Page 64 of Under Locke & Key
“Now who’s the one who should be careful with heights,” I tease. Trying to pretend at being nonchalant when what he said has me wanting to clutch at my chest and the kernel of hope that burns there.
Bryce grabs my hand, lifting my palm to his mouth and planting a soft kiss there, quiet words woven into my skin when he speaks. “Be careful with me.”
No mirth in his eyes, just the vulnerability I’ve been running away from. If I don’t let anyone close they can’t hurt me has been somewhat of a mantra, a life’s motto so to speak. Because I wouldn’t let myself want him, Bryce got closer than anyone else has, because I didn’t think I needed to protect myself against him. He wasn’t a threat to my carefully constructed house of cards. Until now.
Now, with him asking for care from me—consideration for him and his feelings—there’s no more running unless I plan to hurt him.
“I will,” I vow.
His cheeks flush and rise with a smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes. So strange seeing him without his glasses but the sight is so much more potent face-to-face with nothing to detract from the intense warmth in his eyes.
This time when the buzzing on the bedside table announces a message, more shuffling vibrations, it’s his. Handing him the phone, he considers whatever is on his screen for a moment before looking over at me.
“My mom,” he says, shaking his head. “She says they just heard back with an invoice. Do you mind if I call her real quick? I’d like you to hear whatever is going on as well.”
“Sure,” I say.
“Is this a good time?” his mother asks and the consideration in her tone when compared to my own mother makes my chest clench.
“That depends, is it good news or bad news?” Bryce asks.
His mother breathes in deeply and it’s almost like Bryce’s whole body deflates before she speaks. “The bill for the bathroom renovations came in now that they’re done and it’s . . . hefty. You might want to take a look at the financials as a whole and make some calls on how you’d like to proceed.”
Bryce’s sigh is so big it jostles me and I kiss the spot over his heart to try and calm him.
“Give it to me straight, Mom. I might have a degree in finance but you’ve had the experience of actually owning a business.”
“The quicker you open, the quicker you can earn money. It doesn’t have to be perfect from the start, or even as big as you planned. Get a feel for it and then expand more once business picks up. That way you’re maximizing your resources and time.”
It’s not all that different from what I’d suggested before—cutting down rooms. This just gives the additional pressure of an earlier opening as well.
His brows are low and severe over those beautiful eyes, the honey dull under stress. I trail my fingertips over his cheek, then smoothing the line between his eyebrows with my thumb and I get the tiniest quirk on the side of his mouth as a reward.
“Okay.” Bryce sighs again, a huge exhalation of air followed by a double inhalation, the stutter of air rushing back into his lungs. “Okay. I’ll be dropping back home in a few and we can look at the numbers. Once I’ve dealt with that, once we’ve decided, we’ll jump in immediately.”
“I’ll see you soon, hon.”
“See ya,” he says, tone morose, before hanging up and leaning over me to set the phone back down.
This time he’s the one that tucks his head against my breasts, holding on as I feel his body tremble slightly. Not tears, but anxiety.
“We’ll figure it out,” I soothe. “We’ll make it work and I’ll do whatever you need to make it happen.”
“Is it okay if I come back here once we’ve formulated a concrete plan? To go over those room ideas you had in depth?” His voice is muffled against my shirt and I stroke my fingers through his hair to try and combat the tightness of his muscles.
“You’re welcome any time, Bryce. Seriously. For what it’s worth, I think your mom is right. If you have to move up the deadline, focusing on two or three rooms instead of all of them will be a great way to get a feel for what works and what doesn’t while you get the hang of it all.”
He kisses the middle of my sternum, the heat of his lips scorching through my shirt so it might as well not even be there. Unbeknownst to him, the touch is right where he’s managed to burrow into me. A crack. A hairline fracture. A weakness that he could exploit if I let him.
Fuck, I want to let him.
“Text me, keep me updated. If it works out, I’d love to have a meal with you and go over stuff?” I urge and all it does is make him tighten his arms around me. Stubborn. As if he can hide here and the world won’t intrude. “Bryce . . .”
“Don’t wanna.” It’s so pouty I can’t help the laugh that spreads through my body and his answering one fills me with warmth along every nerve ending.
“Gotta.”
This time when he sighs it’s over dramatic and for show. “Fine. But I’d like the record to show that I amnotpleased with this turn of events. I was having a perfectly lovely sleep and I’d planned to pick up where we left off last night.” The hunger is there, peeking out in his last statement.
