Page 58 of His Rough Side

He'd never done anything for anyone before, except for Alain, and he wondered over the significance of his and Aubrey's relationship. Was it love?

He had no fucking clue.

All he understood was that when it came to Aubrey, he had a desire to make her happy.

Chapter Twenty One

Serge's eyes darkenedeven more. Aubrey's skin tingled as she backed away from him. Her retreat only egged him toward her.

She ran around the back of the couch, giggling in nervous laughter. "Stop."

He stalked toward her. She sidestepped the furniture, keeping the object between her and Serge. "I'm serious. I need to stay at my house tonight."

"Not happening." He vaulted over the back of the couch and captured her.

She screamed, though a jolt of arousal flooded her. "You're not listening to me."

"I want you here."

She sighed, allowing him to pick her up, and then wrapped her arms and legs around him. "But you're not going to be here, and I want to go home, clean, check on Mrs. Sullivan, and throw out my plants because I'm sure they all died since the last time I went over there."

"Move in permanently with me." He leaned against the couch, holding her. "There's no reason to keep your house. You don't need to hold on or have the expense when you're here with me."

"That's not true," she said. "I have reasons. Valid ones."

He ran his hands down the slope of her ass and hitched her higher, readjusting his hold. "You go there once a week at the most to grab clothes or check on your neighbor. Everything you need is here."

She buried her face in his neck. It wasn't like she wasn't prepared for the conversation they needed to have. They'd spent every spare moment together when they weren't working.

Her dependency on him grew each day, each week, each month, and it scared her. She had relied on herself for so long, and now she found herself obsessed with him. It probably wasn't healthy, but it felt real. With him, she was happy.

The thought of being away from him, whether at his house while he worked or at her house, almost made her feel physically sick. She shouldn't be that dependent on him, and she continually fought against feeling this way.

To rely on him at that level revealed more about her than about him. She detested what she perceived as a weakness infiltrating their relationship. Everything else in her life demonstrated her independence. She ran the shelter, owned a home—granted her mother bought it—and managed the passionate relationship with Serge without anyone instructing her on how to navigate it.

At twenty-four, she was proud of herself.