Chapter 26
Natalie muttered under her breath as she shuffled out of her bedroom, nearly tripping over a stray shoe in the hallway. “Stupid alarm,” she grumbled, rubbing the grit of sleep from her eyes. Her bare feet padded toward the kitchen, the faint hope of coffee the only thing pulling her forward.
She hadn’t gone home with Rylan after the auction.
The strange woman’s outburst had soured the evening, leaving both of them on edge.
Rylan had insisted on driving her home, and she’d been too rattled to argue.
He hadn’t left until she was inside and her door was locked.
Even then, the ghost of his presence lingered—stronger in her mind than his quiet goodbye.
That unsettled feeling had followed her into bed, tangling with something far more dangerous.
She’d lain awake, staring at the ceiling, replaying the night in vivid detail: the memory of his arm brushing hers, the pull of his gaze, the low, intimate rumble of his voice when he’d spoken close to her ear.
The heat of those recollections embarrassed her, but not enough to stop them.
She’d berated herself for letting her mind wander down that path, knowing she was toeing a precarious line between friendship and something far messier.
She poured herself a generous cup of coffee, the steam curling up to meet her face, and leaned against the counter. Was she making too much of this? Surely it was just infatuation—a harmless, inconvenient crush that would fade.
Except it wasn’t fading.
If anything, it was deepening. Every conversation, every glance across a room, every offhand smile felt like a thread binding her closer to him.
Her attraction was becoming a slow, irresistible tide, and she had no idea how to fight it.
The cruelest part? She valued their friendship far too much to risk it on a leap that might end in disaster.
She closed her eyes and cradled the warm mug between her palms, willing the heat to steady her. “I need to get a grip,” she muttered. But even as she said it, Rylan’s face flashed in her mind—eyes dark and focused, mouth curved in that infuriating, knowing way that made her pulse skip.
Her phone chimed, slicing through the quiet. She glanced at the screen and felt her lips twitch into a smile before she could stop herself.
Rylan: I’m making biscuits for breakfast. How do you like your coffee?
Suddenly, she was wide awake. She darted back toward the stairs, thumbs flying over the screen.
Extra sweetener, she typed.
Rylan: See you in ten minutes.
Make it thirty, she replied. I need to shower and change.
Fifteen minutes later, she tugged a red cardigan over a sleeveless white tee, the fabric still warm from the dryer, and slipped her feet into her favorite red flats.
As she smoothed the cardigan down, she caught herself smiling.
She’d been spending more time with Rylan than she’d intended—more than she’d planned.
Normally, she built rapport with clients as a matter of professional skill; her work depended on reading personalities and understanding tastes.
But with Rylan, it felt… different. Personal.
Her other projects were nearly wrapped, leaving her schedule open until Monday, when four new clients would need her full attention. But today? Today belonged to Rylan.
They were heading out to tour furniture warehouses in search of a new sofa.
Despite the undeniable beauty and high-end craftsmanship of his current suede one, he hated it—and she could see why.
The texture was stiff, the seating awkward; he’d complained more than once that it felt like “sitting on a stubborn boulder.” Over the past week, she’d sent him photo after photo of alternatives, each met with the same polite dismissal. Not quite right.
So today, they would find the sofa. Or, knowing Rylan, they’d at least try until the search met his exacting standard.
Normally, Natalie dreaded bringing clients to warehouses.
The process was exhausting—clients sat on every available sofa, pawed every fabric swatch, and inevitably got sidetracked by furniture far beyond their budget or wildly outside their style.
But with Rylan? It didn’t feel like work.
Time with him had become something she looked forward to, even if it meant hours of trekking through cavernous showrooms under harsh fluorescent lights.
Still, as she checked her reflection in the mirror, she couldn’t pretend her anticipation was purely professional.
She’d chosen black leggings with her red sweater—a practical choice for a long day on her feet—but she’d also picked this outfit because it made her feel flirty, confident, and just a little dangerous.
She wasn’t only eager to help Rylan find the perfect sofa.
Her heart gave a traitorous flutter as she picked up her bag and paused at the door, fingers tightening on the strap. “Just a client,” she whispered, as if saying it aloud could tame the rush of excitement coursing through her.
Big mistake.
The moment her eyes slipped shut, he appeared in her mind—Rylan, naked, strong, moving toward her with that slow, deliberate stride and a look in his eyes that promised nothing but sin.
Heat shot through her chest and pooled low in her belly.
She drew in a sharp breath, her knees suddenly weak under the vividness of it.
Her cheeks burned as she forced her eyes open. If she gave him the slightest hint—one lingering glance, one slip of her guard—Rylan would respond. Without hesitation. And while she knew the connection between them would be combustible, she also knew exactly how it would end.
Not with love. Not with permanence. For him, it might be a passing indulgence. For her? It would leave splinters she’d never quite pull free. She wouldn’t trade the fragile, growing friendship they had for a night of reckless heat, no matter how tempting the thought.
Her phone buzzed, snapping the thread of her thoughts.
Rylan: I’m waiting.
She gave a short, self-mocking laugh. “Get a grip,” she muttered, shaking her head as if she could scatter the images lingering there.
Keys in hand, she stepped outside and locked the door behind her. The morning air was crisp, sunlight slanting across her quiet street, and she felt her anticipation bubble again as she approached her car.
“Natalie!”
The male voice cut across the stillness of the morning, sharp and insistent. Recognition of who owned that voice landed instantly, unwelcome and heavy. She kept walking, pretending she hadn’t heard, unwilling to let her ex-fiancé’s voice claw into the excitement she felt about seeing Rylan.
“Nat!” Louder this time—closer.
Her fingers were already curling around the SUV’s door handle when she glanced up and saw him—Mark—striding across her lawn with the entitled ease of someone who still believed he belonged there.
“Mark,” she muttered, the single word steeped in irritation.
At least his car was on the street this time. She wouldn’t have put it past him to block her in just to force a conversation. She yanked the driver’s door open, determined to ignore him and drive away, but he closed the distance fast.
“Natalie, why are you ignoring me?”
Before she could answer, his hand came down on the door with a thud, slamming it shut. The jolt shot through her, her spine stiffening as she whipped around to face him, anger igniting hot and fast.
“I’m not ignoring you,” she said, her voice cool but edged with venom and her chin lifting in defiance.
“Then why won’t you answer my calls?” His brows drew together, voice sharpening with accusation. “I’ve called you, Nat. I’ve texted you. Why haven’t you replied?”
She rolled her eyes—slow, deliberate, and dripping with disdain—knowing exactly how much he hated being dismissed.
“Because I blocked you, Mark,” she said, each word sharp and deliberate. “And your wife. I told you weeks ago I won’t work with you or Henrietta. I don’t care what she wants, and I sure as hell don’t care what you want.”
His jaw tightened, anger flashing before he smoothed it over with that plastic, salesman smile he’d once used to talk her into almost anything.
“I’m not here about the job,” he said, softening his tone into something that probably sounded romantic in his head. “I’m here for you, Nat. I miss you.”
She stared at him, incredulous. “You… miss me?”
He nodded, as if he’d just made some grand confession.
“I miss us. The way things used to be, before you… you know, got all cold.” He took a step forward, smiling like the cat that caught the canary.
“I mean, yeah, you were a little stubborn sometimes, but I liked that about you.” His hand lifted toward her hair—proprietary, presumptuous—but she stepped back before he could touch her.
“You’re married, Mark!” she snapped. “Go back to your wife. Henrietta’s a lovely woman—she’s your problem now.”
He scoffed, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Henrietta and I are basically over. She’s frigid, Nat. Cold as ice. And, honestly? She’s gained a lot of weight. I can’t deal with that kind of laziness.”
Natalie’s mouth dropped open. “Wow. You really are an idiot.”
He shrugged, unbothered. “But you—you’ve kept yourself together. You’re still… you know… attractive. Ambitious. You’ve got that fire. You’re the one I should’ve picked from the start.”
She blinked at him slowly, like he was some strange insect. “That’s supposed to be a compliment?”
“You know what I mean,” he said impatiently, leaning closer, the false charm slipping. “When you were at my house the other day, I saw it. You still want me.”
“I did feel something,” she said evenly. “Disgust. Revulsion. Relief that I’m not tied to you anymore.”
His smile faltered. He stepped in, boxing her against the SUV. “You don’t mean that. We were happy, Nat. Sure, you were a bit high-maintenance, but we worked. You know we worked.”
Her temper snapped. She shoved him back hard enough to make him stumble, then yanked the car door open. “Mark, I’m late. I’m not wasting another second rehashing a relationship that died years ago. You live in your own fantasy, and reality doesn’t interest you.”
She slid into the driver’s seat, slammed the door, and locked it before he could react. He rattled the handle, then smacked his palm against the glass hard enough to make her flinch.
“Natalie!” he barked, his face mottled with red blotches. “Open the door!”
She didn’t even glance at him. She hit the ignition, the engine rumbling to life, and reversed slowly, careful to avoid his car.
Mark stood in the driveway, fists on his hips, glaring like a man who’d just been denied the last cookie at a party. The extra weight around his middle and puffiness in his face made him look small, even as he tried to puff himself up.
As she drove off, irritation iced over into something colder. His persistence wasn’t just annoying—it was escalating. The look in his eyes had been sharp, calculating, almost unhinged.
If he tried to corner her again, the new security cameras would catch it all.
But Natalie couldn’t shake the feeling that Mark wasn’t the kind of man who let go. He was the kind who waited until you thought you were safe.