Proposing to Preston: The Winslow Brothers #2 (The Blueberry Lane Series Book 8) (8 page)

He squeezed her fingers, readjusting his so that they were perfectly braided together.

“I meant what I said before when you were so upset. I’m crazy about you, Elise.”

“I meant it, too,” she said, shifting in his arms just a little so that his lips touched down on hers. A brush. A caress. A soft and loving touch.

“I have an idea.”

“About what?”

“You and me,” he said, and she could hear the tentativeness in his voice. She wondered at it, but only for a moment because she realized that she trusted him.

“Tell me.”

“Well,” he said softly, pausing for a moment before continuing, “you could move in here.”

“What?” She dropped his hands and turned in his arms, shifting to kneel between his legs and face him with wide eyes.

“Don’t freak out,” he said quickly, still lounging on the couch before her, though she perceived a stiffening of his posture like he’d jump up and run after her if she suddenly bolted. “Hear me out.”

He was right. She
was
freaking out a little. She’d never lived with a man before. Heck, she’d never had a
boyfriend
as serious as Preston. Move in together? She knew it wasn’t a shocking offer for the 2000s, but old sensibilities were hard to shake, and she couldn’t help the way his suggestion made her nerves sit on edge. But under the nerves—and not too far under, either—was a sense of rightness, of excitement, of…maybe.

“I just…” He reached up and scrubbed the back of his neck with his hand, dropping her eyes for a second before leveling with her. “Listen, you have to be out by Tuesday, and you have rehearsals every single day between now and then. You would need to find a place tomorrow night, sign the lease, write checks, pack and move. Tomorrow. I just don’t—I don’t see how you can do that. I mean, I get why you were so worried. Your life is too crazy to add a housing issue to the pile right now. You seriously
don’t
have the time for this.”

He was making a lot of sense, but she still felt an old sense of propriety holding on to her, so she was silent, waiting for him to say more that would somehow make it okay with her conscience for her to consider his offer.

Preston took a deep breath, reaching for his wineglass and taking a long sip as he looked at her over the rim. He placed the glass back down on the end table and rubbed his jaw with his thumb and forefinger.

“Elise. You don’t have a place to live. But you have me. And I want to help you. I would love to have you stay here with me for a while.”

“For a while?” she asked.

She saw something pass over his eyes, but he blinked it away and nodded at her. “A little while. A long while. As long as you need.”

“Like, maybe just until
Frome
is up and running. Then I’ll have time to find a place of my own.”

“If that works for you, that’s fine with me.”

“So, it would just be temporary,” she said. “A week or so. We’re not
moving in
together.”

He shook his head. “Nope. Just a temporary solution to a big problem.”

“And you wouldn’t mind?”

“Mind…?”

“Having me on the couch?”

His eyes widened and he started to speak, then stopped himself. A hint of an ironic smile graced his lips, but he straightened out his mouth and he sighed.

“No girlfriend of mine is sleeping on my couch. You’ll take my bedroom. I’ll take the guestroom.”

“I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he insisted. “It’s just for a little while, remember?”

Her eyes flooded with tears from his goodness and kindness and the way he showed sensitivity for her outdated sensibilities. Her feelings for him were growing a million miles a minute, doubling and tripling and quadrupling and he was becoming like air or water to her…something that—very soon, if not right now—would make her feel like dying were she deprived of it, of him, of his steady, patient, loving presence in her once-so-lonely life.

There were no words to express the depth of her gratitude, the breadth of her relief. She reached for his face, pressing her palms to his stubbly skin as she leaned forward to drop her lips to his. He reacted immediately, his arms encircling her waist, sitting up and moving forward as he lowered her onto the couch and settled his body on top of hers. He kissed her longingly, his tongue breaking the seal of her lips, slipping between her teeth, exploring the hot, wet recesses of her mouth. Sliding his against hers, they tangled together, hot silk gliding against each other as a whimper of “more” escaped from the back of her throat.

She arched her body upward, into the hard, hot muscle of his chest, feeling his erection, thick and long, through his pants, sliding against her thigh and pelvis as he thrust lightly against her, still kissing her breath away. His hands skated up the sides of her body, bracketing her breasts, which knew little of a man’s touch, but her nipples beaded from the contact, pressing against his pecs and making her ache with desire.

The heels of his hands pressed into the sides of her breasts as their legs tangled together on the couch and his tongue continued stroking hers. She was liquid and desperate for more, moaning softly when he finally drew back, resting his elbows on either side of her chest and looking down at her with dark, wide eyes.

He was out of breath and each time he inhaled it was jerky and deliberate, his eyes searching her face as he sucked his bottom lip between his teeth.

“You’re a virgin,” he said softly.

Heat flooded her cheeks and she clenched her jaw in embarrassment and surprise, staring back at him.

“Sweetheart,” he prompted. “We need to talk about it…just for a minute. We need to set some…some ground rules.”

“Okay,” she whispered, dropping his eyes. It was too humiliating, his body on top of hers, her breasts peaked and taut for something she’d never experienced before. “Yes, I’m a virgin.”

“Then this needs to be said before you come stay with me: You set the pace. You, Elise.
All
you. You say ‘stop,’ I stop. You say ‘slow down,’ we slow down. I follow your lead. Clear?”

She looked up at him, nodding. “Clear.”

His hardness pressed insistently against her thigh. She knew exactly how much he wanted her—it was obvious—but he was letting her be in charge, and it made something in her heart burst with happiness and joy with the sense that as long as Preston was beside her, she’d always be safe.

He was staring into her eyes, his lips tilted up into a small, sassy grin.

“So, Elise Klassan,” he said wickedly, “tell me what you want.”

“A little more,” she murmured, closing her eyes as she laced her fingers around his neck and pulled his lips back down to hers.

***

Elise slept for ten hours on Friday night and just as he’d promised, Preston slept in the guest room and arranged for a car to take her to Lincoln Center at five forty-five a.m. with instructions for hot tea and a croissant waiting in the backseat.

“Give me your keys,” he said, nuzzling her neck as he said goodbye on the sidewalk in front of his apartment building, still barefooted, wearing pajama bottoms and a T-shirt.

“Why?” she asked, leaning back, but staring at his lips. He almost chuckled. He loved how much he affected her.

“Because I’m going to go get your stuff and bring it to my place today so you can come home and relax after rehearsal.”

“Home?” she asked, grinning up at him, her blue eyes sparkling.

“Temporarily,” he said quickly, smiling back.

He hated saying it, but he had the feeling that she wouldn’t have been able to accept the arrangement if there was anything permanent about it. For her to feel okay about it, he needed to be helping her out of a temporary jam. But with any luck, she’d never leave. He crossed his fingers behind her back.

“Pres,” she said, shaking her head, “that’s just weird. You’re going to go pack my underwear and stuff? No. Not happening. We’ll do it together after rehearsal. Besides, you need to study today.”

Hmmm. Her underwear. He hadn’t given it a lot of thought, but this moving thing was going to be a lot more fun than he’d originally thought.

“I’ll study tonight while you’re sleeping and I promise to close my eyes when I pack your underwear,” he said, holding up three fingers like a boy scout. “Come on. You said that movers came for everything except the bed and couch and that the rental place where Neve got them are picking them up on Tuesday. That leaves…what?”

“My books and clothes. Toiletries. A few groceries.”

She shrugged, and he knew she’d listed the extent of her belongings. It didn’t sound like much and that made him feel a little bad. She had so little that belonged to her.

“Doesn’t sound like much in the way of heavy lifting,” he said, winking at her so she’d relax. “Let me do it. Please.”

Her shoulders slumped in defeat and she rooted around in her bag for her keys, holding them out to him with a slightly worried look.

He grinned. “I’ll close my eyes.”

“Promise?”

“No.”

Taking the keys from her before she could pull them away, he pressed a kiss to her nose, then helped her into the cab.

“I’ll be at the fountain at six,” he said.

“It’s my favorite time of the day.”

“Kiss me,” he said, reaching for her soft cheeks and leaning down to capture her lips with his.

After she was moaning and breathless, he let her go, stepping back onto the curb and slamming the cab door. He waved as it pulled away from the sidewalk, his heart hammering with the strength of his growing feelings.

Last night when he’d asked her to move in, he didn’t think there was much of a chance that she would say yes, but from the moment he understood the problem she was facing, it was the solution that had made the most sense, and although sleeping in the guest room while she was sleeping in his bed was torture on one hand, he’d also felt a profound peace last night knowing that she was so close. She was safe and sound, sleeping in his bed. She was allowing him to take care of her and it moved him in ways he didn’t expect. He felt protective of her and possessive of her, but he also really liked her, and having her in his space felt so right, he also just felt…good.

It had been hard stopping their make-out session last night, but after a while, it had started to become painful. He wanted her so badly and she was so hot and needy beneath him, rising to meet his instinctive thrusts, moaning as he pillaged her mouth and molded the soft flesh of her breasts with his palms. At one point, he’d brushed his thumb over the stiff point of her nipple and she’d gasped and whimpered into his mouth, bowing her back so he’d have better access to her. She was so innocent, but her body kept meeting his, cradling his, seeking his—she welcomed his tongue into her mouth, his touch through her T-shirt. He didn’t want to push her, but what he knew (and she didn’t) was that if—or when—they ever made love, their chemistry ensured it would be nothing short of combustible. Once that thought had entered his brain, he’d been unable to evict it, and he’d finally had to roll off of her, regretfully making his way into the guest bathroom where he took a miserable, long, cold shower.

When he came out, he’d peeked in his bedroom, only to find her snuggled under his covers, her cheek on his pillow, her tired eyes closed as her chest rose and fell with sleep. He’d brushed the hair away from her forehead, kissed her tenderly and pulled the door closed. She needed to sleep, and he was grateful to provide her a place to catch up.

And today she’d be moving in with him. He told himself that asking her to move in with him was an opportunity for him to prove that his feelings for her weren’t based on their sexual chemistry. Having her in his space wasn’t just about getting in her pants (though he’d be a big, fat liar if he said he wasn’t hopeful), but more importantly, about letting her know how desperately he was falling for her and solidifying his place in her heart.

After four weeks of whirlwind rehearsals, opening night finally arrived, and Elise stretched languorously in Preston’s bed. She didn’t have to be up for hours, but she was too excited to go back to sleep.

Last night, the dress rehearsal had gone past midnight and Preston, who waited up for her every night, was asleep in an easy chair with his Kindle on his chest when she finally got home.

She’d stared at him, at his tousled dark hair, stubbled jaw, and pillowed lips. His coal black eyelashes were impossibly long, resting on the tan skin just under his eyes, and his long legs, clad in old, comfortable jeans were stretched out on the ottoman before him. Elise had knelt down beside him, looking at his face in repose, unable to stop the fierce surge of love that made her breath catch.

For a week she’d lived with him.

It had been—without any shadow of doubt—the happiest week of her life.

Last Saturday night he’d picked her up at the fountain and brought her “home,” stopping at a Chinese place on his block to pick up dinner. He had cleared out two drawers for her and half his closet, moving a lot of his things to the guest room so that she wouldn’t have to walk down the hall to get dressed in the morning. Her suitcase had been packed with care and the rest of her things were neatly organized in three moving boxes at the foot of his bed. His thoughtfulness and care staggered her, and when they’d started making out on the couch after dinner, it had been even harder to stop than it had been the night before.

Preston had slipped his hands under her shirt, resting them on the skin of her back, and she’d known that he was asking permission to keep them there. In response, she’d kissed him harder, and his hands had skated up to her bra, his fingers resting on the clasp. When she’d slid her tongue deliberately against his, sinking her fingers into his hair, he’d unsnapped it, letting his hands glide softly around to her breasts. As he cupped her virgin flesh gently, lightly, her erect nipples had strained against his palms. She’d gasped when his fingers grasped the sensitive points, rolling them between his thumb and forefinger, making darts of sharp pleasure shoot unerringly to her sex, which clenched and tightened. She writhed, pushing against him, wanting more and beginning to understand for the first time in her life the profound pleasure that a man could give a woman.

But as she was whimpering and practically begging for more, her mother’s face had flashed suddenly in her mind, and she’d frozen, pulling away from him. He’d held her eyes, drawing his hands away from her breasts, refastening her bra and smoothing her shirt back down, before kissing her lightly on the lips and putting his arm around her shoulders. They didn’t talk about it. They didn’t need to. She’d pulled away and just as he’d promised her, he respected her wishes immediately and without exception.

Since then, they’d made out several more times—on Sunday afternoon and evening, and again on Tuesday when she’d gotten home from work and fallen into his arms on the couch—but he hadn’t reached for her breasts again. Although her body ached for his touch, Elise still struggled with the matter of propriety. She was living—however temporarily—with a man she wasn’t engaged or married to. Even though they weren’t having sex, she was sharing parts of her body with him, and she needed a little time to reconcile her inbred modesty with her growing desire.

She trusted Preston. She was definitely falling in love with Preston. But Preston wasn’t her fiancé or husband, and the girl inside of Elise who’d been raised by strict Mennonite parents had trouble marrying her present decisions with her careful upbringing. She
wanted
to give herself to Preston and every day her body yearned for his a little more…but she just wasn’t ready yet.

That said, her feelings for him, the growing love she felt for him, multiplied daily as he showed her how much he cared for her in small and touching ways. She found her favorite seltzer flavors lined up like soldiers in the refrigerator, and an old sweatshirt she’d left on the couch folded carefully and left in the hallway outside her bedroom door. He taped sweet notes to the apartment door for her to find as she left for rehearsal every morning, and he picked her up at the fountain almost every evening after work to bring her home.

After a lifetime of feeling like a misfit, she finally felt like she belonged somewhere. Aside from giving her a place to stay, Preston was the first person in her life who’d accepted her for exactly who she was without reservation. He took the multiple dichotomies of who she was in stride, making her feel like less of an oddball and more confident in herself. After all, if a man such as Preston Winslow could see the quirky combination that was Elise Klassan and want her in his life, it made her feel like anything was possible.

The only other place she’d ever felt that level of acceptance was on the stage, in the synergy between the audience and performer. It was part of the reason she’d become so fixated on becoming an actress: because strangers with wondrous smiles looked up at her with respect, acceptance and admiration. It didn’t matter that she was a farm girl who’d been raised in a strict and obscure religion because she
became
Juliette or Ophelia or Roxanne or Mattie Silver. And through that brief transformation, she belonged. Now she felt that she belonged somewhere else, too: with Preston Winslow.

She glanced at the alarm clock on Preston’s bedside table and sighed. Her call today wasn’t until two o’clock and the performance was at eight o’clock tonight. It was only six a.m., but she was so excited for Opening Night, she didn’t know how to go back to sleep.

Getting out of bed, she padded over to the door in her pajamas then opened it to the smell of coffee wafting down the hallway. Making her way to the living room, she peeked around the corner to see Preston in the kitchen, his back to her, humming along to classical music as he—from the smell of it—fried himself some eggs. His back was broad in a white dress shirt, and his hair was still damp from the shower he’d probably taken after his run this morning. She suppressed a whimper. Her heart clenched. Her muscles bunched. Her fingers trembled by her sides, wanting to touch him, wishing that he didn’t have to go to his internship and could just stay home with her all morning.

Leaning against the living room wall, she realized that she’d heard the same piece of classical music several times over the past week. It was lyric and lovely, if a little sad, but she’d never been much for classical music and didn’t know the name of it.

Walking stealthily across the living room, she pulled out one of the stools arranged under the kitchen bar and sat down, fixing a bright smile on her face. When he plated his eggs and turned around, he jumped, then grinned at her, surprised to find her sitting there.

“Where’d you come from?”

“My boyfriend’s bed.”

His eyes dipped to the front of her T-shirt, and he pulled his bottom lip into his mouth before lifting his eyes to hers.

“Did I wake you up?” he asked, a little extra gravel in his voice.

“No. I’m too excited to sleep. What are you listening to?”

“Beethoven. It’s called
Für Elise
.”

“For Elise?” she asked, feeling delighted.

He nodded, grinning at her.

“You listen to it a lot.”

“Mm-hm,” he murmured, “I’ve always liked it, but it has new meaning for me lately.”

“I think you’re wonderful,” she said, putting her elbows on the counter and leaning over it to kiss him good morning. His mouth tasted like mint and coffee, which shouldn’t have been such an arousing, delicious combination, but Elise found that it was. She reached up to brush her fingers through the wet curls on the back of his neck, grinning up at him when she finally pulled away to eat his breakfast.

“I think you’re amazing,” he said, caressing her face with his dark eyes.

“You’re sinfully handsome.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You’re scorchingly sexy.”

“You’re ridiculously sweet.”

“You’re…” Suddenly he looked down at his eggs, biting on his bottom lip again. When he looked up at her, he searched her eyes, before saying, “I have a present for you. I was saving it for tonight, after the show, but…Want it now?”

A present? She giggled softly in surprise. “You didn’t have to do that!”

“I wanted to.”

“Sure, I’d love it now,” she said, and he rounded the counter, planting another kiss on her lips before heading to the back hall that led to his bedroom, the guest room and his office.

When he returned, he held out a small, robin’s egg blue box that she was positive read
Tiffany & Co.
in white lettering on top.

“Tiffany’s?” she gasped.

He shrugged, placing the box on the counter in front of her. Fishing a fork from the silverware drawer, he stood across from her and speared a piece of egg before looking up at her.

“It’s just a little thing. To say congratulations and…”

She untied the white ribbon carefully, then opened the box to reveal a sterling silver keychain decorated with a simple silver heart engraved with the date and the words:
Tonight it begins…
On the keychain were four keys.

She looked up at Preston, her voice breathy with emotion. “And?”

“Stay,” he whispered, searching her eyes like they were a lifeline. “
Please
stay.”

Touched beyond words, she looked back down at the bright blue box as one plump tear splashed to the marble countertop. She reached for the key ring with shaking fingers and took it from the box.

“At least until the show’s over,” he said, resting his palms flat on the counter, his breakfast forgotten. “I like having you here. I don’t want you to have to worry about finding a place. I don’t want you to leave.”

“What are they for?” she asked, her voice breaking a little as she held up the fresh-cut, shiny keys which jangled lightly as she held them.

“This building. This apartment. My car. And the apartment I own in Philly.”

“In Philadelphia?”

He cleared his throat. “In case you were ever there and needed a place to stay.”

She winced—a slight movement indicating the pain that comes from pleasure—and dropped his eyes, more tears joining the first. With one sweet and simple gesture, he was inviting her into his life officially and without reservation. She understood this, and it made her heart swell with love for him since belonging
to
him and
with
him was something she so desperately wanted.

“Why are you crying?” he asked, coming around the counter, but stopping just short of reaching for her.

“Because you’re so good to me,” she choked out, clasping the keys in her hand

All of her worries about propriety sailed out the window as she let herself be surrounded by his kindness and goodness, his thoughtfulness and understanding.

Two fingers landed under her chin and he tilted her head up gently. His green eyes were fierce, but still somehow tender.

“I’m falling in love with you,” he whispered, his eyebrows furrowing with uncertainty. “I know your career is important to you, and I respect that. So much. But if you stay here, I get to see you more, and now that I know what that feels like, I don’t want to give it up. I-I just want you in my life. As much as possible. Please say you’ll stay.”

Overcome with emotion, she whimpered, slipping off the bar stool and flinging her arms around his neck. As she pressed her body against his, he wrapped his strong arms around her, holding her tightly. A moment later, his palms landed on her cheeks and he tilted her head back so that his lips could fall flush onto hers.

She didn’t say yes.

She showed him yes instead.

***

Preston felt like he was on top of the world. Although he still wasn’t sleeping with her, or even sleeping
beside
her, his girlfriend was moving in with him at least for a little while, and knowing that she wouldn’t surprise him with a sudden “I found a new place and I’m moving out” announcement lifted an enormous weight from his chest. He had made peace with moving slow, but if she moved out, it would change the pace of their relationship from slow to molasses, and he didn’t know if he could stand that big a step backward. He didn’t want to get in the way of her ambition, but he wanted them to keep growing—for their relationship to deepen and blossom—and they needed to spend time together for that to happen.

As Preston walked to work his phone buzzed in his pocket and he took it out, smiling instantly to see that his older brother, Brooks, was calling.

“Brooks!”

“Pres!”

“Hey, man! This is a surprise. What time is it there? Afternoon?”

“Nope,” said Brooks. “It’s about seven a.m.”

“What?” Preston stopped walking for a second. “But it’s seven
here
…”

“That’s right. I’m in New York, little brother. Just for two days.”

“Hey! That’s great! Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

“I didn’t know until a couple of days ago,” said Brooks. “PBS asked me to record a voice-over for a documentary about sailing, but they somehow managed to get a few other guys from the Olympic Team together and asked if they could interview us together in New York. So…”