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She pulled her phone out of her bag and quickly typed a message to her mother. “Running late, I’ll be back in a bit.” It was purposefully vague. She didn’t want to lie to her mother but the only way this fling was going to stay out of Jay’s eyeline was if she kept everyone in the dark about it, even her mother. Besides, her mom would worry. She’d been through too much with Jay, had seen Skye’s life fall apart. The last thing Skye wanted was to worry her all over again. And it wasn’t anyone else’s business, anyway.
This was Skye’s life, Skye’s choice, Skye’s gift to herself.
He walked into the kitchen and to her delight, wrapped his hands around her waist from behind, pulling her back against him then pressing a kiss to the sweep of her neck. She shivered, warmth curling through her.
“I’m glad you came here,” he said, voice husky and low.
“I am too.”
“Do you want to send me your schedule for the next week?” He asked, and even though it was a completely benign request, alarm bells rang.
“Why do you need my schedule?” Her voice was high in pitch. Memories of Jay insisting on being able to access her calendar, her emails, her work roster, turned her blood to ice. It had all happened so incrementally, she hadn’t really noticed at first, but somehow, she’d given her ex the keys to her whole life—and he’d used those keys to run it for her.
“So Alec can collect you after work,” he pointed out, referring to the driver.
Blood began to pump in her veins again, pushing out the ice. “Right,” she nodded slowly. “That makes sense.” But she was still resistant to the idea of giving him too much information. “Or I can just let you know day by day. Things change around, you know.”
“That’s fine too,” he agreed.
No big deal.
No drama.
He wasn’t Jay.
She breathed more easily.
“I wasn’t sure what you’d feel like, so I got a selection of things.”
With curiosity, she followed him into the kitchen.
“Sushi, Chinese, Italian, salad.”
She wrinkled her nose at the last suggestion. “I’m definitely not a salad girl. Chinese okay?”
He pulled out several containers and lined them up on the bench, then gathered bowls and cutlery. “Help yourself,” he offered, and she appreciated that, because Jay used to always serve her food, deciding how much she should eat depending on whether or not she’d gained weight. He weighed her too. She pushed the memories out of her mind. Or tried to, at least. But the funny thing about memories was that they were always there, even when you wanted to resist them. Jay was no longer a huge part of her life, but he had shaped her. He’d made her wary of everyone, because he’d been such a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Her ability to trust—even to trust herself and her own judgement—had been permanently altered by his manipulation and controlling behaviour.
She heaped an array of meals into her bowl then sheepishly looked at Leandro. “I’m starving.”
He nodded with something like approval, taking the bowl from her and placing it in the microwave before he began to assemble his own meal. His was even more generous than her own. “Also starving,” he said with the hint of a grin.
The kitchen began to smell wonderful, and her stomach rolled.
He removed the dish when the microwave chimed, replaced it with his own then pushed her meal across the counter. He retrieved cutlery too.
“Have a seat.”
She did so, on one of the benches, and watched as he refreshed her champagne then placed it beside her meal. She took another sip. It was really delicious too. She waited until his own meal was ready, and he came to sit beside her, their knees brushing in a way that sent funny little snakes writhing through her belly.
“So,” he drawled. “No regrets?”
She shook her head. “Definitely not.” She pressed her fork into some of the noodles. “You?”
“No.”
The Chinese was delicious. She had a few mouthfuls before replacing her fork and reaching for her drink. “What brings you to New York?”
His features tightened almost imperceptibly. “A wedding, and work.”
