Not long later, I got a text with his address and a time. I texted back a simple “I’ll be there” response.
And now here I was.
With my palms sweating.
I pressed the buzzer to his apartment and some seconds later heard his delicious voice, “Hello?”
“It’s me.”
The door buzzed and I smiled as I stepped inside, thinking that sometimes he was a man of few words.
Aidan lived on the second from the top floor and when the elevator binged open, it was facing his apartment door—he was standing in it, his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the doorjamb.
My breath caught as I took him in. He was pure masculine, rugged perfection. Every time I saw him, he grew more attractive. His soulful eyes were focused on me as mine took in the fact that he was wearing a different T-shirt from earlier and ragged jeans. His hair was still wet so I knew, like me, he’d just had a shower.
Shivers tickled down my spine at the reason why. I stepped out of the elevator before the doors closed on me and approached him slowly, still drinking him in, disbelieving really that this kind, funny, smart, and unbelievably sexy man was gazing at me like he thought I was all those things too. His eyes drifted down my body slowly and then rose, lingering over every detail, until they came back to my face.
“I like this dress,” he said.
I smiled softly. “You’re easily pleased.”
Aidan took my hand and led me inside his apartment, but I didn’t have a chance to look at it because he was speaking again, distracting me. “No, I didn’t used to be.” He closed the door, locking it behind us. “I used to be an arsehole.” His expression was almost one of wonder as he looked down at me. “A picky, womanizing arsehole.”
I tensed, not really enjoying the idea of him and other women. And picky? I remember Sylvie telling me her uncle dated the most beautiful women she’d ever seen.
Christ.
I tugged on my cardigan, wondering what possessed me to wear it.
“Don’t.” It was as if he sensed my sudden insecurity, sliding an arm around my waist and drawing me to him. My hands fluttered down on his hard, warm chest, and I tilted my head back to keep eye contact. “You’re perfect.”
“My hair is too short.” I touched the strands at my nape. “It used to be long.”
“I remember.”
“I cut it because of Jim,” I told him sadly. “At the time, I was so angry about everything, and he loved my hair and he told me never to cut it, and when he died … I cut it. All of it. I was punishing him for dying. It’s so goddamn stupid, I know.”
Aidan squeezed my waist in reassurance.
“But I loved my hair too,” I said, feeling stupid about the whole thing. “I know it’s only hair … but I’m mad I cut it.”
He studied me so long, I was almost afraid to ask what he was thinking, but I shouldn’t have been. Aidan released my waist with one hand to brush his fingers through the bangs that had grown out past my ears. His fingers curled around my ear, his thumb stroking my cheekbone, and his eyes caught mine with a fierceness that made my belly squeeze. “You could shave it all off, Pixie, and still be so bloody beautiful, I can’t concentrate on anything else when you’re in the room.”
Wow. I exhaled slowly on his name, “Aidan.”
His eyes closed as if he was in pain and he dropped his forehead to mine. His cologne washed over me, the heat of him prickling my skin like I’d stepped out of an air-conditioned room into the hot sun. “I want to hear you say my name like that when I’m inside you,” he murmured against my lips.
I was happy to oblige and my fingers curled into his T-shirt telling him so.
“But,” he snapped back up to full height, “I promised myself I wouldn’t fall on you like a sex-starved teenager as soon as you walked in the door. I need you to know this is more than sex for me, Nora.”
It was something Jim had said to me when we’d first become friends. At the time, I’d thought it was sweet, special, because the boys at school had made it clear that it would only ever be about sex if I was to give them the time of day. It was strange, though, how two men could say the same thing to me and yet I reacted so completely differently.
With Aidan, it didn’t feel just sweet to hear those words.
It felt like my heart was breaking from the joy of such a promise from him. I never knew happiness and need and excitement could be painful when you felt them in extremes.
“Me too,” I promised in return.
Aidan gripped one of my hands. “Let me show you the flat. We’ve got a nice view here.”
The hallway led out from our left into an open-plan living room and kitchen, and a corridor ran along the side of the kitchen into the back of the apartment. The living room and what could have been a dining area but was apparently a small music studio were situated in the large space at the front of the room with twin patio doors and balconies looking out over the canal and the city beyond.
“This is beautiful,” I said honestly. There was a table and chairs on one of the balconies. “It must be nice to sit out there and have breakfast on a sunny morning.”
His smile was fond. “Sylvie’s favorite thing to do, in fact.”
“I love how you love her,” I said without thinking.
“More than anything.”
I didn’t tell him but his love for his kid was one of the sexiest things about him. Smiling, I turned from the view, taking in the baby grand piano, guitars (electric and acoustic), keyboard, and a large desk with a three-monitor computer on it against the far wall that ran right up to the entrance. It was the only wall with exposed brick and that along with the hardwood floors gave the apartment a city-loft feel.
“My studio,” Aidan said, rueful. “It used to be a dining area and my studio was in the second bedroom where I had sound-proofing on the walls, but I had to rip it all out and make it a bedroom for Sylvie. There haven’t been any complaints from the neighbors yet and I work in an actual studio in New Town, but we’ll probably need to move at some point. Get a place that works better for us.”
I wandered over to the computer and instruments, amazed that Aidan could sit here and create and write and produce music. “You’re so clever.”
“For all you know, I’m shit at it.”
I snorted and turned to find him grinning cheekily at me. God, his boyish smile was sexier than anything else. “I somehow doubt that.”
He shrugged and I laughed, taking that to mean he was shit hot at it, and I wandered past him toward the kitchen at the back of the room.
Sleek, white, and shiny, it wasn’t my kind of kitchen—I preferred the country cottage look—but it worked in the space. And I liked the island with the stools.
Aidan gestured. “Kitchen. Obviously.” He led me past it.
Down the corridor, behind the kitchen was a door on the right. Aidan opened it to reveal a large bedroom. The walls were painted blue and situated in the middle was a bed fit for a princess. It was a mini four-poster with purple gauze curtains draped down the posts from the frame at the top. The bedding was purple with cushions of velvet and Indian silk in jewel tones piled on top. It was the kind of bed a kid could dive into and get lost in. Bookshelves lined the walls, cluttered with books and soft toys, dolls, photos in picture frames, and knickknacks. Opposite the bed was a cabinet with a TV, DVD player, and a computer console. Adjacent to that was a little desk with an iMac. A large wardrobe suggested she had plenty of clothes and shoes, and a purple velvet cuddle chair and matching stool in the corner had an open book draped over the arm.
Sylvie Lennox had lost the most important person in her world, and although he could never replace that, her uncle Aidan had made sure she had everything else she could ever want or need.
Tears burned my eyes as I imagined this man gutting his music studio—something incredibly important to him—and creating a room like this for Sylvie.
“It’s perfect,” I whispered.
“Aye, well, she deserves it.”
I nodded and stepped back outside, because being in there made me more emotional than I’d like.
As if he knew, Aidan closed the door and then pointed down the hall, swiftly changing our focus. “The master suite is down there.”