Page 72 of The Perfect Mistake

There’s a beep as he turns off the treadmill. “Never apologize.”

“Never?”

He comes to stand at the edge of my workout mat and holds out a hand. I grab it, letting him pull me to my feet.

He doesn’t let go of me once I’m standing. “Never,” he repeats. “I liked you expressing your opinions.”

“Do you usually like it when employees do that?” I ask. His hand is warm around mine.

A smile plays at the corner of his lips, and he tips my head back. “When they’re useful opinions.”

“I can stop,” I say.

“I don’t want you to. No one has spoken back to me like that in years. Keep speaking your mind. Tell me when I’m wrong, and shout at me if I mess up. I can take it,” Alec says. “You’re my equal.”

“I’m your kids’ nanny and your employee,” I say. “Equal isn’t even close.”

“Fuck that. That’s just a job. That belongs to the world out there.” He nods to the gym door, shut behind us. “It holds no weight here, not between us, and not if we’re going to do this.”

“If we’re going to do this,” I repeat softly. “You mean…?”

“Yes, that’s what I mean. I need you to talk to me freely if we’re going to sleep together. When we sleep together.”

Speaking the words, here in the bright light of day, with New York City outside the window and the ceiling light on… sends a flush to my cheeks.

“Why are you so insistent on that?” I ask. “It’s never been a problem for me before.”

His eyes narrow. “To communicate with the man you’re sleeping with? Or to proceed with no communication at all?”

“The latter. I know what I want,” I say and rise onto my tiptoes. “I can show you.”

Alec’s eyes dip down to my lips, and then further down to my workout tank top and shorts. The air between us thickens.

“Can you,” he murmurs. It’s less a question and more of a statement.

“Was the only reason you stopped the other night because you thought I wouldn’t be able to tell you what I like?”

“Yes,” he says. But then he leans closer, his breath ghosting over mine. “And I didn’t have any condoms.”

Oh.

A strange sort of relief rushes over me. He doesn’t sleep with women regularly then, if he doesn’t keep condoms on hand.

I brush my lips over his, just barely, and revel in him turning to stone. “Do you have some now?”

He kisses me. It’s a slow promise of what’s to come, and soothing after last night’s argument. “Yes,” he says. “I had to ask Mac to idle outside a convenience store. He probably thought I’d lost my mind.”

I chuckle and grip his bare arms. The muscles beneath my fingers are solid, the skin warm to the touch. He’s so different from anyone I’ve ever been with. So much more somehow, in every way. Taller, broader, older, stronger, more competent. I have a feeling he doesn’t forget anything, and that whatever I might say, he will hear. Not just listen to.

I trust him, I realize.

“Isabel,” he mutters. He glides his hands down the sides of my body, fingers just barely touching the outer curves of my tits and waist. They land on my hips and pull me closer. “What do you want to do next?”

I wet my lips. “Right now?”

There’s a smile in his voice. “Well, I only have minutes until I need to wake the kids up, so no. But between us. When do you want me? And how?”

The questions, asked in his deep, hoarse voice, make my head spin. Somehow, I thought he’d take charge. I wanted him to. Wanted to fall into his arms and let him sweep me away.

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