Losing Control(91)

I had forgotten how warm he was, how big his hands were, how much I want him. “You’ve been very patient with me,” I say softly.

“I’d wait forever for you, Tiny,” he responds. “If you don’t believe it now, you will when you’re still with me fifty years from now.”

I suck in my breath at the meaning behind that declaration. Nothing more is said between us until we arrive in Connecticut. He drives toward the Long Island Sound and stops at a long driveway that is blocked by a short gate—more for looks than security. A flick of a button and the gates begin to slowly open.

At the end of an alley of trees, a two-story white chateau-like structure with a blue roof appears.

“Fifteen thousand square feet of house. Eleven acres of land. Looks over the Sound. Has its own private beach. No boat landing though. Water’s too shallow.” Ian begins to itemize the features of the property.

“Do I want to know how many properties you own in the city?”

“This isn’t in the city.”

With that, he climbs out of the car and comes around to open the door for me. I step out and into his arms.

“You’re not the only one who is alone in this world. You’re not the only one with dreams that include falling into bed at night with someone by their side. I want a family too, but I want it with you. I can’t give you your mother back, but I can love you as fiercely. Tiny, I love you. Be my wife. Let’s start our own family.”

He doesn’t wait for an answer.

“This place,” he waves his hand. “I bought this because I wanted to settle down, to start a family. I saw it and knew I had to have it. When I saw you on the street that day, I was done for. Kicked in the gut. Whatever metaphor you want to use. I saw you and that was it. I had to have you.”

“This house is huge. It’s way too big for a bachelor,” I say with wonder. I’m trying to process everything, but I feel winded . . . and almost joyful.

“Do you know why I lent the money to the wig shop owner?”

“No.”

He snorts. “Her sister is a realtor. Has been my realtor for years. She came to me and asked me to do a favor. I complied, it worked out. But on the day that we saw each other, I was meeting Margaret to put an offer in on this property. When I saw you, I knew right away that you belonged here and that you had to belong to me. I’ve wanted to bring you here for weeks but figured it would be too soon and you would be frightened off. Like a scared bunny. But you aren’t anymore. Are you scared?”

“I am, a little.” I press my hand against my heart. “How did you survive this at age fifteen? All alone?”

“Because I must have known that someday I’d meet you, fall in love with you, and you would need me.”

He pulls me against him and kisses me then. Or I kiss him. We stand there, our bodies fused together and our mouths expressing all the words that are too scary and intimate to say out loud.

Breaking away, he says, “Your sorrow has weighted you down.”

“But you’re easing it. “

“This is our home. We’ll fill it with happiness.”

“What about Richard Howe?”

“Let it go,” he answers.

“Easy as that? You’ve planned for this for almost two decades.”

“Because I had nothing else, Tiny.” He draws some of my hair back away from my face, dragging his fingers down to my jaw and tipping my face upward—willing me to understand.

Alone, parentless, friendless. The things that powered Ian to go from poor person to billionaire were revenge and hate, but somewhere along the line he was able to let them go.

“It was you, Tiny. Seeing you with Richard made me realize that there were things I could hate more than Howe. Like seeing another man’s hands on you. Seeing you flirt, talk, engage with another man. I can’t have a future if I’m always looking behind. Let’s look forward together.”

“Take me home, then.”

We spend a couple of hours poking around the house. The interior furnishings are a weird mix of old world and ultra modern. “It can all go,” Ian says when I make a face at the black leather sofa situated in the middle of a sky blue reading room.

Outside, the grounds are beautifully manicured, complete with a pool and tennis court. The lawn is so big that it takes us twenty minutes to get to the beach. The waves lap lightly against the coarse sand.

“Mom would have loved it here,” I sigh.

He places an arm around me. “I know.”

On the drive home, I don’t have much to say. I’m drinking it all in. The house. Ian’s declaration of love. His ringless proposal.