Caspian (Carolina Reapers 8)

Ryleigh looked at me skeptically but followed as I walked across the roof.

“This place belonged to an artist before I bought it—”

“You bought it?” she blurted, a mix of horror and wonder on that gorgeous face of hers.

“I bought it,” I whispered, gently nudging her mouth closed with my forefinger. Just that brush of our skin and my entire body came back to life. My pulse settled, my breathing steadied, and my head cleared of everything that could go wrong, and concentrated on how it could go so very right.

Her gaze dropped to my lips, and I stepped back, breaking the contact and swinging open the wide, double doors to the workshop. “So, the realtor said this place is up to code for anything you want to do in here, and that includes welding.”

Her breath came out a stutter as she entered the workshop, surveying the empty metal counters and wide windows.

“Of course, you’ll have to give me a list of whatever equipment you’d need. I know absolutely jack and shit about art or what it takes to make yours, but this space is twice as big as the one you have in Cherry Creek, so I figured it was a good start in case you wanted to work at home—” I flinched. Stop assuming she’ll say yes. “I mean, here. For homework or personal stuff. Whatever.”

She spun slowly, her eyes taking in every detail before landing on me. “I don’t understand.”

“You don’t like it?” I asked softly, cramming my hands in the pockets of my shorts.

“What?” She shook her head. “Of course I like it. It’s perfect. But I don’t understand how or why you bought it. Or what you’re doing in Minneapolis.”

“I’m here for you.” It was the easiest, simplest truth to give her.

She sucked in a breath. “You’re here for me.”

I nodded and rubbed the back of my neck. “And I know we have a lot to discuss, but I need you to know that Langley isn’t pregnant with my kid.”

“Yeah, I know.” She rolled her eyes. “She’s due with a little boy next month. I read all about it in a magazine. I also felt like a prize idiot that I didn’t know, and then really foolish that I’d jumped to the conclusion that the baby was yours, and then exceptionally pissed off that you let me think that!”

“Right. I’m really sorry about that.” If I rubbed at my neck any harder, my tattoos might start coming off. “I should have told you, and I let my fear—and a little of my anger—get in the way.” I grimaced, my nose wrinkling. “I let my fear get in the way of a lot when it comes to us. That’s why I took off after seeing you and Chuck that day.”

“I’m not with Chuck!” She shook her hands and I couldn’t help but wonder if she was picturing my neck between them.

“I know,” I said, letting the corners of my mouth lift in a self-deprecating smile. “I should have marched up to the two of you and demanded answers.”

“Or maybe just called me like a rational human being.” She folded her arms across her chest, taking up the stubborn pose, but the breeze caught a strand of her hair, and she blew it out of her eyes.

“Yeah, that too.” I grinned. She might be pissed, but she was still my Ryleigh. “Point is, I didn’t know how to balance my feelings for you with the obstacles that were staring us in the face.”

“And you do now?” she challenged. “Because last time I checked, you still live in South Carolina, and I live here in Minneap—wait.” Her head cocked to the side. “How the hell did you know that I live here now?

“London,” I admitted shamelessly. I’d use every tool at my disposal—including insider information from my sister—to get to Ryleigh.

“Traitor,” she muttered.

“Oh, come on, you’re not just a little happy to see me?” I stepped forward and brushed another strand of breeze-blown, auburn hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear.

Her lips pursed as she glared up at me.

“Even just a tiny bit?” I challenged softly, letting my thumb stroke across the impossibly soft skin of her cheek.

“Fine.” She blew out an exasperated breath. “I’m happy to see you, but this conversation could have happened over the phone. You didn’t have to buy an apartment in Minneapolis to talk to me.”

“I didn’t just want to talk to you,” I admitted. “I wanted to see you. I didn’t buy this apartment to get your attention.” A smile lifted my lips. “Okay, fine, maybe that was part of it. But I bought it because I want to be with you. I want to wake up next to you every morning, bicker with you about the shit that doesn’t matter, fight with you about the stuff that does, and make up with you every night before we get into that bed downstairs and fall asleep so we can do it all again the next day.” I’d bet my entire future on it—on her.