Page 17 of Tell Me You Need Me

“I don’t like the idea of not having you bare,” he admits bluntly. His voice drops into a rough whisper that sends a shiver straight down my spine. “I like feeling every inch of you, I like knowing I’m filling you up, and I sure as hell hate putting anything between us. But your health and comfort come first. We’ll figure something out, until you’re ready to start a family.”

“You… you’d do that for me?” I sit up slowly, pulling my legs to my chest, staring at him like I’ve never seen him before.

“I’d do anything for you, Mischa,” he says without a second of hesitation. “You know that.” I swallow hard. My fingers tangle in the fabric of my skirt as I process his words. Until you’re ready to start a family. Hearing him say it so casually, so naturally, like it’s already a done deal.

“I…” I start. My voice trembles slightly. “I’m not sure I’m ready to start a family without being married.” I pause, my mind racing. Then again, in our inner circle, a lot of the girls are already there or halfway there. Romy is glowing and pregnant with a baby boy. Cory and Dom are actively trying. Gennie and Gavin aren’t stopping if it happens. The idea of building a life, a real home, a family with Nolan, it doesn’t sound so terrifying after all. In fact, the thought of having his baby—a little boy with his sharp jaw or a little girl with his dark, fierce eyes—makes a sudden ache of longing blossom in my belly.

“Married?” he repeats, eyes shifting with a sudden razor-sharp focus.

“Well, yeah.” I blush, looking down at my lap. “Call me traditional, but…” Nolan doesn’t let me finish. He slips off the coffee table and drops down onto one knee right beside the couch. My breath catches, and I swear my heart stops beating entirely.

“Nolan,” I gasp. My hands fly to my mouth. “What are you doing?” He reaches into the breast pocket of his tailored vest. His long fingers pull out a small, black velvet box that he’s clearly carried over his heart all day. He pops the latch open with his thumb. The light catches on the diamond, and my eyes nearly pop out of my head. It’s absolutely stunning—an oval-cut, flawless diamond set on a delicate gold band, surrounded by a halo of smaller cut stones that sparkle like a galaxy. It’s breathtaking, majestical, and entirely, unmistakably Nolan Cross.

“I was going to wait until our trip to Paris next month,” he mutters, his voice thick with an emotion that’s so raw, so deep, it makes my eyes overflow with tears. “I was going to rent out the top of the Eiffel Tower, do the whole grand gesture, and ask you beneath the stars.” He reaches out to take my left hand in his, steadying my trembling fingers. “But sitting here listening to you talk about our future, I’m not waiting another damn second. I love you, Mischa. I don’t give a damn about Paris. I just want you.” He slips the ring out of the box. “Marry me, trouble,” Nolan states softly. “Let me make you my wife. Let me give you the family, my name, and every single thing in the world you could ever dream of.”

“Yes. I love you,” I sob out as I wipe a tear from my cheek. “Yes! Oh my god, Nolan, yes!” I’m an utter disaster, barefoot, my hair a mess, my stomach cramping, and my eyes overflowing with tears—and yet I’ve never felt more beautiful or certain of anything in my entire life. The moodiness, the annoyance, the bitchy cloud that hung over my head all morning vanishes, replaced by overwhelming happiness.

A massive, triumphant grin breaks across Nolan’s handsome face. He slides the ring onto my finger. It fits perfectly, resting snugly at the base of my knuckle. The diamond glitters, and before I can even admire it, Nolan reaches up, grabs me by the waist, and pulls me right off the sofa and onto his lap on the floor. His arms wrap around me until my chest is flush with his. His hand slides up the back of my neck, and his long fingers wrap in my hair, angling my head back as his mouth crashes down on mine. Our kiss is deep, desperate, and filled with a wild, intoxicating passion. He tastes like dark coffee, raw devotion, and forever. I wrap my arms tightly around his neck, trying to get closer, deepening the kiss, melting into his hold. When he finally pulls back a fraction of an inch, his forehead rests against mine.

“So,” he whispers, his thumb tracing my swollen, kiss-stung lower lip, “about that birth control…” I bury my face into the crook of his neck, knowing that no matter how crazy life gets, I’m exactly where I belong.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

nolan

The amber-colored bourbon in my glass catches on the afternoon light through the windows of my office. It’s nearly one, but the heavy crystal decanter on my cart is already down by half. It currently looks less like a place of business and more like a lounge. Rafe is stretched out on the sofa, a tumbler resting on his knee. Dom and Vik are leaning against the round table in the corner, casually trading insults over their preferred alcohol choice. Gavin is sprawled in one of the armchairs with his phone out, while Dante stands near the window, a sharp knowing smirk perpetually fixed on his face. Then there’s Maxim, leaning back against the edge of me desk, swirling two fingers of the small-batch bourbon over ice I reserve for special occasions, such as today. And our women are at their favorite Italian restaurant enjoying the rest of their day, eating, gossiping, and drinking.

The date is set. Three months from now, Mischa becomes my wife, and with the announcement in the paper and news rolling out today, everyone in the city and parts of the world will know she’s mine.

“To Cross,” Dom says, raising his glass high toward the center of the room. “The stubborn bastard who spent months acting like a saint, only to put a ring the size of a skating ring on Mischa’s finger the second he snapped.”

“Hear, hear.” Vik grins, clinking his glass against Dom’s. “To officially locking down his woman. Good luck on finding a replacement who doesn’t run screaming from your mood swings, Nolan.”

“She’s keeping her role here, fuck you very much,” I grunt, taking a steady sip of my bourbon. “And if anyone has anything negative to say about that, there’s a balcony I can throw them over.”

“Spoken like a true romantic,” Rafe dryly interjects from the couch, shaking his head with a chuckle.

“Can we please tone down the grand proclamations of eternal devotion? I’m thrilled my sister’s happy, Nolan. I really am, but sitting in a room full of men toasting to my best friend marrying my little sister? Yuck. Seriously gross. My brain is still trying to scrub images out of my head.”

“Get used to it, Max. You’re going to be walking her down the aisle while Cross looks at her like she’s the only oxygen in the room.” Gavin snorts into his drink.

“Don’t remind me,” Max mutters, taking a long pull of his drink. He sets the glass down on my desk with a heavy thud, his posture shifting. The teasing humor drains from his face, replaced with a restless edge that immediately catches my attention. The room goes quiet and we’ve all known each other long enough to recognizes when one of us is carrying a heavy hit.

“Look, I hate like hell to ask for a favor when we’re all here to celebrate you and my sister, but I need assistance on a delicate matter, and my sources aren’t helping any.” Max runs a hand through his hair, looking around the circle of men. My immediate thought is that his father is back to pulling idiotic bullshit behind his back.

“What kind of assistance, Romanoff?” Dante turns slowly from the window, his gaze locking onto Max’s with sharp interest. It seems I’m not the only one having these thoughts.

“I met someone, a few nights ago, at The Sphere.” Max sighs, shaking his head.

“Maxim Romanoff met a girl at The Sphere. What’s the problem?” Vik raises an eyebrow, a smirk spreading across his face.

“She was a waitress there,” Max says, ignoring Vik’s jab. He looks up, his jaw set in a hard, frustrated line. “We spent the night together. Well, half the night. We went back to my place, things got… insane, and I woke up at four o’clock in the morning to an empty bed. She slipped out in the middle of the night without a trace.”

“So, we’re talking one-night stand, Max. It happens, even to men.” Dom tilts his head to the side. He’s goading him or coaxing him to get more information out of him. That’s how we all work, Maxim included.

“No,” Max snaps. His voice turns rough. “It wasn’t just a one-night stand. I’ve been back to The Sphere every single night since. I talked to the manager, the floor supervisor, the owner—everyone. They told me she picked up her last paycheck two days ago and quit. No notice. Just gone.”

“What’s her name?” I narrow my eyes at my best friend. He’s fully invested, and it seems this woman might not be. Maxim has money, he’s made more than enough to last him into his next lifetime, despite his dad trying to sabotage the family name.