Page 54 of Undeniably Unexpected (Boston’s Irresistible Billionaires #6)

I press my lips to Fen’s forehead, his skin warm and smelling of the pizza he devoured and that indefinable scent that belongs only to him. “I’ll see you in the morning,” I whisper. “You be a good lad for Tinsley and Stone and their horrid cat.”

Keegan giggles softly from the doorway when she hears that.

“I love you.” I feel strange leaving him.

Especially after the day we had. But he’s safe here with Tinsley and Stone and everyone else, and Tinsley was adamant and wouldn’t hear of my arguments.

Plus, the thought of bringing him back out into the night with the press still lurking about turns my stomach upside down.

I may have bought a place in this building, but it’s not technically mine until I sign on the dotted line.

Keegan waits in the doorway, her silhouette haloed by the hallway light, her red hair catching fire in the glow. She already gave Fen, Willow, and Rory their goodnight kisses.

Speaking of…

“Don’t worry,” Rory tells me in a comforting tone. “I’ll watch him, and he’s in good hands.”

I hold in my snicker. “I have no doubt that with you in charge, he is.”

Rory preens at that, and as I rise to my feet, I blow a kiss to the camera in the corner and close the door to the playroom. The sound of our friends in the kitchen is loud as they talk over each other and laugh.

Keegan smiles. The asymmetrical curl of her lips that first caught my attention across a crowded ballroom a year and a half ago still gets me.

She was with all the wrong people, and I never dared with anyone before.

It’s impossible to look at her and not think that maybe we were just waiting for each other all this time.

“Ready?” I ask, extending my hand.

“Um, kind of but not fully.”

I grin and press a kiss to the corner of her lips. “It’s just a flat.”

“That you already bought.”

“I told you I was looking at something in this building.”

She snorts. “Yeah, but I didn’t expect you to buy it sight unseen.”

I shrug. “Tinsley had a look for me. And this is where I want to be. It was kismet.”

“Kismet,” she repeats. “I guess that’s us too.”

I smile and kiss her lips, loving how she reads my mind so well. Keegan’s fingers thread through mine, her palm slightly clammy.

The corridor to the elevator is carpeted in plush gray, muffling our footsteps.

The building is newer, expensive in that understated way that doesn’t need to announce itself, and has enough security that I don’t have to worry.

I punch the button for the eighth floor, and the elevator descends with barely a whisper.

My heart seems determined to compensate for the silence, hammering so loudly I’m certain Keegan can hear it.

Once inside, I immediately back her against the wall, my lips finding hers in under a second. The kiss is hungry and urgent, all the restraint I showed upstairs evaporating in the blink of an eye.

“We have approximately thirty seconds before these doors open again,” she mumbles against my mouth, the fingers of her good hand already threading through my hair.

“I can work with that.” I press closer, feeling the soft curves of her body against mine. “Do you know how difficult it’s been to keep my hands to myself all evening?”

“No, but you better show me later.”

The elevator doors open—no way that was thirty seconds—and reluctantly I pull away, though my hand remains firmly entwined with hers.

“You’re being very mysterious,” she says finally, squeezing me. “All this cloak and dagger buying of apartments and bringing me to see it as if you’ve had this planned all night. Is this where you tell me you’ve secretly been a serial killer all along?”

I laugh, grateful for the break in tension as we walk down the long hall. “If I were a serial killer, I’d have a much better hiding place than the flat I just bought. Plus, I’m not sure serial killers out themselves to their victims.”

“Probably not.”

“I certainly wouldn’t tell your friends and family where I was taking you.”

“Fair point.” She leans against me, her hair tickling my chin. “You bought it without even seeing it? Is this your first time seeing it too?”

“It is.” I kiss the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her vanilla and cherry shampoo that now inexplicably makes me think of home. “I have pictures and a blueprint, but I haven’t stepped inside.”

“What if you hate it? You paid cash.”

“I’m not going to hate it. I’ve seen enough of it to know. Come on.”

We stop at 8C, and I fumble with the keys, suddenly uncoordinated in a way I haven’t been since my first screen test. I finally manage to unlock the door and push it open. Stepping aside, I let her enter first, though I won’t deny I’m dying to see it in person.

I bought it based on pictures and Tinsley’s assurance that it’s perfect for me. She said it needs some renovations, but nothing critical or immediate. It’s four bedrooms, four and a half baths, and certainly big enough to grow in.

I watch her face carefully, hungry for her reaction.

The foyer opens to a sprawling living space with floor-to-ceiling windows framing the city lights like a jeweler’s display case.

The hardwood floors gleam under recessed lights, and the open-concept design makes the already generous space seem endless.

Keegan walks forward slowly, her feet silent on the polished wood. She stops in the center of the sitting room and turns in a full circle.

“Loomis,” she breathes with an incredulous shake of her head. “This is...” She trails off.

“Too much?” I ask, suddenly unsure. Perhaps I’ve miscalculated. Perhaps this grand gesture is exactly the type of thing that makes her uncomfortable. We haven’t even been together two weeks. What felt like a brilliant idea not even four hours ago suddenly feels like a blunder.

“No.” She shakes her head again. “It’s beautiful. Seriously. I mean, it’s only the great room and kitchen, but it has a feel to it, you know?”

I take a deep breath. Six months ago, I couldn’t have imagined this moment.

Six months ago, I was still the man who fled at the first sign of attachment, who kept a separate home in two countries to ensure I always had an escape route.

The man, who, when his agent suggested settling down to squash his bad boy image, laughed and said he’d sooner play a superhero in spandex.

That was before Keegan. Before Fen. Before I understood that having somewhere— someone —to return to wasn’t a trap but a lighthouse.

“Let’s go see the rest,” I suggest instead of answering, leading her through the space.

I show her the kitchen with its marble island and copper fixtures, the dining area that could easily seat all of her girls, as she calls them, and the balcony that wraps around the corner of the building.

Each room pulls another small sound of appreciation from her, and each sound winds me tighter. Not only to this place, but to her.

I fall in love with it as Tinsley said I would. It’s perfect. It absolutely is, and I’m excited. But I’m dying at her reaction, wanting, hoping that she falls just as much in love with it as I am.

We’ve gone through space after space, bedroom after bedroom. It’s a large flat. There’s a lot of space to cover, and it’s certainly more room than I’ve ever lived in, let alone owned. It should make me sweat to spend this sort of money, but it doesn’t. It’s going to be our home. I hope.

“There’s one more room,” I tell her, guiding her down a hallway.

I open the final door and step back, letting her enter on her own.

It’s smaller than the other bedrooms but larger than a typical office.

The outer wall is glass, offering a view of the park below, now just a dark expanse dotted with pathways of light.

Against the adjacent wall is a gas fireplace flanked by large built-in bookshelves, empty and waiting for her to hopefully fill them how she wants.

On the wall of windows is a desk. A heavy, wooden piece they didn’t bother to remove when they moved out.

Its surface is gleaming cherry wood, with drawers and cubbies designed for a writer’s needs.

At least that’s my hope.

When I saw it in the pictures, it was done for me. The rest of the flat is gorgeous and has what Fen and I need. But this is for Keegan, and it’s what she’ll need for her writing.

Keegan stands uncommonly still, and for a moment I fear I’ve miscalculated again. Then I see her shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath.

“This is your office,” she says finally, turning to me. It’s not quite a question.

I almost laugh. “What would I need an office for?”

She doesn’t reply.

“No,” I correct gently. “It’s yours. For your writing, I figured.”

Her eyebrows pull together. “I don’t understand.”

“I know you said you didn’t want to move in with me.

That it was all too fast. It likely is, and that’s all well and good.

I’ll be patient.” I laugh and run a hand through my hair.

“I’ll try to be patient.” I step closer to her and take both her hands in mine.

“When I saw the pictures of this place, this room, other than the obvious benefits of the building, this is what sold it for me.”

“Why?”

“Because I was hoping you’d see this room and see all that it could be for you. I was hoping you’d look at me and decide you couldn’t live without it, just as Fen and I can no longer live without you.”

“Loomis—”

“I want you to move in with me. With us. With me and Fen. I want this room filled with your books and your laptop and your mess. I don’t want you going to another home at night or waking up in a bed that’s not mine.

Not ours,” I correct and swallow hard. “If you still need that…” Fuck, I’m rambling.

“Fine. That’s fine. I get it. It’s all so fast. It is.

But I don’t want to wait anymore, Keegan.

I’m done with the fear. I don’t want to take it slow. Not with you.”