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Chapter 2
Tiffany eyedthe sugar pie and didn’t think twice. Grabbing the knife from the dish dryer, she cut a generous slice. Her personal trainer in New York would tell her she might as well inject animal fat into her veins. Screw Jayden. He didn’t have to deal with Santiago. If she couldn’t have Santiago, she sure as hell would eat pie.
She took a bite, and sprinkles of sugar off the crust melted on her tongue. Hhhmmm. For a moment, sweetness invaded her palate. Who said food wasn’t a great escape mechanism?
She held the glass of water, unsure if she should set it on the counter or have another gulp. Her fingers clasped the foggy cold surface. Her gaze darted to the snow, falling quicker than before. The clock read well past 4 p.m. She leaned over the counter, watching the sky, which had turned shades darker in mere moments. The snowstorm moved fast, and as much as she didn’t want to be confined with Santiago, she couldn’t allow him to just wander off in the cold. One tragedy on her conscience was enough.
“Tiffany,” the husky male voice called behind her, and she jumped. A bit of water splashed out of the glass, and she patted herself. Why did his accent have to be so freaking sexy?
Even when she’d first met him, when she was a hormonal teenager and her father had started to date his mother… an edge —almost of impatience —blended in his deep, complex baritone. His voice provoked a stir in her body, her nipples shamelessly tightening without her permission.
She turned around, and produced a phony smile. “Did you come back for more pleasantries? Will this interaction require a Prozac?”
He leaned against the threshold, eyes on her. Was it wrong to do the same? His hair appeared longer than on his TV show, the thick jet-black tips curling past his ears. The hairstyle was carefree and sexy, and matched the dangerous spark of his midnight eyes. Broad-shouldered and athletic, Santiago hadn’t been voted sexiest television host by a women’s magazine for no reason.
What are you thinking? Reboot. Reboot. The silence stretched beyond seconds. The fake smile faded from her lips, and her pulse raced in places other than her wrist. A flicker of an intense, unreadable emotion hit his eyes, and he opened his mouth but just scratched his head.
“I’m staying for the night. It’s impossible to fly in this weather.”
She shrugged. Confusing emotions swirled inside her. What did his staying with her exactly mean for them? . “O-okay.”
“We’ll stay out of each other’s way.”
“Piece of cake.” She sliced another chunk of pie. “Since this place is ginormous, I’ll go to the west wing, and you can have the other wing.” She meant to sound sarcastic since they shared a cottage and not the Waldorf Astoria, but, as usual when she was around him with her barriers lowered, she turned into a paranoid teenager with a forbidden crush. Just like before.
He quirked up his lips, but the planes of his face didn’t show any amusement. “Funny.”
She took a bite of pie. This time, food equaled the perfect way to keep her mouth shut. Maybe if she kept eating around the clock, there would hardly be any words to exchange with him. A couple bits of sugar stuck to the corner of her mouth, and she slipped out her tongue and licked it. When she raised her gaze, she found him watching her.
Probably thought she had poor manners, despite being a blue blood. No sane woman within inches of a guy that hot would stuff a large amount of pie in her mouth. Maybe because no sane woman would have those sinful thoughts toward her stepbrother. The one who had loved her best friend. The one who hated her for all she’d put him through.
“You take the suite. I’ll sleep in the guest room,” she forced herself to say, if only to break the silence.
“The guest room has been converted into a home office.”
“Well then, perfect. It will be my work away from work.” Great.
“No. You stay at the suite. I’ll manage.”
“Okay. I’ll agree, but only because I’ve been battling insomnia and want to stay away from sleeping pills,” she said.
“Insomnia?” he asked, and for a moment concern gleamed in his eyes. He angled forward.
“Yes, I’ve been working too much and you know the typical modern stress.”
His lips curled at the corner of his mouth. “Take care of yourself.”
“I’m trying,” she said, and eyed the carb bomb in front of her. “Want a piece of pie? I’m glad Marisa kept my sugar addiction in mind when she arranged for groceries.” She cocked her head in the direction of the dessert, desperate to lighten the mood between them. “It’s store-bought, but you wouldn’t tell.”
He peered at the pie, then shook his head. “No.”
“Do you want water? Coffee? Fruit? Small talk over recent news?”
“No.”
She shrugged. Why the hell did he keep staring at her like he had words buried in his chest he needed to get out? Telling her he thought she was the scum of the Earth didn’t count. Maybe he had a new insult to share. “Is there anything else you want, Santiago?”
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