house.” I pull her toward the stairs. “This is the mudroom.” I point at the little room on my left-hand side, and she looks up at the hanging ceiling light that shows you the railing for upstairs.
“I love how open this is,” she states, turning but never letting go of my hand.
“Good,” I say as I continue walking. “Now this is the kitchen, obviously.” I point to the right where there is a huge gray marble island right in front of a U-shaped kitchen. “That must be your gift.” I point at the white box on the island next to what is a replica of her bouquet when we got married.
She lets my hand go to walk over to the island. “Is this from that day?” She points at the vase of flowers, and I shake my head.
“No, but I remembered so?—”
“Can I open the gift?” she asks, her eyes lighting up even more. I see she likes gifts. I make another mental note. “It’s big.”