Page 27
“’Fraid not. I rent from a guy who got traded last year.” I pull around to the underground garage entrance, pass my fob over the reader, and enter when the garage door opens.
She barks a laugh. “Well, that’s convenient.”
“No kidding.”
Inside the elevator car, I wait for her to punch her floor but don’t push the button for mine. She arches an eyebrow. “What floor do you live on?”
“I’m on twenty-one, but I’m walking you to your door first.” She’s on twenty-eight, among the upper floors that get special “club” privileges, like their own snotty area to hang out so they don’t have to mix with the rest of the residents. My mind wanders to whether Harper spends time there.
“Such a gentleman,” she quips.
“A gentleman and a chameleon. Or so I’m told.” I send her a wink, but she ignores me and stares at the digital counter that reports the floors we pass.
We ride the rest of the way in silence, and when the elevator doors whoosh open, I rest my fingers lightly on her shoulder to nudge her into the hallway. I don’t need to, and she should shrug off my touch, but she doesn’t, which I take as a good sign. Then again, the thickness of my coat probably deadens the touch and she has no idea my fingers are anywhere near her.
When we arrive at the unit, she punches in a code, opens the door, and pivots to face me. I’m on the verge of asking for my coat back when she tilts her head. “Can you come in for a few minutes?”
My brain shouts, “Fuck no!” but my libido is pumping its fist because I’m not ready to leave this girl’s side yet. She might have texted her brother and is delaying my going so Harper has time to walk in and pummel my ass, but I don’t care. Lead me in. I’ll blindly lay my head in the lion’s gaping maw.
“Only a few.” This I say in my most neutral voice, belying what a stupid idea I’m buying into.
She closes the door behind me and hands me my coat, then crooks her finger and leads me down a hallway that opens onto a great room with a two-story wall of glass that looks out over a carpet of city lights. The brilliant pinpoints and some under-cabinet lighting in the kitchen are the only illumination, lending the oversized room a cozy feel.
As I stare at the breathtaking view, she glides to an ornate cabinet that serves as a bar. “Can I pour you some bourbon? Donny stocks Pappy fifteen-year.”
Harper might be an asshole of epic proportion, but I’m not about to drink the guy’s two-thousand-dollar-a-bottle bourbon. The familiar shape of a Woodford bottle catches my eye, and I nod in that direction. I shouldn’t be drinking at all—I should be running for the twenty-first floor—but I’m not in full control at the moment. “The Woodford’s fine.”
She lifts an eyebrow and pulls out two rocks glasses. A silent laugh bubbles up inside me as she pours me a double Woodford and fills her own glass with the Pappy. She doesn’t look at me when one side of her mouth curls upward. “Don’t worry. I gave him this bottle, so I figure I can drink some too.” Tucked inside the bar is a mini-freezer, and she extracts two round balls of ice and drops one into each glass.
“I wasn’t worried,” I assure as I hold up my glass in a toast.
She clinks hers against mine, and we hold each other’s eyes as we sip like we’re doing a drinking dare.
She tilts her head. “I think I owe you an apology.”
I don’t hide my surprise. “For?”
With a sigh, she kicks off her heels, and I watch her hips sway as she walks toward a huge-ass leather couch that faces the windows. I follow, but besides the couch, there’s nowhere I can park my butt that isn’t ten feet away—not exactly conducive to conversation. Picking the corner farthest from her, I lower myself onto the couch and cradle my drink in my hands. There’s a warning light going off in a corner of my mind, alerting me that Harper could storm through the door and find me sitting next to his sister in the dark. Somehow I don’t think “We were just talking” would pierce the veil of red he’d no doubt be staring through.
She turns to face me and curls up like a cat, her feet beneath her. “Back at the restaurant, on the patio, I kind of went off on you while you were only trying to make sure I was okay. Thanks for the coat, by the way.”
“Yeah, no problem. And just so we’re clear, you didn’t exactly go off on me.” Sure, she was mad, but I’ve had women who were just as pissed let me have it with the force of a slapshot between the eyes. Her volley, if you can even call it that, was a soft tap to the forehead. I take a sip of the amber liquid and wait. The heavy weight of something hangs between us, and I brace myself, hoping she’ll clue me in while simultaneously hoping she won’t.
She props her elbow on the couch back and rests her head against the heel of her hand. The motion lifts her sweater, and a band of pale skin is bright between the black of her top and the dark indigo of her jeans. My eyes skitter there without my permission, taking in the smooth line of her flat stomach.
My fingers ache to touch.
Before she notices me staring, I yank my gaze back. Thank fuck she’s looking off into space. She ruffles her hair, then squares herself. Pale green eyes drill into me.
“I think I was confusing you with my ex. He was the master of chameleons.”
I settle back, silently inviting her to confide in me.
Chapter 14
Chameleon
Jackie
