His Belt (Part Fourteen) Read online

  His Belt

  Part Fourteen

  Hannah Ford

  Contents

  His Belt

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Copyright © 2019 by Hannah Ford

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  His Belt

  (Part Fourteen)

  Chapter 1

  ABIGAIL

  Elijah helps me to clean myself up, and we smooth and rearrange our disheveled clothes until we (hopefully) look somewhat normal. I mean, as normal as you can look after what we just did, which is, you know, probably not so normal. At least, I’m sure I don’t look so normal. Elijah still looks rumpled and sexy, his hair mussed and his eyes hooded. I sigh at the unfairness of it.

  We fall into a deep, heavy silence as the car moves through Midtown and turns into a neighborhood on the upper West Side, right near Central Park. It’s a nice, cozy little neighborhood – there are a few restaurants lining the block, a diner with a lit-up sign that says HOT COFFEE on the other side of the street, and a cute little stationery store on the corner.

  A couple of moms push toddlers in strollers, and two kids in private school uniforms run up the steps of one of the brownstones. It’s the kind of neighborhood that probably costs thousands of dollars to rent in every month, not to mention the millions it probably costs to own a place here.

  But it’s definitely not Elijah’s style. The buildings here are only a few stories tall, brownstones with arched doors and emerald green or navy awnings. There’s no sign of the shiny skyscrapers Elijah seems to favor, the kind that reach so far into the sky you have to crane your neck back to see the top, the kind that seem to disappear into the clouds.

  “What is this?” I ask, as Elijah opens the door for me and I step out onto the curb next to him.

  “This is my past,” he says. “Or… my future, or…” He trails off and scrubs a hand over his face. “I’m not really sure.”

  “I don’t get it.” The tiny frisson of doubt that started when he picked me up at Skyscape crackles.

  “Come on.” He takes my hand and pulls me toward building we’ve pulled up in front of, which is made of dark brown brick. We slip through the revolving doors and into a small lobby.

  A single doorman in his sixties sits behind a desk, reading a newspaper. He looks up and smiles when he sees Elijah.

  “Mr. Armstrong,” he says, tipping his hat like someone in a movie. “Long time, no see.”

  “Hey, Tony. How are the girls?”

  “They’re good, they’re good. You need a key?”

  “No, I have one.”

  Tony’s eyes fall on me, a spark of surprise there. He looks like he’s about to say something, but then thinks better of it.

  “I’m Abigail,” I say, reaching my hand out for him to shake.

  Tony takes it, the surprise in his eyes turning to delight. “Good job, Mr. Armstrong,” he says in approval.

  “Relax, Tony,” Elijah says, but his tone is teasing and he’s smiling as we walk toward the elevator.

  He pushes the button for the second floor, and we step out into a carpeted hallway. There are five apartments on the floor, two on each side of the corridor, and one at the end. This is the one that Elijah heads for, producing a key from his pocket and sliding it into the lock.

  We step into a tasteful, open-concept apartment, the walls painted in shades of tan and cream, the kitchen small but gleaming with granite counters and shiny new cabinets.

  Four windows in the living room look out onto the street, the soft sounds of the New York City traffic just muted enough by the gleaming white plantation shutters to seem soothing.

  But there’s no furniture.

  The apartment is completely empty, devoid of any signs of life.

  “I don’t get it,” I say. “What is this place?”

  “I own it.”

  “O-kkkay,” I say. “You realize that gives me no information, right? I mean, you own lots of things.” I start to make my way through the apartment, looking for clues.

  I open a door and find myself in the bathroom, which, even though small, would be considered huge by New York City standards. In here, as in the kitchen, everything is brand new – gleaming white subway tile in the shower, penny tile floor, a brand new toilet that still has the protective wrapper around the seat.

  And then I notice the tub. It’s one of those tubs with a walk in feature, the kind you can access easily with a wheelchair. There’s a low bench inside you can sit on, either to take a shower, or to have a bath with extra support.

  And just like that, I understand what this is.

  I turn to look at Elijah, who’s standing in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe, hands in his pockets, dark eyes watching me carefully.

  “This is for your father.”

  “Yes.” He nods. “When I bought it, I wasn’t sure what kind of limitations he might have. You know, what kind of…”

  He trails off, unable to stay it, but I know what he’s talking about. He didn’t know if his father was going to be able to walk without a wheelchair, what kind of assistance he would need.

  Which is why he got him this small apartment in a walkable neighborhood, in an elevator building, and why he put in the shower and tub that he did, doing his best to make sure it will be accessible to anything his father needs.

  “Does this mean that he’s okay? He’s waking up?”

  “No.” Elijah shakes his head. “No, he’s the same. I bought this place a long time ago. And it’s just been here. Waiting for him.”

  “So he’s still back in the minimally conscious state?”

  “Yes.”

  I take two steps back toward the door and touch his forearm gently. I’m not sure what to say. Somehow ‘I’m sorry’ seems wholly inadequate. Luckily, Elijah begins to talk before I have to figure it out.

  “The reason I wanted to bring you here, was to tell you about that day. About what really happened.”

  My breath hitches. “The day you found your dad?”

  “Yes.”

  “But you already told me about that day.”

  He shakes his head. “Not the entire story.”

  For a second, I have a flash of annoyance and disappointment that he didn’t tell me the whole story from the beginning. But I push past it. The thing that matters is that he’s telling me now. This is our second chance, our only chance, and I will be open to whatever it is he’s about to say. Especially because I can see how hard this is for him.

  “Do you want a drink?” he asks me, running his hand through his already-mussed hair. “We can go into the living room and talk.”

  “You have drinks here?” I frown. The place is so sparse, it’s hard for me to believe that there’s anything in the fridge.

  “I have water in the fridge. If we want something stronger, we can send out for it.”

  “There’s no furniture in the living room.”

  “We can have our drink standing.”

  “I don’t want a drink.” My heart is pounding now, my pulse kicking so strongly I’m afraid if I look down, I’ll see my veins jumping under my skin. Now that we’re here, now that he’s this close to telling me whatever it is he’s about to tell me, I don’t want anything to delay it. I don’t want to move, don’t want to give him time to think, don’t even want for him to have alcohol, even if it means
he’s more likely to tell me the truth.

  All I want is for him to be honest with me, right now, right here.

  I move closer and take his hand in mine.

  He startles for a moment, like he’s surprised by the gesture. I rub my thumb over the back of his hand, tracing his knuckles, moving over his palm. I wait, hoping it will calm him.

  And then he starts to talk.

  “Everything I told you was true,” he says. “But there were a few things I left out.” Elijah pauses and looks at me, waiting for me to say something.

  “Okay,” I say simply, not wanting to stop him from talking for too long, not even long enough for me to stay a full sentence.

  “The day I found my dad, my… my mom was there, too.”

  My chest constricts at the words, as I realize that Katherine may be more sinister than I thought.

  “Did she… “ I take in a deep breath through my nose. “I mean, was she the one who…?”

  “No.” Elijah shakes his head. “No, she didn’t hurt my father. She’d gotten there a few minutes before me. I guess she was supposed to be picking up some things from the house.” He gets a faraway look in his eyes, like he’s remembering that day, and I squeeze his hand tight, hoping it will keep him here with me, grounded in this moment, that he won’t retreat to the place he usually goes whenever things get too much for him.

  “My dad, he… I’m pretty sure maybe he timed it that way, so that she would be the one who found him.” His fingers tighten around mine, so hard that it hurts, but I don’t pull away.

  “When I got there, my mom, she was…she was just standing there, in front of him. I thought she must be in shock. That she didn’t know what to do. She was frozen.”

  He turns then and closes his eyes, pressing his forehead against the tile wall, his hand still tight around mine.

  “I rushed to my dad, and I tried, Abigail. I tried to save him. But my mom she put her hand on my shoulder. And she…” His voice catches around a muffled sob. “She told me to let him go. She said ‘It’s better this way, Elijah. He wants to go, so let him go.’”

  “Oh, Elijah,” I breathe.

  He turns to look at me then, his eyes shiny with tears. “And I hesitated, Abigail. I hesitated for a moment, because I thought, is she right? Is she right? Does he want to be dead?” He huffs out a breath, his mouth turning into an O shape, and the pain on his face is raw and real, no filter for the first time I can remember.

  “But then I snapped out of it.” He breathes out again, slower this time, like he’s trying to calm himself down. “And I tried to save him. Fuck, I tried to save him, but it was too late.” He chokes off, the tears running down his face now, and I pull him toward me.

  But he sinks to the floor, kneeling, and I sink down with him, pulling him toward me as he cries.

  “It wasn’t your fault,” I say, smoothing his hair between my fingers. “It’s not your fault, Elijah. What happened to your father is a horrible tragedy, but you are not responsible for it.”

  “Those seconds,” he says, and his eyes squeeze shut, as if he’s trying to block out the memory. “Those seconds that I wasted, it could have made the difference between …what he is now and what he could have been.”

  “No,” I say, stroking his hair. “No. It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault, Elijah.”

  And I keep repeating the words over and over again, until he’s all cried out.

  Chapter 2

  ABIGAIL

  We take the car back to his apartment and fall into his bed, our hands and mouths hungry for each other after so long apart. His touch is softer than it’s been in the past but also more insistent, like he’s a man who’s been starving and doesn’t want to overindulge right away.

  He undresses me slowly, peeling my clothes off like I’m a present to be unwrapped, the slips of fabric sliding over my skin as he pulls them away. And then I do the same to him, unbuttoning his shirt slowly, the material parting to reveal strong muscles and cords of tendons and taut lines.

  He lowers his naked body onto mine, the weight of him pressing me to the bed underneath, my breasts flattening out against his chest.

  “You can’t leave me again,” he whispers against my mouth in the dark. “If you leave me, I will die.”

  “I won’t leave you.” I shake my head and reach up, tracing the line of his jaw with a fingertip. “I never wanted to leave you. Al I wanted to be with you. All of you. Like this.”

  “I couldn’t breathe without you.” His mouth presses against the hollow of my throat, hot and wanting, and his hips shift slightly as I spread my legs just enough to let him in.

  He presses into me, his cock parting my sensitive tissues and then he’s inside of me, stretching me, moving slowly, letting me get used to his thickness.

  I wrap my legs around him, pulling him into me, wanting him as far inside of me as he can get.

  He obliges, pushing into me, making me take him deep.

  And yet he barely moves, his hips rocking ever so slightly.

  “So tight,” he murmurs. “So beautiful.”

  He pushes my hair away from my face and kisses me softly. We kiss for what seems like forever, him on top of me, the two of us as one, our legs tangled as we lose all sense of time.

  Finally, he begins to move inside of me, slowly rocking his hips, taking me to the edge and back over and over again. When I come, his own orgasm rages through him, and I call his name until he muffles my cries with another kiss, until I’m shattered and spent.

  We fall asleep spooning and when I wake up the next morning, he’s still there, next to me in bed, propped up on one elbow, gazing down at me.

  “Good morning, Ms. Bennett.”

  “What time is it?” I say, sitting up and blinking sleepily.

  “Seven. What time do you need to be at work?”

  There’s a fresh mug of coffee on the nightstand next to me, still hot, steam curling off the top.

  “I have the day off.” I pick up the coffee and take a sip. He’s made it exactly how I like it, sweet and creamy and not too rich.

  “Me too,” he reports cheerfully.

  I look at him skeptically over the top of my mug. “You’re taking the day off?”

  “You sound surprised.”

  “That’s because I am surprised.”

  “I’m not allowed to take a day off?”

  “You’re allowed to do whatever you want,” I say, shrugging. “It’s your company. You’re the boss. But when was the last time you took a day off?”

  It’s supposed to be rhetorical, but he cocks his head, thinking about it. “June 2007.”

  “You haven’t taken a day off in more than ten years?” I shake my head and sip more coffee. “Are you even human?”

  “Depends on who you ask.”

  “So why are you taking today off?”

  “Because it’s an important day.” His eyes are heavy with emotion and still slightly hooded from sleep. I realize he hasn’t been up to the gym yet to work out, that he must have gotten up and made me coffee before coming right back to bed. I know he did this for me, that he deviated from his routine so that he could make sure that he was here when I woke up.

  He’s trying.

  “Why’s that?” I ask. “And is there any chance there’s any breakfast down there? Preferably something savory, but I’ll settle for sweet, too. Or both. Maybe pancakes and bacon, with a –”

  “Abigail.”

  “Yes?”

  He reaches over and takes the coffee cup gently from my hand, placing it back on the nightstand. Then he slides the engagement ring that I left for him on the island back onto my ring finger. He must have been holding it the whole time, and I just didn’t notice.

  “Elijah.” I swallow, looking at the ring. It’s just as beautiful as ever, sparkling even in the dim light of the room.

  “I want to marry you,” he says. “Today.”

  “What?” Is he insane? “We can’t get married today!”r />
  “Why not?”

  “Because you can’t just go and get married.” I shake my head. “You need… I mean, you need to have, like, a plan.”

  “The state of New York makes it ridiculously simple to get married, Abigail. As long as you have a valid ID and transportation to city hall, you can most definitely get married.”

  “But that’s…that’s crazy.”

  “I want you to be my wife.”

  “But what about, like… ” I trail off, biting my lip as my mind works overtime. “Other things.”

  “Such as?”

  “I don’t know. Dresses and tuxedos and guests and flowers.”

  “We can have all those things. We can have the biggest wedding ever, if that’s what you want. But I’m not talking about a wedding, Abigail. I’m talking about a marriage, about making you my wife.” He runs his finger over my knuckles, tracing the outline of the ring. “Now that I have you back, I’m not going to let you go again.”

  “Pre-nups!” I say. “What about pre-nups?”

  He grins. “Are you worried I’m going to be interested in taking your eclectic and massive collection of romance novels? Because if so, I will remind you that I am CEO of Armstrong Media, and therefore have access to any and all books, both rare and not-so-rare.” He picks up my coffee, takes a sip, and then makes a face. “How do you drink this with so much sugar?”

  “Elijah, I’m serious,” I say, raising up on my knees, gathering the sheets around me in a tangle. “You have billions of dollars.”

  “According to my accountant, yes.”

  “I’m… I can’t…”

  He takes my chin and tilts it toward him, looking me in the eye. “Anything I have is yours. I love you. For me, this is forever.”

  “For me, too.”

  “Then that’s it.” He kisses me on the mouth, soft and slow. “It’s settled.”

  “We’re getting married.” I squeal and kick off the blankets, suddenly super excited. “We’re getting married!”