Manwhore +1
Page 98
He looks at me with a twinkle in his eye and hope, as if he wants to see me smile, as if he’s hoping this will be it.
“You’d have more responsibilities than writing, true. But you’re smart, you can bring in your team. If you get stuck, I’m sure you’ll think of someone who can help you. You can build your own Bluekin. Even better.”
His stare is so admiring and respectful and loving, I can’t breathe.
Oh.
God.
Epic love. This is it. Want it or not. Do you take the leap? Do you take it?
Saint did. He believes I can do something more than what I do—he believes he can give me freedom and help me build a platform to see me soar.
My eyes water a little and I duck my head and try to wipe a tear. He reaches for me. He puts one hand on my face, forcing my gaze to stay on him.
I feel a pull of heat in my belly.
“Let me give you this.” His eyes are completely mine, but at the same time, they swallow me. I’ve never felt his energy so powerfully wrapped around mine. Have never seen such pure, undiluted, raw emotion in his eyes. My chest hurts.
“You don’t know how much I admire you, Rachel.” His eyes glow with the force of his emotions. “How you care for others. For me. I appreciated your words before, but this . . .” He takes something out of his pocket, and I hold my breath when I recognize the magazine cover for the article I wrote. “This was very brave, Rachel. Putting yourself out there like that for me. This was a leap on its own. You’re right.” He lifts it up for me to see, then sets it aside on a nearby desk and starts coming forward. “It was our story, but not our entire story. It was only the beginning.”
I cry freely now. “I love you, Malcolm.”
“Do you really?”
“Yes, really.”
He frames my jaw in wide, warm hands, tilting me to his line of sight as he dries my face. “The first time I heard it, I couldn’t think of anything else. Even when all the shit came down, I’d think of those three words. I’ve loved you for a while, Rachel. All the fortune I’ve amassed and I’d never wanted to lay it out there for someone the way I want to lay it out there for you.
“You wanted your world to go still, stand still with me. I may be thirsty, ambitious; I’ll charge out there, but this . . . what we have. Let’s stand still here, you and me.”
My throat closes when I remember what I told him before. I’ve never been held like this by anyone else. I’ve never had a man’s arms around me in comfort, making me feel so utterly safe. I never imagined that I could stand in the middle of the storm that is Malcolm Kyle Preston Logan Saint, and truly feel like my world is finally becoming still.
His smile.
His. Damn. Smile.
I forget its effect on me.
My stomach is in a wild swirl.
“Malcolm,” breathlessly, I stare. “You’d do this for me?”
“I’d do more.”
A silence full of meaning falls between us. I want to say so many things but I can’t find my precious words. His actions won over this time, for real.
“I love you, Malcolm.”
“And I love you, Rachel. Very much.”
My throat closes. “Hold me for a hot second.”
He already is holding me as he whispers, “I’ll hold you for four.” Then, in my ear, he adds gruffly, “Go home and think about this—”
“Yes,” I cut him off, and this time it’s me who grabs him by the collar and kisses the fuck out of him.
“I’ve got to get back to work. Let me take you to dinner?” he asks me.
“I’ve used up all my no’s with you,” I say quietly, kissing him as I speak.
He kisses me as he speaks too, voice husky with male pride. “So it’s another yes.”
“Definitely.”
“Not good enough, Rachel. Say it.”
I laugh. “Yes, greedy man. You freaking woman-wizard. Yes, yes yes!”
That evening I call my ex-coworkers and tell them if they’re leaving Edge—I want them with me. I’m having lunch with a few of them next week, including Valentine and Sandy. Then I talk to Gina and we call Wynn.
“Rachel!” is all Wynn can say. “I’m . . .”
“Speechless, I know. This dude leaves me speechless all the fucking time now,” Gina jumps in to say.
I sit here speechless too, or rather wordless, feeling warm and fuzzier than my socks. They’re both getting hung up on the fact that he’s supporting me and my dreams. I’m hung up on the fact that—despite his upbringing, loving his variety in women and business ventures, and the fact that it seemed fairly impossible to do—I’m very, very sure that Saint loves me.
“You’d have more responsibilities than writing, true. But you’re smart, you can bring in your team. If you get stuck, I’m sure you’ll think of someone who can help you. You can build your own Bluekin. Even better.”
His stare is so admiring and respectful and loving, I can’t breathe.
Oh.
God.
Epic love. This is it. Want it or not. Do you take the leap? Do you take it?
Saint did. He believes I can do something more than what I do—he believes he can give me freedom and help me build a platform to see me soar.
My eyes water a little and I duck my head and try to wipe a tear. He reaches for me. He puts one hand on my face, forcing my gaze to stay on him.
I feel a pull of heat in my belly.
“Let me give you this.” His eyes are completely mine, but at the same time, they swallow me. I’ve never felt his energy so powerfully wrapped around mine. Have never seen such pure, undiluted, raw emotion in his eyes. My chest hurts.
“You don’t know how much I admire you, Rachel.” His eyes glow with the force of his emotions. “How you care for others. For me. I appreciated your words before, but this . . .” He takes something out of his pocket, and I hold my breath when I recognize the magazine cover for the article I wrote. “This was very brave, Rachel. Putting yourself out there like that for me. This was a leap on its own. You’re right.” He lifts it up for me to see, then sets it aside on a nearby desk and starts coming forward. “It was our story, but not our entire story. It was only the beginning.”
I cry freely now. “I love you, Malcolm.”
“Do you really?”
“Yes, really.”
He frames my jaw in wide, warm hands, tilting me to his line of sight as he dries my face. “The first time I heard it, I couldn’t think of anything else. Even when all the shit came down, I’d think of those three words. I’ve loved you for a while, Rachel. All the fortune I’ve amassed and I’d never wanted to lay it out there for someone the way I want to lay it out there for you.
“You wanted your world to go still, stand still with me. I may be thirsty, ambitious; I’ll charge out there, but this . . . what we have. Let’s stand still here, you and me.”
My throat closes when I remember what I told him before. I’ve never been held like this by anyone else. I’ve never had a man’s arms around me in comfort, making me feel so utterly safe. I never imagined that I could stand in the middle of the storm that is Malcolm Kyle Preston Logan Saint, and truly feel like my world is finally becoming still.
His smile.
His. Damn. Smile.
I forget its effect on me.
My stomach is in a wild swirl.
“Malcolm,” breathlessly, I stare. “You’d do this for me?”
“I’d do more.”
A silence full of meaning falls between us. I want to say so many things but I can’t find my precious words. His actions won over this time, for real.
“I love you, Malcolm.”
“And I love you, Rachel. Very much.”
My throat closes. “Hold me for a hot second.”
He already is holding me as he whispers, “I’ll hold you for four.” Then, in my ear, he adds gruffly, “Go home and think about this—”
“Yes,” I cut him off, and this time it’s me who grabs him by the collar and kisses the fuck out of him.
“I’ve got to get back to work. Let me take you to dinner?” he asks me.
“I’ve used up all my no’s with you,” I say quietly, kissing him as I speak.
He kisses me as he speaks too, voice husky with male pride. “So it’s another yes.”
“Definitely.”
“Not good enough, Rachel. Say it.”
I laugh. “Yes, greedy man. You freaking woman-wizard. Yes, yes yes!”
That evening I call my ex-coworkers and tell them if they’re leaving Edge—I want them with me. I’m having lunch with a few of them next week, including Valentine and Sandy. Then I talk to Gina and we call Wynn.
“Rachel!” is all Wynn can say. “I’m . . .”
“Speechless, I know. This dude leaves me speechless all the fucking time now,” Gina jumps in to say.
I sit here speechless too, or rather wordless, feeling warm and fuzzier than my socks. They’re both getting hung up on the fact that he’s supporting me and my dreams. I’m hung up on the fact that—despite his upbringing, loving his variety in women and business ventures, and the fact that it seemed fairly impossible to do—I’m very, very sure that Saint loves me.
