Asher: An Arrogant Billionaire Romance, page 11
“And how did he feel about them?”
“He didn’t mind the attention. Let’s put it that way.” She winks, and we both laugh. “I decided to bide my time. Keep an eye on him. Watch how he operated. And I noticed something after several months.”
“Months?” My eyes widen a little.
“I’m a patient woman. As I was saying, I watched him. I noticed his tendency to wear mismatched socks.”
“I’ve never seen him do that.”
“There’s a good reason for that.” She winks. “It wasn’t only the socks, either. He had a habit of wearing wrinkled clothes, like he’d just pulled them from the laundry basket and put them on.”
I fight the urge to roll my eyes. “A big ladies’ man? In wrinkled clothes?”
“He was also very handsome. It helped his cause.”
I can believe that—he’s good-looking now, in that very unfair way men have of aging.
“And charming. With a great smile. Plus, he was single. Anyway, I decided he was a man who needed a lot of tending. I started tidying up his office during visits to drop off papers. I’d bring him breakfast and lunch and call it extra food, you know? The sandwich shop gave me the wrong order, that sort of excuse.”
“And it worked?”
“Until he put on enough weight that he needed his pants let out.” She laughs even harder. “By then, we were dating, and within six months we were engaged. You wouldn’t believe the looks I used to get, the whispers I’d hear. How did I manage to lock down Peter Miller?”
I still have a hard time imagining him as some office playboy, but nobody is born old and slightly paunchy, either.
While Cecile’s story is fascinating and good for a laugh, I doubt that sort of tactic would work on Asher. Bringing him food to make him fat and cleaning up after him is hardly in my wheelhouse. If anything, we’d butt heads even harder. I have a difficult enough time cleaning up after myself, and he’s a big boy, who I’m sure employs janitorial staff.
The conversation seems pointless now, except it’s nice to hear details of Cecile and Peter’s history. They really are the cutest little old couple in the world.
What am I even thinking, anyway? “This is silly.” I wave it off. “I don’t have time for a relationship.”
“You’re not silly. You’re young. You should be enjoying this time, having fun, dating, making mistakes.”
My eyes bug out.
“Obviously, your career is important. Work toward getting where you want to go. Just don’t miss out on things either. What’s the harm in having fun? Get out there. Meet men. Date. If a man has you humming all over the office, see what that’s all about. It’s not like he proposed. Just find a balance.”
She looks over my shoulder, and I can hear Peter’s voice ringing out by the front desk. “I couldn’t have imagined what I was getting myself into when I set my sights on that man, but here we are. I wouldn’t change a thing.”
He joins us moments later, shedding his jacket. I can’t help but stare a little harder at him after hearing Cecile’s story.
“What are you two gossiping about in here?” He kisses his wife on the cheek.
“Oh, you know. Dredging up the past. I was telling Mara here about how you used to wear mismatched socks all the time.” Cecile glances over.
I cover my mouth to keep from laughing.
“Hmm?” He looks down at his ankles and shrugs. “Guess you fixed that.”
Cecile shoots me another knowing glance and raises her eyebrows.
I fight a snicker. “Okay, well, I’ll let you two get to it.” Before they can respond, I walk out of the office.
Fun conversation, but not helpful. Have fun? What’s fun? I’m trying to keep the lights on in this place.
I wonder if the advice would’ve been different if she knew who I was talking about. Would I be an idiot or a traitor in her eyes? It’s hard to believe she’d see me as either, but I have to be realistic.
Something tells me explaining how Asher makes me feel wouldn’t win me any sympathy. No matter how true it is.
By the end of the day, I’m as confused as ever, always with one eye roaming across the street. This might not be so damned difficult if the man’s name wasn’t smacking me right in the face, fully visible in huge, thick font through the windows. I used to love my view of the street, all the energy, people bustling around. Now? Not so much.
I can finish my work at home. It’ll be easier that way. Fewer distractions. There’s no reason why I can’t get the article finished tonight and have it published before anybody gets bored and stops caring. How long can I keep things interesting, keep people reading? There’s only one way to find out.
Shouldn’t the idea excite me? It normally does. Knowing how many people might read things I’ve written. Finding the words, pulling them together, polishing them until they sing. It’s like magic, really, the only sort of magic that’s ever interested me.
The air is crisp and cool when I walk through the door, but there’s a warmth under it that means spring is finally on its way. I don’t look forward to the summer heat, but I like it a lot more than frigid wind.
I spot a few people in tee shirts already. Idiots.
Jesus.
I’m in a miserable mood if the sight of a tee shirt is enough to make me scowl. The thought’s enough to make me snicker at myself as I turn the corner with my head down.
Just as I glance up to see where I’m going…
Bam!
I run straight into a broad chest in a perfectly tailored suit, for a second time.
12
Asher
I’m officially a stalker.
At least, that’s how it feels as I walk around the corner of Mara’s building. The plan was to hurry past, hoping to catch a glimpse of her on the other side of the glass, when my phone rings with yet another call from Wells Covington. I’ve already learned how pointless it is to avoid his calls, after the shitstorm that cut my evening with Mara short.
Against my better judgment, I answer and keep walking past the Millers’ offices around the entire block.
“I’ll need you in Manhattan. And Chicago, at least for the foreseeable future. This deal is fragile as fuck, so you need to be available when I call. Their Board of Directors is a bunch of old assholes who miss the days when they could harass a secretary without fear of a Twitter storm.”
I grind my teeth, glancing back at Mara’s building.
Fuck.
“Stop giving me shit. I’ll answer the phone.”
My heart sinks a little, though. Normally I’d accept this from a potential partner without question, especially one as big as Wells Covington. Pierce and I have had Covington and his hedge fund in our crosshairs for a long time. Sure, we’re a big player, but Wells is on another level, and he’s a finance genius. Eccentric as fuck, but he knows business. Everyone on Wall Street follows his lead.
Why the hell am I upset?
I’m not unfamiliar with travel, even last-minute flights. I own a goddamn jet. This is a Pierce project, though. Or am I saying that because I don’t want to leave? I’ve almost made it back around the building and I need to get off the damn phone so I can ‘not’ stalk Mara appropriately.
“You better. Don’t fuck with my time and money.” He hangs up before I can say anything else.
Goddamn, one missed call with this asshole. He’s worse than me.
I pocket my phone, rounding the corner, and prepare to stroll past the window where Mara sits, hoping to catch her attention.
You’re an idiot. You shouldn’t be doing this shit.
Just as I emerge on the sidewalk, something slams into me.
For fuck’s sake.
The irritation lasts all of a millisecond, though. I stumble back a step, ready to light into someone when I catch a glimpse of the petite woman in front of me. My lips immediately curl into a smile, and every ounce of frustration leaves my body instantly.
I would look up at the sky and thank the damn Gods, but I can’t take my eyes off her.
“Asher?” Her voice cuts through the chilly haze as I try to balance myself. She hit me harder than the first time, actually, with more force than I thought possible. Just another thing I admire about her.
Naturally, I quickly recover and start toward her. “You seem to love throwing yourself at me, Monroe.” I smile, always insistent on getting her fired up.
Inside, though, I’m a damn mess. What is this woman doing to me? I have to play it cool, but fuck if I don’t want to.
All I want to do is pick up where we left off in front of her building. My heart hammers in my ears, just at the sight of her.
She rolls her eyes, as expected.
It only fuels me more.
“Don’t flatter yourself. I run into people all the time.”
I tip my head to the side, fighting back a grin and failing. “I believe you, Mara.”
She stares at me, longer than usual. “In your head, are you calling me sweetheart every time you say my name?”
“Of course I am.” I smile wider.
“Ugh.” She starts to shoulder past me.
I catch her arm as she walks by. Not in a forceful way. I’d let go if she yanked it away, but she doesn’t.
You’re going to be mine. “Where are you headed?”
She glances down at my hand, then back up at me, but still doesn’t pull her arm away.
She’s coming with me. I can see it in her eyes. She doesn’t know it yet, but she is. Where are we going? I don’t know. Anywhere, it doesn’t matter, as long as I’m with her up until the moment I have to leave town.
“Was on my way home. I have work to do.” Her voice softens a little by the end of the second sentence.
The sudden darting away of her eyes tells me what her work will entail. Not that I’m surprised. It seems I’ve been on her mind just as much as she’s been on mine, even if our reasons are somewhat different.
I raise my eyebrows at her and shake my head slightly. “Nah, I think you’re coming with me.” A guy jogs past, meaning I have to take a step closer to Mara to keep from being run into again. Not that I mind when I press up against her tight body. I give a mental thank you to the jogger.
She does look frazzled, though. Overwhelmed. I wish I could take that anxiety out of her.
All the more reason to convince her to spend time with me now.
She smiles, just briefly, at my words, and I wish I could bottle it and keep it somewhere. Not too long ago, she would’ve told me to fuck off right to my face, now she’s debating with herself.
Good, Mara. Give in to it.
“I’m sorry, I can’t. I wouldn’t enjoy myself with this deadline looming.”
“Challenge accepted.” I grip her arm a little tighter.
“I didn’t challenge you.”
I nod. “Yes, you did.” I lean down, right next to her ear, and exhale my words along her neck. “And you know it. Let’s go.”
I know she’s fighting with herself, and I can tell it’s a losing battle.
I lean back up a little and release her arm, letting her know it’s now up to her. “Come on.” I hold out my hand.
She stands there, staring at it, mind going insane. I can see it, working on overdrive. She still doesn’t trust me, that much is apparent, but she’s starting to and it’s eating at her, bad.
After a long, few seconds, she places her hand in mine.
That’s right.
I lead her across the street, opposite the direction she was headed before we collided. The first step’s always hardest, but her hand squeezes mine a little tighter, and I know I have her.
My driver’s waiting at the curb. We get in, and I instruct him to head toward downtown. I turn to Mara. “Power and Light?”
“Sure—as long as this doesn’t turn into a pub crawl.”
I snort. “Do I look like someone who goes on pub crawls?”
“No.” She looks out the window. “You most certainly don’t.”
I catch her grinning as she says it.
“I’m not trying to get you drunk so I can take advantage of you. It’s not necessary, for me.”
“You had to slide a little self-praise in there, didn’t you?” She turns her eyes back to me.
“I never miss an opportunity to praise myself.”
She nods sarcastically. “Oh, I’m aware, Grayson.”
I laugh.
The ride isn’t a long one, and soon we pull to a stop in front of a giant clothing retailer. I help her out of the car and relish the feeling of her hand in mine. It fits perfectly, small enough for me wrap my fingers all the way around it. Why do I feel this incessant need to protect her from the world?
She’s not weak, at all. If there’s anyone in this world who can hold their own, it’s Mara Monroe, but still, I want to shield her from anything bad, any danger she might face.
Maybe it’s because I know under the surface, and those layers of armor, there’s a soft heart. I’d destroy anyone who tried to break it.
We start down the sidewalk.
It’s a beautiful day, hinting of spring, and the crowds in all directions are proof of how eager the city is to break free of winter.
I left my suit jacket in the car and now roll my sleeves up to my elbows. I catch her looking, and when I do, she quickly glances away.
Was she watching me?
“Shame it isn’t summer.” Her tone says she’s trying to change the subject, though neither of us has said anything. “I like coming down here when they have the music and art and stuff.”
“Wish I had more time for that. I’m rarely in town long enough to enjoy myself.”
“I thought you lived here.”
“I do—I mean, I consider KC home. But I’m always bouncing between here, Chicago and New York. Sometimes I have to go to L.A. or Philly, sometimes Houston.” I lift a shoulder. “Wherever I’m needed. Sometimes it feels like I live in my plane.”
“Must be rough.”
I smirk at her. “You really think so? Not many people would.”
She shakes her head as we keep walking. “I don’t pity you. Let’s make that clear right now.” There’s an impish little smile threatening to break loose no matter how she tries to suppress it. “But I do think it’s a shame you don’t get to stay in one place very much. My apartment isn’t big or fancy, but it’s always there for me at the end of a long day. It’s my refuge.”
“I’d like to see it sometime.”
She rolls her eyes. “You can’t stop yourself, can you?”
I keep a steady, dry expression, even if I do want to laugh. “I’ll assume that’s rhetorical at this point.”
She starts to respond when I brush the back of my hand against hers. It cuts off whatever she was about to say, and she turns her wrist so our palms meet. I lace my fingers through hers and damn, it feels good. She’s grinning the entire time, still looking straight ahead.
We stop in at some random spot for an appetizer, standing at the bar. I couldn’t care less what we’re eating or drinking. All that matters is I’m here, with her, getting every second possible before I have to leave.
“I didn’t get the chance to thank you one more time for dinner.” She opens wide and lifts a street taco to her lips.
I can’t help staring at her mouth and wondering what else she can fit in there. Fuck, I’ve got it bad for this woman. She’d slap me if she had the slightest idea what’s running through my brain.
“You’re welcome. I had a great time.”
“So did I.” She glances my way before reaching for her beer. “I hope everything turned out okay after you left. It seemed pretty urgent.”
What’s she trying to say?
I inch closer to her before lowering my voice, my mouth next to her ear. “Nothing short of an emergency could’ve kept me from kissing you.”
Damn it, I’m so close. I could kiss her cheek, her neck. I could taste that spot halfway between her ear and collar bone. The urge nearly overwhelms me, but I didn’t get where I am by giving in to every impulse. I have some semblance of self-control.
She looks up at me, bright emerald eyes searching my face. What’s she looking for? Some hint that I’m serious? If we weren’t in public, I’d prove how serious I am. Repeatedly.
She stares for a long moment, then shakes her head and looks away.
I decide not to push things, pay the check, and we head back outside. My stomach is balled in a knot, but it feels amazing. It’s like I have the energy of a child and everything in the world is bright and vivid.
“Do you have any family in the city?” Mara asks, holding my hand again.
“I only have my mom, and she lives in Arizona. It’s better for her health.”
She flinches.
I shake my head. “It’s nothing serious. The dry air is good for her lungs. God knows what she inhaled back when she worked. And her joints appreciate it, too. Bad knees from being on them all the time. She doesn’t do well in the cold.”
“I’m sorry she had to go through that.” Her thumb strokes mine and it almost seems involuntary on her part.
Still, if someone had told me it could be such a sensual gesture before today, I wouldn’t have believed them. Fuck, I feel alive right now.
“Me, too. She’ll never go through it again, though.” There’s a catch in my voice and it occurs to me I don’t mind Mara hearing it. She already knows more about me than nearly anyone else.
“I’m sure she doesn’t regret a minute of it. As long as it meant taking care of you.”
How does she know the perfect thing to say? I come to a stop, halting her in front of me. “Thank you.” I reach out and tuck a windblown curl behind her ear.
Her hair is soft, like silk, and I resist the impulse to run my hands through it. Barely.
“For what?”
“Understanding.”
“Who knows? Maybe if you shared more of yourself, you’d find out the world would understand.”
My chest tightens and my entire body buzzes. I have to kiss her. “You’re perfect, you know that?” I cup the back of her neck, leaning down toward her mouth, inching closer with every second that passes.
“He didn’t mind the attention. Let’s put it that way.” She winks, and we both laugh. “I decided to bide my time. Keep an eye on him. Watch how he operated. And I noticed something after several months.”
“Months?” My eyes widen a little.
“I’m a patient woman. As I was saying, I watched him. I noticed his tendency to wear mismatched socks.”
“I’ve never seen him do that.”
“There’s a good reason for that.” She winks. “It wasn’t only the socks, either. He had a habit of wearing wrinkled clothes, like he’d just pulled them from the laundry basket and put them on.”
I fight the urge to roll my eyes. “A big ladies’ man? In wrinkled clothes?”
“He was also very handsome. It helped his cause.”
I can believe that—he’s good-looking now, in that very unfair way men have of aging.
“And charming. With a great smile. Plus, he was single. Anyway, I decided he was a man who needed a lot of tending. I started tidying up his office during visits to drop off papers. I’d bring him breakfast and lunch and call it extra food, you know? The sandwich shop gave me the wrong order, that sort of excuse.”
“And it worked?”
“Until he put on enough weight that he needed his pants let out.” She laughs even harder. “By then, we were dating, and within six months we were engaged. You wouldn’t believe the looks I used to get, the whispers I’d hear. How did I manage to lock down Peter Miller?”
I still have a hard time imagining him as some office playboy, but nobody is born old and slightly paunchy, either.
While Cecile’s story is fascinating and good for a laugh, I doubt that sort of tactic would work on Asher. Bringing him food to make him fat and cleaning up after him is hardly in my wheelhouse. If anything, we’d butt heads even harder. I have a difficult enough time cleaning up after myself, and he’s a big boy, who I’m sure employs janitorial staff.
The conversation seems pointless now, except it’s nice to hear details of Cecile and Peter’s history. They really are the cutest little old couple in the world.
What am I even thinking, anyway? “This is silly.” I wave it off. “I don’t have time for a relationship.”
“You’re not silly. You’re young. You should be enjoying this time, having fun, dating, making mistakes.”
My eyes bug out.
“Obviously, your career is important. Work toward getting where you want to go. Just don’t miss out on things either. What’s the harm in having fun? Get out there. Meet men. Date. If a man has you humming all over the office, see what that’s all about. It’s not like he proposed. Just find a balance.”
She looks over my shoulder, and I can hear Peter’s voice ringing out by the front desk. “I couldn’t have imagined what I was getting myself into when I set my sights on that man, but here we are. I wouldn’t change a thing.”
He joins us moments later, shedding his jacket. I can’t help but stare a little harder at him after hearing Cecile’s story.
“What are you two gossiping about in here?” He kisses his wife on the cheek.
“Oh, you know. Dredging up the past. I was telling Mara here about how you used to wear mismatched socks all the time.” Cecile glances over.
I cover my mouth to keep from laughing.
“Hmm?” He looks down at his ankles and shrugs. “Guess you fixed that.”
Cecile shoots me another knowing glance and raises her eyebrows.
I fight a snicker. “Okay, well, I’ll let you two get to it.” Before they can respond, I walk out of the office.
Fun conversation, but not helpful. Have fun? What’s fun? I’m trying to keep the lights on in this place.
I wonder if the advice would’ve been different if she knew who I was talking about. Would I be an idiot or a traitor in her eyes? It’s hard to believe she’d see me as either, but I have to be realistic.
Something tells me explaining how Asher makes me feel wouldn’t win me any sympathy. No matter how true it is.
By the end of the day, I’m as confused as ever, always with one eye roaming across the street. This might not be so damned difficult if the man’s name wasn’t smacking me right in the face, fully visible in huge, thick font through the windows. I used to love my view of the street, all the energy, people bustling around. Now? Not so much.
I can finish my work at home. It’ll be easier that way. Fewer distractions. There’s no reason why I can’t get the article finished tonight and have it published before anybody gets bored and stops caring. How long can I keep things interesting, keep people reading? There’s only one way to find out.
Shouldn’t the idea excite me? It normally does. Knowing how many people might read things I’ve written. Finding the words, pulling them together, polishing them until they sing. It’s like magic, really, the only sort of magic that’s ever interested me.
The air is crisp and cool when I walk through the door, but there’s a warmth under it that means spring is finally on its way. I don’t look forward to the summer heat, but I like it a lot more than frigid wind.
I spot a few people in tee shirts already. Idiots.
Jesus.
I’m in a miserable mood if the sight of a tee shirt is enough to make me scowl. The thought’s enough to make me snicker at myself as I turn the corner with my head down.
Just as I glance up to see where I’m going…
Bam!
I run straight into a broad chest in a perfectly tailored suit, for a second time.
12
Asher
I’m officially a stalker.
At least, that’s how it feels as I walk around the corner of Mara’s building. The plan was to hurry past, hoping to catch a glimpse of her on the other side of the glass, when my phone rings with yet another call from Wells Covington. I’ve already learned how pointless it is to avoid his calls, after the shitstorm that cut my evening with Mara short.
Against my better judgment, I answer and keep walking past the Millers’ offices around the entire block.
“I’ll need you in Manhattan. And Chicago, at least for the foreseeable future. This deal is fragile as fuck, so you need to be available when I call. Their Board of Directors is a bunch of old assholes who miss the days when they could harass a secretary without fear of a Twitter storm.”
I grind my teeth, glancing back at Mara’s building.
Fuck.
“Stop giving me shit. I’ll answer the phone.”
My heart sinks a little, though. Normally I’d accept this from a potential partner without question, especially one as big as Wells Covington. Pierce and I have had Covington and his hedge fund in our crosshairs for a long time. Sure, we’re a big player, but Wells is on another level, and he’s a finance genius. Eccentric as fuck, but he knows business. Everyone on Wall Street follows his lead.
Why the hell am I upset?
I’m not unfamiliar with travel, even last-minute flights. I own a goddamn jet. This is a Pierce project, though. Or am I saying that because I don’t want to leave? I’ve almost made it back around the building and I need to get off the damn phone so I can ‘not’ stalk Mara appropriately.
“You better. Don’t fuck with my time and money.” He hangs up before I can say anything else.
Goddamn, one missed call with this asshole. He’s worse than me.
I pocket my phone, rounding the corner, and prepare to stroll past the window where Mara sits, hoping to catch her attention.
You’re an idiot. You shouldn’t be doing this shit.
Just as I emerge on the sidewalk, something slams into me.
For fuck’s sake.
The irritation lasts all of a millisecond, though. I stumble back a step, ready to light into someone when I catch a glimpse of the petite woman in front of me. My lips immediately curl into a smile, and every ounce of frustration leaves my body instantly.
I would look up at the sky and thank the damn Gods, but I can’t take my eyes off her.
“Asher?” Her voice cuts through the chilly haze as I try to balance myself. She hit me harder than the first time, actually, with more force than I thought possible. Just another thing I admire about her.
Naturally, I quickly recover and start toward her. “You seem to love throwing yourself at me, Monroe.” I smile, always insistent on getting her fired up.
Inside, though, I’m a damn mess. What is this woman doing to me? I have to play it cool, but fuck if I don’t want to.
All I want to do is pick up where we left off in front of her building. My heart hammers in my ears, just at the sight of her.
She rolls her eyes, as expected.
It only fuels me more.
“Don’t flatter yourself. I run into people all the time.”
I tip my head to the side, fighting back a grin and failing. “I believe you, Mara.”
She stares at me, longer than usual. “In your head, are you calling me sweetheart every time you say my name?”
“Of course I am.” I smile wider.
“Ugh.” She starts to shoulder past me.
I catch her arm as she walks by. Not in a forceful way. I’d let go if she yanked it away, but she doesn’t.
You’re going to be mine. “Where are you headed?”
She glances down at my hand, then back up at me, but still doesn’t pull her arm away.
She’s coming with me. I can see it in her eyes. She doesn’t know it yet, but she is. Where are we going? I don’t know. Anywhere, it doesn’t matter, as long as I’m with her up until the moment I have to leave town.
“Was on my way home. I have work to do.” Her voice softens a little by the end of the second sentence.
The sudden darting away of her eyes tells me what her work will entail. Not that I’m surprised. It seems I’ve been on her mind just as much as she’s been on mine, even if our reasons are somewhat different.
I raise my eyebrows at her and shake my head slightly. “Nah, I think you’re coming with me.” A guy jogs past, meaning I have to take a step closer to Mara to keep from being run into again. Not that I mind when I press up against her tight body. I give a mental thank you to the jogger.
She does look frazzled, though. Overwhelmed. I wish I could take that anxiety out of her.
All the more reason to convince her to spend time with me now.
She smiles, just briefly, at my words, and I wish I could bottle it and keep it somewhere. Not too long ago, she would’ve told me to fuck off right to my face, now she’s debating with herself.
Good, Mara. Give in to it.
“I’m sorry, I can’t. I wouldn’t enjoy myself with this deadline looming.”
“Challenge accepted.” I grip her arm a little tighter.
“I didn’t challenge you.”
I nod. “Yes, you did.” I lean down, right next to her ear, and exhale my words along her neck. “And you know it. Let’s go.”
I know she’s fighting with herself, and I can tell it’s a losing battle.
I lean back up a little and release her arm, letting her know it’s now up to her. “Come on.” I hold out my hand.
She stands there, staring at it, mind going insane. I can see it, working on overdrive. She still doesn’t trust me, that much is apparent, but she’s starting to and it’s eating at her, bad.
After a long, few seconds, she places her hand in mine.
That’s right.
I lead her across the street, opposite the direction she was headed before we collided. The first step’s always hardest, but her hand squeezes mine a little tighter, and I know I have her.
My driver’s waiting at the curb. We get in, and I instruct him to head toward downtown. I turn to Mara. “Power and Light?”
“Sure—as long as this doesn’t turn into a pub crawl.”
I snort. “Do I look like someone who goes on pub crawls?”
“No.” She looks out the window. “You most certainly don’t.”
I catch her grinning as she says it.
“I’m not trying to get you drunk so I can take advantage of you. It’s not necessary, for me.”
“You had to slide a little self-praise in there, didn’t you?” She turns her eyes back to me.
“I never miss an opportunity to praise myself.”
She nods sarcastically. “Oh, I’m aware, Grayson.”
I laugh.
The ride isn’t a long one, and soon we pull to a stop in front of a giant clothing retailer. I help her out of the car and relish the feeling of her hand in mine. It fits perfectly, small enough for me wrap my fingers all the way around it. Why do I feel this incessant need to protect her from the world?
She’s not weak, at all. If there’s anyone in this world who can hold their own, it’s Mara Monroe, but still, I want to shield her from anything bad, any danger she might face.
Maybe it’s because I know under the surface, and those layers of armor, there’s a soft heart. I’d destroy anyone who tried to break it.
We start down the sidewalk.
It’s a beautiful day, hinting of spring, and the crowds in all directions are proof of how eager the city is to break free of winter.
I left my suit jacket in the car and now roll my sleeves up to my elbows. I catch her looking, and when I do, she quickly glances away.
Was she watching me?
“Shame it isn’t summer.” Her tone says she’s trying to change the subject, though neither of us has said anything. “I like coming down here when they have the music and art and stuff.”
“Wish I had more time for that. I’m rarely in town long enough to enjoy myself.”
“I thought you lived here.”
“I do—I mean, I consider KC home. But I’m always bouncing between here, Chicago and New York. Sometimes I have to go to L.A. or Philly, sometimes Houston.” I lift a shoulder. “Wherever I’m needed. Sometimes it feels like I live in my plane.”
“Must be rough.”
I smirk at her. “You really think so? Not many people would.”
She shakes her head as we keep walking. “I don’t pity you. Let’s make that clear right now.” There’s an impish little smile threatening to break loose no matter how she tries to suppress it. “But I do think it’s a shame you don’t get to stay in one place very much. My apartment isn’t big or fancy, but it’s always there for me at the end of a long day. It’s my refuge.”
“I’d like to see it sometime.”
She rolls her eyes. “You can’t stop yourself, can you?”
I keep a steady, dry expression, even if I do want to laugh. “I’ll assume that’s rhetorical at this point.”
She starts to respond when I brush the back of my hand against hers. It cuts off whatever she was about to say, and she turns her wrist so our palms meet. I lace my fingers through hers and damn, it feels good. She’s grinning the entire time, still looking straight ahead.
We stop in at some random spot for an appetizer, standing at the bar. I couldn’t care less what we’re eating or drinking. All that matters is I’m here, with her, getting every second possible before I have to leave.
“I didn’t get the chance to thank you one more time for dinner.” She opens wide and lifts a street taco to her lips.
I can’t help staring at her mouth and wondering what else she can fit in there. Fuck, I’ve got it bad for this woman. She’d slap me if she had the slightest idea what’s running through my brain.
“You’re welcome. I had a great time.”
“So did I.” She glances my way before reaching for her beer. “I hope everything turned out okay after you left. It seemed pretty urgent.”
What’s she trying to say?
I inch closer to her before lowering my voice, my mouth next to her ear. “Nothing short of an emergency could’ve kept me from kissing you.”
Damn it, I’m so close. I could kiss her cheek, her neck. I could taste that spot halfway between her ear and collar bone. The urge nearly overwhelms me, but I didn’t get where I am by giving in to every impulse. I have some semblance of self-control.
She looks up at me, bright emerald eyes searching my face. What’s she looking for? Some hint that I’m serious? If we weren’t in public, I’d prove how serious I am. Repeatedly.
She stares for a long moment, then shakes her head and looks away.
I decide not to push things, pay the check, and we head back outside. My stomach is balled in a knot, but it feels amazing. It’s like I have the energy of a child and everything in the world is bright and vivid.
“Do you have any family in the city?” Mara asks, holding my hand again.
“I only have my mom, and she lives in Arizona. It’s better for her health.”
She flinches.
I shake my head. “It’s nothing serious. The dry air is good for her lungs. God knows what she inhaled back when she worked. And her joints appreciate it, too. Bad knees from being on them all the time. She doesn’t do well in the cold.”
“I’m sorry she had to go through that.” Her thumb strokes mine and it almost seems involuntary on her part.
Still, if someone had told me it could be such a sensual gesture before today, I wouldn’t have believed them. Fuck, I feel alive right now.
“Me, too. She’ll never go through it again, though.” There’s a catch in my voice and it occurs to me I don’t mind Mara hearing it. She already knows more about me than nearly anyone else.
“I’m sure she doesn’t regret a minute of it. As long as it meant taking care of you.”
How does she know the perfect thing to say? I come to a stop, halting her in front of me. “Thank you.” I reach out and tuck a windblown curl behind her ear.
Her hair is soft, like silk, and I resist the impulse to run my hands through it. Barely.
“For what?”
“Understanding.”
“Who knows? Maybe if you shared more of yourself, you’d find out the world would understand.”
My chest tightens and my entire body buzzes. I have to kiss her. “You’re perfect, you know that?” I cup the back of her neck, leaning down toward her mouth, inching closer with every second that passes.
