“Marcus Wesley moved into the apartment next to mine around that time. He was a consultant for Sotheby’s. We both hated where we were at in our professional lives and he had some connections in the art world. One day, we came up with the idea for opening the gallery.”
“What did your father think?”
“He was furious, said I threw away my job and my education to run an art gallery. It proved to him that I was the screw-up he always thought I was. We haven’t talked since then.”
“But you certainly proved him wrong. I don’t know a lot about your gallery but it looks to me like you do quite nicely for yourself.”
He wanted to kiss her again but restrained himself.
“We do extremely well at the gallery,” he admitted. “We’re lucky to have such an excellent clientele. But the best part about it is that I’m actually happy doing what I do. I love to find new talent and I love being my own boss. Marcus and I come and go as we please.”
“Mmm,” she agreed, sounding very tired. “That must be nice.”
“You’re tired,” he noted, feeling guilty. “Get some sleep now. I’m sorry for going on like I did.”
“I like to know about you. I like it that you know you can trust me.”
His arms tightened around her. Of course he could trust her. She was his Sophie.
“I do believe I’m falling for you,” he murmured before he could stop himself.
The moment he uttered the words, he held his breath, awaiting her reaction. When none came but the rhythmic sound of her breathing, he panicked, fearing he had said too much to her too soon.
“Sophie?” He looked down at her. “Sweetheart?” She didn’t stir.
She had fallen asleep on him. In bed, no less. His ego would never recover. He smiled and kissed the top of her head.
Sophie awoke to the curious sensation of being held in a man’s arms. Her sleep-fogged mind could not produce the precise amount of time that had passed since she had last been curled up against a warm, hard male body, but she knew it had been forever. Feeling the muscled arms wrapped around her filled her with reassurance, making her feel well cared for and protected. It was precisely what she needed.
As her senses sharpened, she became aware of just how intimately she and Trevor were locked together. One of his arms was wrapped around her waist. The other had somehow found its way to her right breast. Her face was nestled in the crook of his neck, the scent of his skin tingling in her nose, sending heat through her body. Their bare legs were tangled together and if the bunch of fabric beneath her hip was any indication, her nightgown had hiked up around her waist during the course of the night. They were indecently close, entwined like two lovers and Sophie knew she should withdraw from her position.
There was only one impediment to doing so.
She didn’t want to. Maybe it was that she was half asleep. Maybe she was beginning to move on with her life. Maybe she was just plain crazy. Whatever the reason, Sophie couldn’t seem to bring herself to leave the protective circle of Trevor’s embrace. In fact, she snuggled deeper into it, even venturing to slide one of her hands down the bare expanse of his back. She loved the feeling of his muscles beneath her fingertips, could feel the sleeping power and strength of his body.
The artist in her wanted to capture him on canvas. He was incredibly beautiful, unusually so for a man. His face had a combination of good looks, charm, and sex appeal, his body superbly honed to perfection. She had done her best not to gawk at him last night in nothing but his boxer briefs, but he was a sight to behold. He should have been an underwear model. With his black hair, bronzed skin, toned body and blatant sensuality, he could easily grace billboards and magazine ads.
Sophie almost groaned aloud. Slow down, she warned herself sternly. She was still recovering from losing her husband and daughter. She wanted to be fair to herself as much as to Trevor. Besides, she still wasn’t certain it was right for her to be lusting after a man like this. But it went far beyond mere lust and there was the crux of the matter.
Maybe she couldn’t do this after all. She was developing feelings for Trevor and even though she’d convinced herself she was ready to move on, the old fear was back. How could she even think of being with another man, of laughing, kissing, making love with him, when Peter had only been gone for two years? Sophie hated herself for it and yet she was utterly powerless to stop it. Trevor had become vital to her. He was so different from Peter. Being with Trevor was thrilling, intoxicating yet terrifying.
She pulled away from Trevor at last, waking him up in the process.
His eyes blinked open, the arm he had possessively slung around her waist tightening in refusal to let her retreat.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he demanded with a sexy smile, his voice husky with sleep.
Oh God. Now that he was awake, those eyes of his focused on her, she was finding it difficult to retain the guilt she had been experiencing. She swallowed.
“I don’t think this is a good idea.”
There was no trace of slumber in his gaze as it intently plundered hers. “Don’t do this, Soph.”
“Do what?” She feigned ignorance, afraid of the impending discussion, the way he made her feel.
One of his hands was still cupping the weight of her breast through her thin nightgown. Her nipple hardened, heat sliding into her belly. Her body was a traitor.
“Run away from me,” Trevor answered, his eyes growing smoky with desire. “I can see it in your eyes. You’re panicking.”
“Trevor.” Her voice sounded desperate. She clutched his wrist, intending to pull his hand away from her breast, but found herself running her palm over his arm instead.
“You don’t have to feel guilty because you want me,” Trevor said softly. “It’s been two years.”
“Only two years,” she bit out, trying to stem the flow of desire coursing through her. “I don’t know what I was thinking when I asked you to spend the night with me. It was a mistake.”
But even as she said the words, she continued to caress his warm skin, pressing his hand closer to her breast. She didn’t know what to do. Part of Sophie wanted to push him away from her and part of her wanted to pull him even closer.
“We aren’t a mistake and you know it. This, you and me, is so incredibly right.”
She knew he spoke the truth. She felt it too, the magic between them. Sophie pressed her face against his chest with a muffled sob. Both of his arms slid around her then, hugging her to him. His lips grazed her temple.
“I want you to be wrong,” she whispered, looking up at him.
Before Trevor could respond, the phone beside the bed rang. Sophie jumped, turning to stare blankly at it, wondering why she had ever chosen to install a telephone in the guest room.
“Maybe you should answer that,” Trevor said when she hesitated.
She nodded, relinquishing his embrace to pick up the cordless and murmur a hello.
“Soph, it’s Claire.”
Sophie’s gaze flew to the alarm clock in surprise. Eight a.m. Her sister never called this early.
“Is something wrong?” Her heart kicked into overdrive.
“No,” Claire assured her, her voice sounding thick. “God, I don’t know where to start. Are you still in bed?”
As Sophie confirmed she was, Trevor whispered to her he would be right back. Sophie watched him go, admiring his broad back. She supposed he had wanted to give her some privacy.
“Did I just hear someone talking?” Claire demanded.
“No,” Sophie denied. “Not at all. I’m alone. Why would you think someone would be here?”
“Sophie, I’m your sister. I can tell when you’re lying. You always get nervous and blurt out whatever comes to mind.” Claire paused, then Sophie could hear a sharp intake of breath. “My God. It’s Trevor, isn’t it?”
“It isn’t…” Sophie trailed off, not wanting to lie to her sister. “Yes, but it’s not what you think.”
“I�
��ve heard that phrase one too many times in the past two days,” Claire said sadly. “But really, sweetheart. You don’t have to be embarrassed. Trevor’s a wonderful man and if he makes you happy again, then I’m thrilled for you.”
“Thanks.” Sophie frowned. “But what’s wrong?”
Claire was silent for a moment. “Nothing, Soph. I just called to tell you that I’ll be leaving for New York City this afternoon. I won’t be back until late tomorrow night. Just call my cell if you need me for anything.”
Claire could’ve simply texted Sophie as much. But she had called instead. Sophie was still certain something was wrong, but if Claire didn’t want to speak about it, then she wouldn’t press the issue. For now.
“Are you and Garrett going together?” Sophie asked, curious about her sister’s sudden travel plans.
“No,” Claire answered. “It’s a work thing. I’m going with my boss.”
Sophie raised a brow, even though Claire couldn’t see it. Claire hated her boss, the notoriously arrogant man who ran his ad agency like a dictatorship. She couldn’t believe her sister would voluntarily travel anywhere with the man.
“Logan?” she asked. “Are you serious?”
“Totally. I know this is sudden and strange, but things have been a little hectic for me.” Claire paused and Sophie heard a door slamming closed in the background. “Hold on a sec.”
Although Claire had apparently clamped her hand over the mouthpiece of her telephone, Sophie still heard first the rumble of a man’s voice, then Claire shouting.
“Sorry, Soph,” Claire said, sounding shaken as she came back on the line, “but I’ve got to go. Talk to you when I get back from New York.”
“Wait!” She protested, but it was too late. Her sister had already hung up the phone.
Obviously, Claire and Garrett were having some sort of argument. Claire had said they’d been doing a lot of that lately. Sophie toyed with the notion of calling her sister back before deciding to let them work things out without interruption. Maybe they’d hit the proverbial rough patch in their marriage. They would work through it.
Not feeling entirely reassured, Sophie got out of bed and went in search of Trevor.
What the hell was the matter with him?
Trevor mumbled a curse to himself as he dumped a hearty amount of flour into the metal bowl he had pilfered from Sophie’s kitchen cabinets. He had just spent the night with Sophie, something he knew damn well he shouldn’t have done, but had done anyway. True, he had only spent the night with her in the literal sense rather than indulging in the fantasies that had been plaguing him ceaselessly. Somehow, however, that only made things worse.
Trevor didn’t cuddle with women. He didn’t hold a woman through the night and do nothing more than fall asleep with her. But he had last night. And now, Jesus Christ, he was making pancakes like it was some sort of romantic weekend getaway for the two of them. No, Trevor didn’t precisely know how to make the things, but he didn’t imagine it could be that difficult. Some flour, some sugar, and some eggs. Simple.
Except for one small thing. His concoction was a gloppy, gooey mess that more resembled wood putty than anything edible. Making pancakes, like his life, was simple and yet hopelessly complicated.
Frowning, he pulled a carton of milk from the refrigerator and poured a healthy dose into his pitiful batter. Surprising Sophie with breakfast, he mused as he took up his spoon and resumed stirring, had been a huge mistake. Ordinarily, he considered himself quite a skilled chef. When it came to dinner, that was. Years of living on his own with nothing but a few cookbooks had remedied his appalling lack of culinary talent. Breakfast, on the other hand, wasn’t exactly his forte, since he never had the time to indulge in it. He was lucky if he had enough time to grab a latte when he rolled out of bed in the morning before heading to the gallery. Weekends, of course, were another matter entirely. No breakfast then, either, but for different reasons.
Trevor stirred his batter intently but he was fast realizing it was a fruitless endeavor. It was still as globby as ever. Frustrated, he gave it such a vigorous turn of the spoon that the whole damn bowl tilted, spilling most of its questionable contents onto the floor.
Splat.
“Shit.” Trevor eyed the mess he had made. Sticky globs of batter hung from the countertop, clung tenaciously to a knob on a cabinet, and pooled on the floor.
He turned as he heard feminine laughter. Sophie glided into the kitchen in her white schoolmarm’s nightgown, looking delightfully rumpled. Very Little House on the Prairie. Her brilliant blue eyes sparkled with mirth as her gaze met his and her soft, lush mouth turned up in a radiant smile.
“I leave you alone for a few minutes and look what happens,” she teased, hands on hips.
God, it was insane that her high-necked, plain white cotton nightgown could look so sexy on her, but it did. Then again, it was probably just pure Sophie that oozed the sex appeal. Even if she wore a plaid shirt and buckskins, he’d be hard as a rock just looking at her.
Which was precisely what he was doing and what was happening to him right now. Looking his fill and paying the price. Her brown hair was wavy and sleep-mussed, her face devoid of makeup. It only served to enhance her natural beauty. She awed him. As ridiculous as it was, it seemed as though she grew more beautiful to him with each passing moment.
He realized then that she was looking at him expectantly. Christ, was it his turn to talk? Trevor was so damn distracted he hadn’t been paying attention.
“Pancakes aren’t quite as effortless as they seem,” he offered wryly.
She laughed, the sound light and tinkling. Pleasant to the ears. He wanted to hear it again and again, to give her a reason to be happy and carefree once more.
“Are you the same man who cooked me that wonderful dinner last night?” she asked cheekily.
Trevor raked a hand through his hair, feeling laughter bubble up within him as well. “What can I say? I’m not a breakfast person. During the week, I barely have time to run for a coffee in the morning and on weekends, I tend to sleep in.”
He tactfully refrained from revealing to her the reason for his sleeping in was sometimes caused by the aftereffects of a very ambitious bedmate the previous night. When he finally woke up, he always avoided making breakfast. He found it made things too intimate, too indicative of a future together when there likely wasn’t one.
Regret filtered through him as he thought of all the meaningless relationships he’d had with women over the years. He had not realized just how hollow he’d been inside until Sophie had come into his life. She made him want things with her that scared the hell out of him.
“What is it?” Sophie padded closer to him until the luscious scent of her filled his nostrils.
“How do you do it?” he asked instead of answering her question.
A frown line creased her forehead as she looked at him in confusion. “Do what?”
“Smell like vanilla all the time.” It was a delicious aroma really, one that haunted him in his sleep and teased his senses whenever Sophie was near.
Sophie flushed. “It’s my perfume. Don’t you like it?”
“I love it.”
“Oh.” Sophie’s eyes were wide as she gazed at him. “Well. I guess we should clean up your mess.”
He had made her nervous. Again. Trevor didn’t know whether to laugh or cry in sheer frustration. Hadn’t her damn saint-of-a-husband ever complimented her? Or was it just Trevor who caused her to close up like a clamshell every time things got too personal?
Sophie had already retrieved some wet paper towels and had bent down to clean the glob of batter from the floor. She had pulled away from him yet again. He could feel it. After last night, he had hoped she would begin overcoming the need to isolate herself in her own grief. But it seemed now that he had been wrong.
Annoyed and disappointed, Trevor turned back to his bowl of would-be pancake batter. Suddenly, an idea struck him. He scooped up a spoonful of the goop, turn
ed his spoon into a makeshift catapult and took aim.
Sophie was nearly finished wiping the traces of sticky batter from her hardwood floor when something cold, wet and gooey landed directly on the skin exposed above the collar of her nightgown. Puzzled, she halted in her ministrations and looked up to find Trevor grinning devilishly at her, messy spoon in hand.
“You threw pancake batter at me.” She was completely amazed for a few moments. Until the urge to wipe the smug grin from his face kicked in, of course.
Without hesitation, she hoisted a fistful of sodden, gooey paper towels and launched them at his beautiful bare chest. He was so taken aback by her unexpected retaliation that his delayed reaction proved too slow to deflect her missile. It landed with a satisfying thwack on the sculpted planes of his chest before sliding down and landing on the floor.
“Take that,” she told him, pleased with herself.
Trevor casually leaned a hip against the countertop, appearing unruffled. “You know, Sophie, there’s a good saying I’ve heard somewhere. If you taunt the bull, you get the horns. I think you forgot who has all the ammunition.”
A helpless giggle caught in her throat as she straightened from her crouched position on the floor. “You wouldn’t dare.”
Trevor’s eyes sparkled at her with mischief. “Oh, but I would.”
That said, he scooped up some more batter and flung it in her direction. This time, however, she was prepared. She skittered to the side and out of its path. The batter hit the wall behind her. Both she and Trevor laughed helplessly.
“This means war,” she managed in between giggles, charging at him. She was determined to wrest the bowl from him and dump it over his head.
But Trevor had something else in mind. He easily caught her in his arms, pulling her tightly against his chest until she could feel every rigid plane of his body pressed to hers. All laughter stopped abruptly. His arousal jutted rock hard against her belly. An instant rush of heat went straight through her.
She wanted him so badly she ached with it. His gaze slammed into hers, alive with dark fire. He wanted her every bit as much as she wanted him. Before thoughts, common sense, or conscience could intervene, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his lips down to hers.
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