by J. Saman
“You really should back off that one,” I tell him, staring at his perfect profile. Luke is unbelievably hot. Like rock star, movie god hot. Luke looks like that dude from Guardians of the Galaxy, but with darker eyes. But man does he annoy the hell out of me in a big brother sort of way.
“Nah. She loves me.”
“Whatever. I won’t warn her.” I look up at him with a smile. “But only because I like you. Remember that.”
“I’ll do that.” Luke says as he tucks his phone in his back pocket, slaps Ryan on the back and bends down to kiss my cheek. “See you assholes on the flip side. Say hi to Kyle for me.”
Now that I’m thinking on this, maybe I like Kyle so much because he looks like a younger Matthew Mcconaughey only with hazel eyes.
“Hey,” I say to Ryan. “Did you know that your brother looks a little like Matthew Mcconaughey?”
Ryan just stares at me and while he’s doing that, I’m trying to figure out who he looks like but I’m coming up empty. Beard, black messy hair and green eyes . . . Yeah, I’m at a loss here.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Ryan asks and I just shrug because I’m trying really hard not to obsess on the fact that Kyle is living in Seattle, and not only did he not tell me about this life-changing move, but I suddenly realize that he looks like the movie star I am most in love with.
That thought makes me scowl.
“Don’t look at me like that. I have nothing to say.”
“Why didn’t he tell me about it?”
Ryan leans back in his chair, intertwining his fingers and propping them behind his head. “Are you jealous, Claire?” The bastard gives me a knowing smile. “Feeling a little left out of Kyle’s life?”
“Fuck off. You know it’s not like that with me. But Kyle and I were supposed to be all buddy-buddy and shit. You tell your friends when you’re moving to their town. It’s freaking common courtesy.” And now I just sound petulant, so I sit back, folding my arms across my chest and shut my mouth for the first time in my life.
Ryan shrugs at me like it’s all out of his control.
I leave his house shortly after, half tempted to text Kate for Kyle’s address. Half tempted to show up at his place and find out what the hell happened that made him give up everything he had in New York and move out here.
Half tempted to . . . answer my phone that’s vibrating in my back pocket.
Ha. His ears must have been burning.
“Baby cakes,” I answer with a smile. “I hear you’re becoming one of the grunge, hipster encrusted populous of the greater Seattle area.”
“Are you pissed that I didn’t call you sooner?” he asks, and I pause in the middle of the sidewalk.
Am I pissed he didn’t call me sooner? Yeah, I definitely am. But that’s a weird reaction, right? Or is it? I seriously have no concept of what’s considered standard friendship practice with this guy anymore.
“You didn’t owe me a call,” I say instead.
“I know that, cupcake, but still. I should have called. It all happened so fast.”
“What happened? Ryan’s all cloak and dagger about it. Very hush, hush.”
“Where are you?”
“I just left Master Yoda’s.”
“Then come over and I’ll explain everything.”
I don’t know if that is a wise decision. I feel like I should say no and wait to see him on Monday at work. But it’s Kyle. My friend. And I’ve missed him. It really is that simple.
“Address me, baby. I’ll be there soon.”
We hang up and immediately my phone pings with an address that is perhaps three blocks from my apartment building. And clearly this wasn’t a consideration for Kate and Ryan because they just don’t think like that. This probably means he’s going to frequent my coffee shop. And my grocery store.
My daily life.
I hop in my car and drive the ten minutes over, but I park in my spot at my building and walk over to Kyle’s, because it’s nice outside today and I want to see just how far it actually is.
I love Saturdays in the summer. Seattle may be wet and miserable for most of the year, but the summer is gorgeous. Today is no exception. It’s warm—for Seattle—maybe seventy-five and sunny. No clouds, I notice now that I’m looking up.
Kyle’s place is a high-rise similar to mine, but his building is much nicer and newer. Not surprising since he makes bank. I’m not exactly slumming it, but I don’t make chief counsel money. I enter the swanky lobby and am greeted by a doorman in a uniform with an adorable hat like a train conductor, but instead of blue-and-white stripes, it’s all black to match his uniform.
“I’m here to see Kyle Grant, please,” I say with confidence.
Kyle didn’t give me his apartment number in the text. Just the building address.
“Is he expecting you?” the man in his early forties asks.
“Yes, he is. I’m his Girl Friday,” I tease with a wink, making him laugh.
He picks up the phone, dials who I assume to be Kyle, and a moment later he says, “I’ll take you up. He’s in the penthouse.”
Of course he is, which is probably why the obnoxious asshole didn’t give me an apartment number.
“Super. Thanks.”
The guy gives me a once-over as we step into the elevator, but I ignore it as he presses a key fob to the touchpad, punches in a code and away we go.
“What’s your name?” I ask, trying to arc my head to get a glimpse of his nametag.
“Jeremy, ma’am.”
“I’m Claire, Jeremy. And I’m way too young to be a ma’am.”
“Yes, I imagine you are.” He smiles and then a moment later the elevator opens right into Kyle’s apartment. I say my goodbyes to Jeremy, and by the time I make it past the small foyer, Kyle is there to greet me.
His apartment is huge, beautiful and modern with floor-to-ceiling windows and panoramic views of everything the city and beyond have to offer. But I seriously cannot take my eyes off Kyle, and it’s not because he’s gorgeous, which he is. It’s because he looks like he hasn’t slept since the last time I saw him two months ago.
“You okay?” I ask concerned, walking straight for him and throwing my arms around his neck.
Kyle hugs me back just as tightly, both of us breathing the other in. There really is no way to explain the way I feel when I’m surrounded in Kyle. In his arms, his scent, his warmth.
“I look that bad, huh?” He grins sheepishly, pulling back from me and running a hand self-consciously through his dirty blond hair. Kyle doesn’t do self-conscious or sheepish, so this sets me even more on edge.
“You look like shit.”
“Thanks,” he says with an amused grin.
He’s wearing a plain white t-shirt and worn jeans that hang low on his hips. And bare feet. Damn, he looks hot. And sexy. Rumpled Kyle might just be better than coiffed Kyle. But the deep purple shadows under his eyes are unmistakable.
“Sorry, pumpkin, I’m not going to sugarcoat it. What’s going on?”
Kyle takes my hand, leading me into his barely furnished apartment. All that’s here is a couch that is far too small for the room. No table. No chairs. Not even so much as a freaking window treatment, which means the bright sunshine is burning a hole in my retinas.
It’s a vast, open space with ultra-high ceilings, dark gleaming hardwoods and white walls. It needs a lot to make it into a home.
But there is not one single box to be seen. It’s like he moved here and left everything behind.
“How long have you been here?” I ask, my eyes scanning desperately for a wayward box.
“A few days.” He laughs when he sees my frown. We sink into a buttery leather sofa in front of a gas fireplace. “I’m renting furniture that should be here later this afternoon. I left everything in New York.”
“Why?”
He puts his arm around my shoulder, pulling me into his side and letting out a long, exhausted sigh. I don’t say anything about the intimacy o
f our position. He’s got a lot going on and I don’t want my hang-ups to impede him telling me.
“I’m going back for a few nights later next week to get some other stuff and settle everything there. I’m selling my condo mostly furnished, because I didn’t want to deal with the hassle of moving everything, and the buyer wanted it that way.”
He falls silent, pulling me closer into his strong, warm chest and dropping his nose into my hair. My body erupts into a shudder I’ve never experienced with anyone before.
And I don’t like it. I don’t. I swear.
He smells good. Like soap and freshly laundered clothes and something distinctly male that makes me just want to breathe in deeper.
“We have a lot to talk about,” I say before I can stop myself, my eyes clenching shut with regret.
I hate how comfortable this is. I hate how easy I fall into this man. How seamless everything is with us. The alarm inside my head is screaming Danger at me.
I’d be a smart girl if I listened to it.
“We do. I have a lot to tell you. But can it wait a little? I’m sort of enjoying this.”
Damn, that’s sweet. Like really freaking sweet. And he even kisses the top of my head. If I had a heart left, it would melt. If I was looking for a boyfriend or to fall in love, I think I’d be sold.
“Come with me,” I tell him as I pull away and stand in front of him. His eyes glide up my denim-clad thighs, up to my purple blouse and finally to my face.
“Where are we going?” he asks confused.
“Bedroom.”
“Oh yeah?” he teases, an impish grin bouncing up the corner of his lips.
“Get your head out of the gutter, dirty boy.”
He frowns a little, which is just adorable, but stands all the same. Taking my hand, he leads me through the great room, past the open-concept kitchen and down a long hall to the back of the apartment. His bedroom is big and open, but only has a king-size mattress on the floor.
“What time is your furniture coming?”
“Four.”
Perfect. It’s only a little after noon now.
“Now what?”
“Now, we take a nap.” He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind, but I don’t care. He needs sleep and something is keeping him from getting it. I remove my shoes, pull my hair out of my messy bun and hop onto his bed with a big bounce.
“You’re serious?”
“I am.”
“All right.” He shrugs before removing his jeans and shirt, leaving him only in his boxer briefs.
Wow, that’s a sight that could never get old. Too bad I’m not doing anything about it.
“Stop looking at me like that, Claire. You’re on my bed. And you just called me dirty, which oddly enough, is doing funny things to me.”
I can only smile at that.
“You’re hot as sin.” I shrug a shoulder, scooting farther back on the bed so I’m nearly at the far wall. “I can’t help it. But no hanky-panky here, stud. You need sleep and I’m going to make sure you get some.”
Pulling the blankets back, Kyle finally joins me, his back pressed to my front. I run my fingers through the soft, dark-blond strands of his hair, enjoying the feel of his warm, hard body against mine. I missed him way too much.
He lets out a contented purr and within two minutes, his breathing becomes deep and even.
And all I can do is watch him.
Chapter 11
Kyle
I wake alone in my bed an untold amount of time later. It’s still light out, but it’s also the end of June so that’s not uncommon, unless I slept for eight hours. Rolling over in my bed, which is really just a stupid mattress on the floor, I check my phone. It’s a little after three in the afternoon.
I slept for three hours.
And you know what? I needed it. I feel much better than I have in weeks.
I was fine after the shooting. Pissed off, but fine.
It wasn’t until the next day when Franco stopped by my office with a feigned mournful expression on his goon face that everything went to shit. The bastard had the nerve to show up, unannounced, parading into my office like he owned the place and park his ass on my sofa.
And then he had the audacity to explain to me that I now belonged to him.
I didn’t and I don’t.
So, I clearly explained that I belonged to no one and didn’t appreciate being shot at while he had his brother murdered right in front of me.
That didn’t go over so well, believe it or not.
I proceeded to explain the extent of attorney-client privilege to him, but made it clear that I never wanted to see him again.
Stupid? You bet.
You don’t blatantly fuck with the mafia, but I wasn’t about to become their bitch either. And I certainly hadn’t cheated leukemia twice and suffered another scare recently just to die at their hands.
Franco shook my hand like a man and left my office with his arrogant head held high.
It wasn’t until the next day that everything really changed for me. And in comparison to being shot at and overtly threatened, it was something very minor. I was leaving my apartment at five in the morning, the way I do every day, to head to the gym when I saw it.
Or should I say him.
Franco’s nephew.
I only met him once, but I never forget a face. He was standing across the street, leaning against the stone wall that separates the sidewalk from Central Park.
Waving at me.
That’s it. All he was doing was waving, but it was a threat I didn’t miss. He was saying they knew where I lived. He was saying that they knew my routine. He was saying that they had me if they wanted me.
And I was done.
But in reality, it was the culmination of things. Letting Ravelo off. The leukemia scare and being told that stress really fucks up my body, more so than normal people. Ryan and Kate being pregnant with twins—my nieces or nephews that I want to know me. Being shot at. Ryan calling to tell me that his chief counsel was retiring. Then that threat.
So, I called Ryan back, told him I was in for the chief counsel job, gave my notice and left.
That was two weeks ago.
And maybe I’ve seen The Godfather and Goodfellas too many times, but I’ve been waiting for them to come after me. They haven’t yet, and probably won’t, but you never know. Which is why I’m having trouble sleeping. Which is why I picked the penthouse in a secure ass building. Which is why I have Ryan monitoring the entire Rovelo family to make sure that no one is hopping a flight out to Seattle. He offered to do more than just monitor. But I can’t exactly ask my brother to break the law, now can I?
Even if it was a tempting offer.
Maybe this makes me a pussy, but I like to think it makes me cautious.
Then Claire shows up and has me sleeping like a goddamn baby within a few minutes of simply stroking my hair. What is it about that woman?
I get out of bed, use the bathroom and get myself dressed into a pair of sweatpants and a tee. The second I open the door to my bedroom, I freeze on the threshold.
Claire.
She’s banging around what must be my kitchen as the overwhelming scent of something spicy hits my nose, but that’s not what’s giving me pause. It’s not the fact that she’s still here or that she’s cooking either.
She’s singing.
And her voice is so achingly beautiful that I have chills running up my entire body.
It’s full and rich with the slightest rasp to it. I’m no music major. In fact, I couldn’t carry a tune to save my life, but Jesus, she’s incredible. I know she sings with a band, but fuck, I had no idea she was this talented.
I pad softly toward the kitchen, because I don’t want to interrupt her with my presence. Reaching the edge of the kitchen, I lean against the cabinet that houses the Subzero refrigerator and watch her with barely contained awe.
Her back is to me, allowing me to openly feast on what is quite possibly my fantasy come to
life.
Claire’s long red hair is wet like she just took a shower and piled on top her of head, with a few loose strands skimming her back. The only clothing she’s wearing is my old Columbia Law t-shirt that is about five sizes too big and skims her creamy thighs.
I have no idea if she’s wearing panties or a bra under there, but I don’t care either way.
She’s standing in front of the stove, stirring something that might be chili, sipping from a glass of wine, swaying her hips and singing along to music that must be coming from the Echo I have in the corner. She’s singing along to Frank Sinatra’s, Fly Me to the Moon and I swear, this is how the song should always have been done.
Just the sight of her has my heart racing, my palms sweating, and a big broad smile stretching on my lips. I couldn’t stop myself from reacting to her this way if I wanted to. And I don’t want to. Holy shit, I might just be crazy for this girl.
Claire bailed on me after New York. Sure, we still talked on occasion, but it was never the same. She was never the same. In fact, I think she avoided me.
But God, do I want this woman in a way I’ve never wanted anyone before.
The song winds down and I take this as my signal to make my presence known before I scare the shit out of her.
“What smells so good?” I ask, walking up to her and placing my hands on the stone counter so I don’t touch her. “And where the hell did you get all this stuff?” I ask, eyeing the pot and the spoon she’s using to stir, the knives on the cutting board and the wine glass she’s sipping from.
She rolls her head in my direction, a smile playing on her full pink lips. “Chili. Smells good, doesn’t it? And clearly, I went to the store.”
“It smells incredible.” And because I can’t resist, I add, “I can’t believe I have a hot woman cooking me dinner in my kitchen, wearing nothing but my shirt. And she shopped for me too.” I wink so she thinks I’m kidding.
She laughs with a sheepish shrug. “Yeah. I started the chili and when I opened one of the cans of tomatoes, the thing exploded all over me. I still don’t understand how I did that. Anyway, I had to shower. I hope you don’t mind that I borrowed your shirt,” her eyes go wide, “oh, and your razor. I’d probably change that one, big guy, because my legs were a bit on the shaggy side.”