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Whatever she sees, she nods, then glances around what should be a homey kitchen. The place is a dump. I’m aware. That’s why I spent a small fortune to have it renovated in three months. Except?—
“No sugarcoating, Gabe. I really love it. It’s cozy, and I bet the view is amazing.” Her earnestness seeps through my anxiety, finding all the cracks in my veneer. She steps around me and heads back to the primary suite.
The waves crest a foamy white beneath the moon. The tension from the week dissolves as if it’d never been. I hear Alex’s deep rumble, and suddenly, it matters less that the house is a disaster. Oh, I’ll still be on the phone first thing in the morning to find out what’s going on. But for now, the itch to wake my lawyer has subsided.
How does she do that?
Katherine laughs. The warm sound tinkles through the cold walls, and I’m helpless to follow it back to her. She holds a pillow between her hands, a small smile on her lips.
“Ford and I never had a pillow fight.” She tosses it to the top of the mattress.
“Really?” The word slips from my lips before I can pull it back. It’s such a core memory from my childhood. At least until I learned physics and used that against my siblings.
“Really.” She saunters into the adjoining bathroom and flips on the light.
I glance at Alex and find him equally enthralled by the woman in the next room. After hanging his tuxedo jacket on the doorknob, she steps up to the vanity and leans against it, head dropped. A vanity that hasn’t been cleaned in who knows how long and is probably older than she is.
We see everything through the doorway, and I can’t move. My feet are glued to the floor, and heaven help me, but I can’t tear my eyes away to give her the privacy she deserves.
She could’ve closed the door.
But she didn’t.
Does she like being watched?
Does she want our eyes on her?
Is this a trick? A sordid game? Or is she simply so tired that she doesn’t care anymore?
Whatever it is, she’s fucking gorgeous like this, with her hair mostly up and her guard down. My fingertips tingle to trace down her spine. Along the edges of that killer dress. Massage the arches of her feet.
I rake a hand down my face but still can’t convince myself to turn away. Her shoulders sag again, and she looks up into the mirror.
Fuck. I’m older than she is.
A lot older.
What the hell was I thinking?
What were we thinking? Going head to head in the middle of a ballroom of Manhattan’s elite?
A quick look at my best friend shows him to be equally enthralled with her. Katie Bird, he’d called her.
A nickname and an endearment, and she’d eaten it up.
Her chin dips more to her chest. She closes her eyes and, for a moment, looks defeated. Like the weight of the world is crushing her, slowly, one heavy pound at a time.
I was wrong before. This is painfully intimate. Raw.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Alex turn away. His hand yanks at his bow tie as he crosses the room.
“So what’s the plan?” I ask, wishing I had my computer to distract me. We should get out of here. Out of this room. Hell, out of this house.
The mattress is made up with sheets, and the room smells of cedar.
“We’re sleeping on the floor,” Alex declares in that soft, take-no-shit voice he reserves for new hires and pesky clients.
A soft ping draws my attention back to the bathroom. Katherine’s nimble fingers work the pins from her hair, dropping them one by one to the counter. Finally, all her glorious red tresses tumble down her back, just begging to be wrapped around my fist.
