Chapter 7 #3
My eyes dropped to her hand again. The gold ring. The gloss of her nails. The life in those fingers. Then I dragged my gaze back up before I embarrassed myself in broad daylight.
“You had lunch?”
“I did.”
“Was it worth it?”
She made a face. “No. But I was trying to be responsible.”
“That don’t sound like you.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You don’t know me well enough to say what sounds like me.”
“I’m learning.” And I want to learn so much more.
“Mmmm.”
I smiled. “That little mmmm.”
“What about it?”
“It’s becoming a situation.”
The laugh she gave me then was low and immediate, the kind that made my body answer before my mind could dress it up.
“See?” she said.
“What?”
“You do that on purpose.”
“Do what?”
“Say something slick and then sit there looking innocent after.”
I sat back. “You think I’m slick?”
“I think you know exactly what you’re doing.”
That should have felt like accusation. It didn’t.
It felt like a door opening half an inch.
We kept talking until her phone lit on the table and she glanced at it with the expression of a woman who had remembered time against her will.
She exhaled softly.
“That’s me getting reclaimed by work?”
“Very much.”
I hated that. More than I should have for less than half an hour in a hotel bar on a weekday afternoon.
“Okay,” I said.
She looked at me, really looked, like she had caught the note under the word and was deciding what to do with it.
Then she stood.
I stood too.
She picked up her laptop, slid the phone into the side of her bag, and paused there close enough for me to catch the warmth of her perfume again.
“This doesn’t count as Thursday,” I said.
One brow lifted. “You making rules now?”
“Protecting the structure.”
That got a smile out of her.
“Good,” she said. “Because I’d hate for you to get ahead of yourself.”
“Never that.”
“That sounds false.”
“It’s a little false.”
She laughed again and turned toward the elevators, headed for the garage. I walked with her because I wasn’t about to let her disappear back into the workday without taking the extra steps.
At the elevator bank, she turned to face me fully.
For one second, neither of us said anything.
Lobby noise moved around us. Suitcases rolling. A bartender polishing stemware. Somebody checking in too loud for no reason. All of it faded just enough.
“Thank you,” she said.
“For what?”
“For wanting to see my day up close.” See me up close is what her eyes said.
I smiled. “Anytime.”
The elevator dinged.
She stepped inside, and I stepped in with her.
One brow lifted.
“You walking me to my car now?”
“Seem like the decent thing to do.”
“That sounds unlike you.” I loved her taking my lines to use on me.
“I have a multilayered personality.”
That got a laugh out of her.
The ride down was short, but it did what short elevator rides with the right woman always did. Tightened the air. Closed the world down to breath, scent, and the quiet awareness of how close two bodies were standing without touching.
By the time we stepped into the garage, my whole body was too aware of her again.
Her heels clicked lightly beside me as we walked. Her perfume moved warm around us in the cooler air down there, and every now and then she glanced over at me with those amber eyes, still bright, still holding more than she let her mouth say first.
That was becoming a real issue.
When we got to her car, she turned, one hand already on her keys.
A chirp brought my eyes to the vehicle behind her.
A Caviar black Lexus RX sat under the garage lights, polished and quiet in that way expensive things got when they didn’t need to announce themselves.
The deep red leather inside fit her too well.
Pretty. Particular. A little dangerous if a man let himself think too long about being invited in.
“This was nice,” she said.
“Nice?”
Her mouth curved. “You want a better word?”
“I do.”
She laughed softly and leaned one shoulder against the driver’s door. “Okay. This was worth leaving my notes for.”
“That’s better.”
“I thought so.”
For one second, neither of us moved.
Then she looked at me and said, “Try not to say anything out of pocket when you see me tomorrow.”
Tomorrow.
I leaned one hand on the roof of her car, not boxing her in, just close enough to make the moment answer for itself.
“No promises.”
Her eyes lit and there it was again. That spark. The little gold-brown flicker that made me feel like I was standing too close to something I’d stop handling carefully if she gave me one more minute.
She opened the car door before I could test that theory.
“Go back to work, Micah.”
“That sounds like a dismissal.”
“That sounds like me trying to preserve your reputation before four o’clock.”
I laughed.
She slid into the driver’s seat, then looked up at me once more.
“Tomorrow,” she said.
“Tomorrow.”
The door shut.
I stood there long enough to watch her back out, lift one hand in a small parting wave, and disappear up the garage ramp before I headed to valet to get my own car.
On the drive back to the office, I realized I was smiling like an idiot and didn’t care enough to stop.