Page 40 of Right Next Door (Stone Family #3)

Nicole

T he door to Chapter and Verse bursts open violently, and I shoot up from where I’d been slouched behind the counter. Ian towers in the doorframe, face contorted into a mask of fury, his jaw clenched and eyebrows drawn together. He looks ready to tear something apart with his bare hands.

But the moment his blazing dark eyes land on me, his entire demeanor softens. “Are you okay?”

I nod.

“Are you hurt?”

I shake my head.

“Come here, baby.” He strides across the room, ignoring the curious eyes of the patrons, and opens his arms to me.

I run into them, jumping up to wrap my legs around his waist, and he catches me without moving a millimeter.

As if it’s nothing to hold me up as I sob against his chest. The warmth and strength of his embrace immediately make me feel safe, like nothing can touch me as long as I’m with him.

“Shh, I’ve got you.” He presses a kiss to the top of my head then says something to my assistant manager that I don’t catch, too busy breathing in the scent of cloves and securing my arms around his neck. A moment later, he carries me to the back room.

He sits down on an old office chair and lets me curl up in his lap like a cat. I cling to him as he caresses my head, the steady rise and fall of his chest soothing me more than anything else ever has in my life.

He doesn’t press me to talk, simply holds me close, occasionally kissing my temple and whispering soft words about how happy he is that I’m home. After several minutes, I lift my head from the comforting crook of his neck to meet his eyes. “You stormed in here like you were gonna break something.”

“I got a voice mail with you crying. Of course I’m gonna smash some shit.”

“Sorry.”

He thumbs away my tears. “No. I don’t want to hear that. You don’t apologize for crying. Ever .” Then he pulls my hair back into a ponytail, fisting it in his hand, tilting my head back to keep my eyes on his. “What I do want to hear is why you’re upset.”

I swallow the lump of emotion in my throat. “I talked to Bryce.”

Ian’s jaw tightens. “What happened? Did he say something?”

“No. Well, yes.” I set my hands on his bearded jaw. “He was upset and got a little angry, but it was civil. He didn’t say anything to make me cry. I’m just… It’s hard.”

My nose burns, and when the tears flow again, Ian presses my face to his throat, his fingers still in my hair, rubbing my lower back with his other hand. “I know, baby. I know. You’re okay.”

“I was honest, and so was he, and…” I hiccup. “It was really hard to hear.”

“What’d he say?” he asks, this time without a temper.

“He wants a baby.”

A few minutes pass before Ian guides me to sit up straight.

We’ve never spoken about this, and I can see the questions in his eyes.

“We decided we weren’t going to have kids, and I was sterilized, but he apparently changed his mind.

He thought he’d be able to get over it if he had some more excitement in his life. ”

“What a dumbass motherfucker,” he grumbles. “I hope you don’t feel bad about that.”

I lift my shoulder, tucking my hair behind my ears. “Yes and no. We both agreed together, but I feel bad that we wasted time. Because that’s what it feels like…a waste.”

“Nothing in life is a waste.”

I rub at the tip of my nose, knowing I must look a mess. I pluck at my top and take a deep breath. “We were together for a long time, and it’s over now.”

He kisses my temple. “Endings are hard.”

“That’s why I called you.” I dip my gaze down to his chest and scratch my fingernail on the lettering of his dark gray Stone Ink T-shirt. “Because even though this is what I want, I’m still sad.”

He doesn’t reply, only lays his hand on the back of mine, flattening my palm against his chest, right over his heart.

“He told me that he hasn’t been with anyone else and thought we could get back together.”

Ian’s brows furrow, his fingers digging into my hip as if to keep me in place. I have no plans of moving. “You said you were packing up. Does that mean you moved out?”

“Yeah. I took some of my clothes and toiletries, but I left most of my things there. Books and personal items.”

“Okay. Do you need help with that?”

“When the time comes, yes.”

“When the time comes? The time is now. I can get the boys to move whatever you want. I’d rather get you set up as soon as possible. I need you in my bed, Nic. I?—”

“Wait.” I lean away from him. “Do you think I’m moving in with you?”

He frowns at me. “Yes. Are…you not?”

“No. I made a reservation to stay in a hotel for a few days until I find a place. Don’t make that face.”

“I will make a face. You’re not staying in a hotel or anywhere else besides mine.”

This stubborn man. “No, Ian.”

“Don’t use that voice on me.”

“What voice?”

He flaps his hand at me, annoyed. “ That one. When you think I’m being unreasonable. I’m being perfectly fucking reasonable that I’m not letting you spend money on a hotel or apartment when you can live with me for free.”

I close my eyes, lowering my forehead to his shoulder. “Yes, who doesn’t want to live with a growly bear?”

“Don’t you want to live with me?” he murmurs against my ear, suddenly sounding very un-Ian Stone-like. All his confidence gone.

Though I’ve thought about living with Ian and all that would entail, I need to be on my own for a bit. I lift my chin, meeting his gaze. “Yes, of course I do, but I need to get myself sorted first.”

He deliberately lets his gaze wander over me. “You seem sorted to me.”

I refuse to laugh. “I can’t leave the bed I shared with my husband for?—”

He places two fingers over my mouth. “I can guess what you’re about to say.

And I love you so much, I want to understand you, but I really don’t want to hear about where you were sleeping before my bed.

Call me a dick. Call me jealous. I don’t care.

I don’t want that image in my head. Not when you’re in my lap and mine .

” He rolls his forehead against mine. “You do what you need to. Doesn’t mean I won’t be trying to get you in my bed every night. ”

I finally give in to that laugh and press a chaste kiss against his mouth. “Our relationship can’t be based on sex, you know.”

He shifts me back an inch so he can dig into his pocket to tug out his phone. “No, our relationship can’t be based on sex.” He presses on the screen a few times then holds it between us, my shaky voice coming from the speaker in the voice mail I left for him.

“Why are you?—”

He shushes me with his finger on my lips again, eyes on mine as the message ends with me saying, “ Please call me back when you get this. Love you .”

He grins and rewinds a few seconds to play it again. “ Love you .”

And again. “ Love you .”

He slants his head and mouth at a cocky angle. “What’d you say again?”

I refuse to answer.

Because I didn’t realize I’d said those two little words. They were involuntary but true. I wouldn’t have thought it was possible to come to love someone in a matter of weeks, though it’s undeniable, and yes, I love him.

Instead of asking me again, Ian curls his hand around the nape of my neck and pulls me to him, his lips brushing against mine as he says three of the best words I’ve ever heard. “I love you.”

A warm, resonant hum fills every corner of my being as this man—all muscle and ink—lays himself bare at my feet. “I love you, Nic.”

I’ve never heard anything sweeter, never felt anything more profound than to have someone I respect so much choose me. Love me.

I cup his face, the roughness of his beard a delicious contrast to the softness of his lips. “I love you too,” I whisper into his mouth, the depth of emotion making it almost too difficult to speak with my heart in my throat. “I love you so much.”

His answering kiss is hot and hungry, with his hands gripping my hips to pull me closer. I can feel his heart pounding in his chest, matching the frantic rhythm of my own. “I need you.”

He nods and stands with me in his arms, maneuvering me in front of him to open the store’s back door, only to push me next door once we step outside.

Then he unlocks the back entrance of the tattoo shop and practically carries me up the flight of steps and right to his bedroom, kicking the door shut behind us.

He flings my shirt off. “I’ll give you keys.” Then he undoes the button on my shorts to pull them down my thighs as he kneels in front of me. “They’ll unlock the front and back doors.”

He stares up the length of me, gaze predatory even as he’s the one on the floor in the position of submission.

Even though he is the dominant one—my Dominant—he is offering himself to me.

I rake my fingers through his hair, and he closes his eyes, head loose on his neck and moving according to how I want.

“What if I show up early in the morning?”

“I want you to.” He tilts his face to rub his beard and mouth on the inside of my forearm, along my tattoo.

“What if I make a mess of your things?”

“I want you to.”

I wouldn’t. I’m not a messy person, but the idea of my toiletries next to his and my clothes in his closet is too tempting to deny. I fear I’ll be here more often than I planned. Especially with how he’s the one offering himself to me.

“What if I?—”

“Anything,” he says. “Anything you want, you can have. Anything you need, I’ll give you.

” He kisses my thighs, hands skimming up to my backside, squeezing, showing me how he could easily overpower me, yet doesn’t.

He remains on his knees, worshipping me, kissing my hip bone, flicking the tip of his tongue over the small brown birthmark by my knee, murmuring sweet words about how perfect I am and how he’s waited a long time for me.

And maybe that’s what this is, each of our happy endings. We’ve both had difficult experiences, but we are what we deserve. We are what we’ve been waiting for.

Our blessings carved in stone.