Page 40 of Wanted

“For nothing or no one,” he adds as he fiddles with the strands of my hair. “Fortunately at the company, we never skimp on buying good insurance, so we won’t have to cover the extra charges for delaying the work.”

I realize that I don’t know anything about his work, absolutely nothing. “Are you the type of boss who wants everyone to depend on him?”

He laughs. “No, I would go crazy. I started the company years ago with two college friends, they sold their shares soon after and I decided to continue on my own. I’m not very interested in the public part of the business, but I have a good eye for choosing land. I like the excitement of participating in an auction and winning the perfect place for a new development. For the last two years, I’ve been building high-end residential communities like this, and I’ve hired a fairly brilliant group of architects and engineers to take care of the larger residential areas. They travel, supervise, and take care of the hands-on details, while I can dedicate myself to what I really love.”

I suppose it’s a luxury that very few can afford, do what they really love, and make money. In a way, I do too, but my business is still taking baby steps. The time will come when I can offer my mother a good life, without worries, and have a little savings for any rainy days. But in the meantime, I have to keep learning and working hard.

“How did you know that architecture was your thing?”

“What is something children who grow up with nothing dream about?”

Having a home, I answer in my mind.

He knows what I’m thinking, of course, he does. “There’s your answer.”

His words make more and more sense. It isn’t so difficult to understand this Lionel when you really pay attention; his need to pause before answering, his silence speaking volumes.

He builds the houses, and the people who buy them take care of turning them into a home.

“Then why is your house still empty?”

“Because it’s just a house, Stella, and I was here alone,” he replies as if it was obvious. “But now that you are here, that will change.”

“Lionel,” I rebuke him, patting his leg.

“I moved here in a rush, without thinking things through. I was supposed to sell this one and move to another house, but time kept passing by and I never did.” Then he lowers his voice a lot to finish. “Maybe I was just waiting for you…”

Straight to my heart. This man and his silver tongue…

“Why, Mister Kral, you’re such a romantic.”

I lift my head to look directly into those brown eyes I love so much. And then to that dimple on his chin that looks like an arrow pointing at those lips.

His hand goes up my shoulders, following my neck, until it lands on my chin.

“Does that mean I can kiss you again?”

Without responding, I gently caress his face with the tips of my fingers, memorizing each of his features with my fingertips. His forehead, his beautiful brown eyes, flanked by those long lashes, his elegant straight nose, and his mouth… that sweet temptation that I’m dying to kiss again.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he whispers, his lips a short distance from mine—mixed temptation and torture.

“How?” I ask, moistening my lips with the tip of my tongue.

“When you and I are finally together, I’m going to give you more than a quick fuck on the floor,” he tells me and a flame inside me lights up. “I’m going to give you everything you want, and then some.”

I’m already regretting telling him I want to go slow.

“And in the meantime…” His lips finally touch mine again.

The flame grows bigger, threatening to burn down the house around us. I can’t say that I don’t know the man in front of me, because at this moment, letting myself be carried away by passion, I don’t even recognize myself.

A need that I had never felt before consumes me. I want to smell him, touch him, and taste him, all at the same time. So overwhelming, it’s so new and at the same time as comforting as being back home, all because he somehow makes me feel safe.

“God, I love how you smell,” he says, his mouth running down my neck, toward the edge of the shirt I’m wearing.

“Lionel…” I tell him and he stops.

“My head knows it,” he admits. “But that doesn’t mean that my body understands it.”

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