Page 121 of Mr. Wicked

That he needed to process and accept what he really wanted and come to terms with it—something he’d never done before.

And once he did, he would realize that I was everything he didn’t know he wanted.

That was when he’d finally drop the shield.

He would let me in.

And we would have a chance to be us—to be whatever we were supposed to be.

Even though he hadn’t voiced those same words, he’d told me he cared.

That he wanted me.

That was enough.

And despite the fact that he didn’t know how to do this, I knew we’d figure it out.

Tonight was the start of that.

While I was stuck in my head, lost in these deep, emotional thoughts, he was gazing at my face, taking in my eyes, my lips.

A gaze that he’d had since the day we’d met at the bar, one that had always tugged at my gut, telling me there was emotion behind his eyes.

He was holding me tight enough that I couldn’t move.

I didn’t want to.

“You have me in here”—he gave the room a quick scan, a sexy grin spreading across those thick lips—“now what are you going to do with me?”

I brushed my thumb over his mouth, wanting the softness under my fingertip. “I need a shower. I was hoping you’d join me.”

“Mmm.” His moan was deep, coarse. It even vibrated through me. “I have a better idea.” His hands lowered to my butt. “Why don’t we use my shower. It’s bigger with a lot more heads.”

“Take me there.”

Instead of reaching for my hand, like I’d done to him a few minutes ago when I’d led him into my room, he lifted me into the air as though there were a puddle on the floor and he didn’t want my feet to get wet. My legs straddled his waist, my hands gripped his shoulders, and my face immediately went into his neck.

We weren’t even to the doorway before he stopped.

I could tell he was looking at something on the floor, and I followed his stare. “What’s wrong?”

“I just noticed that photo. I didn’t see it in your room at your old apartment.”

He had to be talking about the picture I’d taken in the Seaport District of the city. The one where I’d captured part of the bridge with the rainbow lights underneath, the rest of the shot a long angle of the water with part of Boston’s skyline behind it.

“That’s because it’s new,” I told him. “I had it framed shortly after you came to our apartment. And, funny enough, a couple of days ago, I saw that you have almost the same picture in your home office.” It hit me then that he’d never taken me into his home office. I’d discovered the photo during one of the mornings he was at work and I snooped around a little, peering into the rooms I hadn’t yet checked out. “I’ve looked around your condo. Don’t be mad. I felt like since I’ll be staying here, I should know the whole space.”

He smiled. “I’m not mad.” And then he gently kissed me. “I think I’m a little bit in shock that we have the same shot—that’s what made me stop and stare at it.”

I giggled. “I’m not going to lie, I was a little dumbstruck when I saw yours too. What are the chances that we’d be standing in almost the identical location, taking basically the same exact picture, and hanging it in our homes.” I held him tighter. “We have more in common than you think, Mr. Wicked.”

“When I saw your photography, I thought the same thing.”

“But you didn’t mention it.”

“No.” His stare shifted between my eyes. “There were a lot of things I didn’t say, Jovana.”

The same was true for me.

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