Debauched (Undone Book 3) (7 page)

Ruby

The kiss has shaken me, and I’m beyond nervous, but I shrug out of my coat. He walks over to the hook and hangs up my belongings, and I just kind of stare, stunned at the breadth of his shoulders, the taper of his waist, and lean cut of his hips. The way he fills out a pair of jeans.

He turns around, flashing me that smile, and he’s so damn good looking I barely know what to do with my attraction. How is it possible I hung out with him for all these months without thinking much about him, and now I can’t get him out of my head?

And that kiss. I can barely think.

He grabs the bottle of wine I brought before taking my hand. “Come on in.”

Chad lives in a townhouse, but I had been so anxious, so consumed by him, I hadn’t paid any attention to what I walked into. For the first time I absorb the place.

I suck in my breath. “Wow.”

It might be the coolest place I’ve seen. It’s got a loft, industrial feel to it, and the back of the house is almost floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out onto a spectacular view of the skyline. The floors are driftwood gray and wide planked. Everything is in shades of grays and white but instead of looking cold, it’s inviting. The kitchen is sleek and modern with industrial appliances.

The place also smells delicious, like Italian food, but that was the least of my awe.

I drop his hand and walk into the huge room, spinning around to take in how fantastic it all is. I look up at the ceilings that seem to go on forever. “How tall are these?”

“Twenty-five feet.” His voice is filled with pleasure. “Do you want the tour?”

“I’d love one. This place is unbelievable.” I’ve never really thought much about what an IT person made, but a townhome like this had to cost a fortune. I wanted to ask, but didn’t know him well enough. Software must be more lucrative than I’d imagined.

I grin at him. “I think this is the coolest place I’ve ever been in.”

He laughs. “I did everything myself, so I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

Surprised, I raise a brow. “You did it yourself?”

I find I want to know all about him. It’s so odd. So strange. There’s nothing about us that goes together, but I suddenly find him the most fascinating person.

He shoves his hands into his pockets. “I bought the building during the real estate crash. The neighborhood was still up and coming, and the place was in foreclosure so it ended up being a steal. Previously an abandoned factory, I had it rezoned and divided. One of my friends is a contractor so we decided to try out our hand at real estate. When we were done I kept the house I liked the best, and we sold the other ones.”

My mouth falls open and before I can censor myself I spit out, “Didn’t that cost a fortune?”

He shrugs. “We didn’t do it all at once. The building sat for a couple of years. We did lots of stuff ourselves in pieces. It was a gamble that paid off.”

I’m impressed. “I love it, it’s gorgeous.”

“Thanks.” He laughs, a little chagrin. “It’s my pride and joy. And I found I liked doing it. My friend and I have bought buildings and gutted them, and sold them off a few times now. It’s a hobby of mine.”

I know enough about Chicago real estate to know that if this place is any indication, it was a lucrative hobby. I gaze at him, my eyes narrow. “Are you saying you’re a secret real estate mogul?”

He laughs. “Hardly. It’s just something I like to do in my spare time.”

“Some hobby.” In continued awe, I walk to the back of the house where a dining room table sits and is already set for dinner. For us. The table is heavy, with thick distressed wood, stately high-backed benches on the sides, and high-backed leather chairs on either end.

It looks almost medieval. I run my hand over the wood and stare at the place settings. He used real plates. White and crisp, like out of a magazine.

It sounds silly, but it touches me, and scares me all at the same time. Nobody has ever cooked me dinner before, or gone through any sort of trouble for me. The last guy I dated for any length of time lived in a hovel with a mattress on the floor. I don’t think he even owned plates. We used to sit on the floor and eat Chinese takeout of the box with chopsticks.

As strange as it sounds, I’m more comfortable with that. The lack of expectation makes me relax.

This makes me nervous.

Chad comes up behind me and puts his hands on my hips before leaning down to whisper in my ear, “Come on, I’ll show you the rest.”

His voice sends tingles down my spine, and I try not to think of how much I want him.

He takes me down a hallway with lower ceilings, showing me a half bath and a spacious room he’s set up as an office. It’s the messiest room I’ve seen, filled with computer equipment and three huge computer monitors. Piled with books. It makes me happy. Makes him seem more human.

He walks me up a spiral staircase and shows me two spare bedrooms, another bathroom and his master suite.

I try not to gasp as I enter the room. Try not to blush at the sight of the massive bed, or wonder if I’ll be lying in it. The headboard is wood with thick posts and it looks like dynamite wouldn’t move it.

The covers are thick, charcoal gray and inviting.

I have an image of tumbling across it, hot and restless. I tense.

I can’t live up to the expectation of that bed.

Chad comes behind me and circles my waist, pressing his back against mine. “You’re thinking about being in this bed, aren’t you?”

My body grows even more ridged. “How do you know that?”

I don’t know why I ask the question, why I continue to be surprised he can read me.

“It’s written in your face, in the tension of your body.” He leans down and kisses me, open mouth on the neck, his tongue pressing against my skin. A part of me wants to lean into him but I can’t. His teeth scrape along my earlobe. “I’m going to take you to bed, but not before you’re ready to be there.”

I draw in a stuttering breath. “I don’t think I’ll ever be ready.”

“Time will tell.” He straightens, his lips leaving a distracting path along my neck. “I need to show you one more thing. My favorite part of the house.” He goes to the closet and by the glimpse I get, it’s huge. He comes back and holds out a zip-up sweatshirt. “Put this on.”

I stare him. Wasn’t he just talking about taking me to bed? I take the coat and put it on. Then he leads me out of the bedroom and down the hall to another staircase. We walk up and he opens a door, and we step out onto a huge rooftop.

I stop in wonder. “Holy shit.”

He has a three hundred and sixty panoramic view of the city. Fifty people could stand out here and not be crowded. I shiver against the cold, but walk over to the railing, gazing out over the city.

He comes to stand next to me. “Crazy, huh?”

“It’s fucking spectacular.” Because there is no other way to describe it.

He laughs.

Before I can process what I’m saying, I blurt out, “Can I come live with you?”

He laughs again and winks. “I don’t know, what are you going to give me in return?”

The question makes me ache in unexpected ways I don’t like. Because the truth is, I have absolutely nothing to offer a man like Chad. He’s got his whole life together. He’s a thriving member of society.

I look back out over the city.

Who am I? I don’t even know. I’m just drifting along, with no plan and no purpose. Something that never bothered me before, that now doesn’t seem like enough.

From the corner of my eye, I glance at him.

He makes me want more.

I’m sitting at the table, on the high-back bench, trying not to fidget. Chad works in his kitchen, putting the last touches on the dinner he’s made for me. The politeness I was raised with makes me want to help, but he’d said no. Insisting I sit and relax. As though relaxation is possible. I run my finger over the tine of the silverware. The table already has warm bread, salad and red wine, poured into huge goblets.

He places a plate of pasta in front of me, with marinara sauce and meatballs, before putting his hand on my neck and rubbing. “I thought this would be pretty safe.”

“Thank you, it’s perfect.” I put my napkin on my lap and try and process that I’m in Chad’s house, that he’s kissed me, that I kissed him back, and now he’s made me dinner.

He returns to the kitchen for his own plate, sitting down at the table, in the chair next to me.

It’s silly, but nerves dance in my stomach. If you would have told me six months ago, when I’d first met Chad, he’d make me more nervous than any man I’ve ever met, I would have said you were crazy. But here I sit, unable to calm my anxiousness.

I look up to find him watching me with that expression he has.

I suck in a breath and say, “I don’t know what I’m doing here.”

He smiles, grabs his wine and juts his chin at my glass. “Have some wine. It will relax you.”

With trembling fingers I raise the goblet and take a sip.

His fingers play over the stem and he narrows his gaze on me. “I think you know exactly what you’re doing here, and it scares you.”

The guys I’m used to are filled with subterfuge. Filled with games. I’m not used to Chad’s directness. With anyone else I’d play it off, laugh at the notion that I’m scared, but I can’t help feeling Chad sees right through me. That lying to him is futile.

And, for some odd reason I can’t articulate or understand, something deep inside me wants to be brutally honest with him. It’s a luxury I want to give myself. To shrug off the pretense and lay myself bare.

As scared as I am, I trust him implicitly. It’s like everything about him calls to me, insisting I tell him my deepest, most closely held secrets. I pick up my fork, but make no move to eat. “I am scared.”

He nods. “Tell me why.”

The words come to my lips, and I don’t repress them even though my nature is insisting on it. “Because you know the truth about me, and I don’t like it.”

He puts down his glass and leans his elbows on the table. “I don’t know the truth about you. I know one small thing, and your ability to have, or not have an orgasm, does not define you as a woman.”

My brows knit and I’m glad I’m not eating because my stomach turns to lead. Of course, I know that. But this failure of mine is how I’ve defined my relationships with men for so long I can no longer separate it. I shrug. I don’t know what to say.

His gaze pulls at me and I can’t help but respond.

When I meet his eyes he says, “I will know you though.”

“To what purpose?” My voice is more strained than I want. “I’m hardly your type.”

He chuckles. “And I’m hardly yours, but here we are.”

I clear my throat. “We have nothing in common.”

“True,” he agrees.

It’s weird how he doesn’t try and deny it, doesn’t try and talk me into why this is a good idea. I raise my brow. “So?”

He scrubs a hand over his jaw, as though he’s contemplating. After several moments of silence, he says, “After that night, I was happy when you relieved me of any responsibility. I wanted to walk away.”

I blink. Well, that’s honest. My grip on my wine tightens and I take a big gulp, letting it warm my empty stomach.