Page 33 of Come Home to Me

Sarah

I manage to get through work without bothering Frank too much, which is a miracle in and of itself, though whenever we pass in the hallway, he manages to brush a hand across my arm.

Or my hip.

Or so low on my back his fingers graze my ass.

At the end of the day, I follow him through the streets of Denver to his apartment building, surprised by the upscale exterior. Frank leads me to his unit and fumbles with his keys. “I like nice things,” he says when I mention the swanky design of the complex. He swings open the door and ushers me into a small, yet airy space. Before I can get my bearings, he pulls me into his arms and presses his lips to mine. I drop my purse to the floor and grip his arms as his hands sweep over my waist and hips.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his forehead pressed to mine. “I’ve been waiting to do that all day.”

I kiss him. Once. Twice. A third time. “Don’t apologize,” I say when I finally catch my breath, my body a riot of heat and desire.

When Frank releases me, I spin in a slow circle and stop when I’m facing him again. “No wonder you’re so uncomfortable at my place. This apartment is amazing!”

“I really hate that you think of that hotel as your place. Your home should be a reflection of who you are and that hotel is not you.” He gives me a quick tour, while I admire the art hanging on the walls and the quality of his furniture. Everything’s leather or wood or metal, very masculine and obviously expensive. The space is clean, yet lived in.

A few bills hide one corner of the kitchen counter.

Crumbs scatter around the toaster.

A coffee mug sits in the sink.

He sees me notice the crumbs and brushes them into his hand.

“I don’t know why I’m surprised you don’t live in a typical bachelor pad,” I say as he wipes his hands off over a trashcan under the sink.

Frank straightens and leans against the counter, his brow furrowed in question. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just that nothing about you is typical. Not even a little bit. From the cool job, to the swanky suits, to the glasses, to the fact that elevator sex at work is cool with you. Nothing about you screams ‘average male.’ So the fact that you live in an apartment that looks like it belongs in the brochure for this complex just confirms what I already know.” I make a show of studying the well-appointed kitchen. “I suppose next you’re going to tell me that you’re a five-star chef?”

As I ask the question, I realize I already assume the answer is yes. The more I learn about this man, the more I can see him doing anything he sets his mind to.

“Wouldn’t that work out well for you, seeing as how I’m going to have to feed you at some point tonight?” Frank lifts his brow, a smile tugging at one side of his mouth. “Unfortunately, if I can’t boil it or microwave it, I don’t eat it. I live on takeout.” He slides open a drawer to reveal a host of menus hiding inside. “I’ve got Chinese. I’ve got Indian. I’ve got Italian.” He slaps a different menu on the counter with each statement. “All you need to do is tell me what you want, and I’ll take care of you.”

I slide the menus over and study them. “You know what I can really go for right now is some bone marrow…” I trail off, hoping he remembers pointing out the eclectic dish on the menu at Guard and Grace and doesn’t think I’m a total nut-job for mentioning it.

After lunch that day, curiosity got the better of me and I spent about half an hour browsing the internet for information about how it tastes and why people eat it. Apparently, there are huge health benefits and some people really enjoy the taste, though I still feel a little repulsed by the idea. While I really don’t want to go out for dinner tonight, I would like to try it someday, just so I know for myself.

Frank narrows his eyes. “I didn’t peg you as a bone marrow kind of gal, but if that’s what my girl wants, that’s what she’ll have.” He swipes his keys off the counter and holds out his hand. “To the Wilde-mobile.”

I laugh, pleased he remembered.

Pleased he’s willing to head back out into the city to take me to an expensive restaurant for an over the top meal.

Pleased to be here with him.

Pleased to be his girl.

“I’m kidding,” I say through my laughter. “Honestly? Are you maybe in the mood for a pizza?”

Frank sags with relief. “A pizza sounds perfect.” We hash out the details of the order and then entertain ourselves with conversation as we wait for dinner to arrive. We compare notes on our childhoods and discuss the differences between ranching and farming. I tell him about my conversation with Tessa last night, explaining my apology and her acceptance. He congratulates me, then goes on to tell me about an awkward elevator ride with Bree this afternoon.

“It was not at all like being on the elevator with you.” He licks his lips and the heat in his eyes tells me that elevator ride made just as much an impression on him as it did on me.

“Thank goodness for that.” My inner thighs clench at his words and desire runs through my body, warm and fluid. If I’m not careful, he won’t be clothed when the pizza arrives and while that’s a win for me, I’m not sure the person on the other side of the door will feel the same. “What happened between you guys?” I ask, intentionally diverting the topic to less suggestive areas. “I can’t decide if Bree’s in love with you or if she hates you.”

Frank drapes an arm over the back of the couch. “I doubt she even knows where she falls on that one.” He goes on to explain a pretty typical situation. They worked together. She was interested. He wasn’t. As I watch him talk—the way his lips quirk into a smile, the light in his eyes when they land on mine—a feeling of contentment settles over me. It’s so warm, and so unfamiliar, I find myself almost drowning in gratitude.

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