by A. J. Pine
Brynn nodded.
“I am not falling faster or harder,” she said. “I’m not falling, period. You know me, B. I’m defective that way, remember? You always think the next guy I date is going to be the guy, and he never is. You even had your fingers crossed for Charlie! Smarmy Charlie!”
Brynn shrugged. “I want you to be happy,” she said.
Holly looked past her sister and into the apartment. “I’m fine. It’s just fifth-wheel syndrome.”
“Fine isn’t happy.”
She kissed her big sister on the cheek and stood up.
“In five months Andrea is going to make me partner, and I will have everything I’ve ever wanted before I’m twenty-eight,” she told her. “I’m happy. And tired. I’m gonna head out.”
Brynn opened her mouth to say something, but Holly cut her off with an exaggerated grin.
“See?” she said, slipping through the sliding glass door. “Happy.”
“You don’t need to leave,” Brynn said, following her into the apartment.
“Don’t go,” Annie added, but Holly already had her shoes on and her purse slung across her body.
“Everyone enjoy the day off tomorrow,” she said, blowing a kiss with her plastered-on smile. “As always, thanks for the brew, James.”
He offered her a salute, and Holly silently thanked him for not joining the chorus that asked her to stay. Maybe this was what her horoscope had meant. The sky was against her. Her sister was against her. And even Annie tried to make her stay and keep her from doing what she wanted, which was to go home, take a hot bath, and eat a pint or two of ice cream with a rom-com cued up on the DVR.
She stepped out onto the street and gave herself a mental pat on the back for holding firm to her beliefs, even if said beliefs were to try to get friendly with her showerhead again followed by eating her feelings. Scratch that. These were not feelings. It was just the euphoria of the honeymoon phase coupled with the longing that absence created. Nothing self-pleasure and ice cream couldn’t cure.
At home, Holly peeled off her clothes as she made her way to her bedroom, her skin sticky with the humidity. Once the air-conditioning hit her, though, goose bumps dotted her flesh, and she craved the cleansing heat of the bath. She threw on her robe and started the water running, poured in a generous helping of her eucalyptus-spearmint bubble bath, then took a detour to the kitchen for a couple spoonfuls of pure, ice-cold chocolate.
There was a soft knock at her door as she cleaned off the spoon for a second time, and Holly rolled her eyes.
“I told you to keep your key,” she called, throwing the door open to assure Brynn once again that she was, in fact, fine.
“I didn’t know we were exchanging keys already.”
Will stared at her through tired-looking eyes. But they were beautiful and blue and here at her front door instead of an ocean and a bunch of time zones away. His weekend bag sat at his feet, and Holly realized he must have come straight from the airport.
“You’re here,” she said, trying to contain her complete and utter elation.
“And you’re holding a spoon,” he said. “If we’re stating the obvious.”
She let out a nervous laugh.
“Ice cream.” Then she noticed what was different from when she’d seen him Friday. “You shaved. I’m still getting used to you looking like a new person at the beginning of every week.”
Will scrubbed a hand across his jaw and grinned.
“And the robe?” he asked.
“Oh, shit!” Holly ran, leaving him standing in the opened door, and made it to the bathroom just in time to turn off the tub before the bubbles overflowed onto the tile. She gave herself a once-over in the mirror and groaned. Her face was flushed. And her hair, up in a messy bun now, showed off the tendrils still damp with sweat from her walk home. Still, she couldn’t stop smiling because Will at her door was so much better than what she originally had planned.
Crap. Will was still standing at the door. She scurried back through the kitchen toward her entryway, noticed the spoon still gripped tightly in her hand, and backtracked to the sink to throw it in. When she finally stood in front of him again, she found it difficult to calm her nerves, hands fidgeting with the belt on her robe.
“Is everything all right?” he asked, and she nodded. “May I come in?” he added.
“Ohmygodyes,” she said, all in one word. “Shit! Yes. Come in.”
She backed up as he grabbed his bag and stepped through the door, closing it behind him.
“Do you always shout so much profanity when you’re about to have a bath?”
He smiled, and her shoulders relaxed.
“You caught me off guard,” she admitted.
Will ran a hand through his hair, which was charmingly disheveled, and Holly imagined him sleeping on the plane.
“I apologize. I should have called, but it’s the holiday, and I wasn’t even sure I could change my flight, but I forgot that England doesn’t exactly shut down for July the Fourth, and Tara has Sophie in this art class on Mondays, and—”
“Will,” Holly interrupted, and he ended his seemingly nervous rant, which only made him more charming.
“Yes?”
She took his bag from his hand and dropped it on the floor.
“You are going to kiss me, right?”
He let out a long breath and nodded.
“God, yes,” he said, and in seconds his palms cupped her cheeks and his lips found hers with a sweet, gentle yearning she could practically taste.
Holly wrapped her arms around his waist.
“I missed…this,” she said as she moved backward, leading him toward the bathroom. She wouldn’t say what she was thinking, that it was the man himself she missed, because she knew that part would pass. For now all she knew was that what she had told Brynn wasn’t a lie. Holly was happy, right here, in this moment.
“I missed this, too,” Will said, kissing her again as they reached her bathroom door.
She stepped back and untied her robe, and his eyes seemed to darken at the sight of her.
“Join me?” she asked, and Will responded by parting her robe so his hands rested on her bare hips. One slid up her left side until his hand found her breast while the other dropped behind her, cupping her ass.
“You’re bloody gorgeous.”
“I’m a bloody mess,” Holly told him, and she breathed in sharply as he rubbed his thumb over her pebbled nipple.
“Gorgeous,” he said again, the word insistent, and he kissed her hard, his need seeming to multiply as it mingled with hers. “And you taste like chocolate.”
“Is that good?” she asked, her words coming out in pants.
Will tugged the robe from her shoulders, and she stood bared to him now.
“It’s a dangerous combination, actually.” He dipped his head, swirled his tongue over the nipple he’d already begun teasing, and Holly’s knees buckled. “I might devour you, body and soul,” he added.
Holly pushed his head from her before she collapsed and knocked her head on the tub. Then she stepped over the short wall and into the steaming water, lowering herself under the foam of the bubbles.
Will chuckled. “That’s quite cruel, taking away my view.”
Holly shrugged as she submerged herself up to her neck.
“Maybe I want a little show first,” she said. “Take off your shirt.”
Will leaned against the counter and crossed his arms.
“Say please,” he said, grinning, and she had to restrain herself from climbing right
back out and tearing his clothes from his body.
Play it cool, Chandler. Don’t show your hand too early.
“Please take off your shirt.”
He pulled the black T-shirt over his head. The one thing Holly liked even more than Will Evans in a T-shirt and jeans was Will Evans in no shirt at all.
“Lose the jeans, too,” she told him, then added, “please.”
Will kicked off his shoes and socks, ob
liging without protest, and Holly squirmed beneath the bubbles as heat pooled in her core. There he stood, his long, lean, beautiful body a sight she hadn’t expected to see for at least another day. He must do something to stay so toned, but Holly realized she had no idea what it was Will Evans did when he wasn’t at Trousseau or in her bed. Speaking of which, those boxers did nothing to hide his erection, and she swallowed at the thought of her hand gliding over his rigid length.
“Are you a runner?” she asked, and he shook his head. “Weight lifter?” His shoulders and upper arms were cut but not thick, so she expected the head shake again.
Will lowered his boxers, and Holly’s eyes widened when her memory of what lay beneath was confirmed. He stepped into the tub, lowering himself to face her, but she turned him around, pulling his back to her torso, his head resting on her shoulder.
He let out a long breath, and Holly realized how exhausted he must be after a day’s worth of travel and the fact that for his body’s clock, it was now the middle of the night.
“Rowing,” he said softly. “I rowed at university. Still do whenever I get the chance.”
She kissed his shoulder. That explained the rough palms, the ones she thought about now, touching all parts of her wet body.
“I think I need to tell you that I find that ridiculously sexy.”
Will smiled as his eyes closed.
“The bubbles,” he said dreamily. “They smell nice.”
He relaxed against her, and Holly grabbed the washcloth she had folded over the ledge, soaking it and drizzling it over his shoulders and chest. She continued with this, and it turned into a slow pattern—kiss his shoulder or cheek, resoak the cloth, and let the water trickle over his skin. When his breathing slowed, she could tell he was falling asleep, so she convinced him to get out and dry off, leading him by the hand to her bed, where he collapsed on top of the covers wearing nothing but a towel slung over his hips.
Holly tucked him in, sliding the towel free and pulling the sheet up over his waist. Then she sneaked into the kitchen for a couple more spoonfuls of ice cream before collecting Will’s clothes from the bathroom. She glanced at her showerhead, so sure she needed some sort of physical intimacy tonight, but something in her had shifted, and she wasn’t sure what it was.
On the way back to her room, she turned off all the lights and double locked her front door, a sense of safety ebbing through her. Standing over Will in her bed, she watched him for several long moments, the rhythm of his breaths calming the frenetic energy that was there less than an hour ago when she found him at her door.
She climbed in next to him, her forehead against his, both of them naked under the sheet. And though she wanted him—always wanted him, it seemed—for tonight this would be enough. She’d slept with Will three times already, but he never stayed the night, always claiming he had calls to make or emails to send to his English business associates, the time change necessitating the late-night work.
She brushed his damp hair off his forehead and kissed it, breathing in the soothing scent of the eucalyptus and spearmint mixed with what could only be described as essentially Will.
“Do you ever sleep?” she whispered, only now starting to grasp the toll the frequent intercontinental travel must be taking on him. Will said nothing, and she kissed him softly on the mouth. “Looks like tonight you will.”
Both their heads rested on one pillow, and she closed her eyes, heart thumping in her chest, and let the cadence of his breaths lull her to sleep.
When she woke the next morning, Will was gone, a note lying where his head once was.
Ran back to the hotel to shower and make a few calls. But I’d love to take you to breakfast. I’ll be by in a taxi at ten.
Holly let out a breath. She didn’t know what they’d say to each other this morning after what happened—and didn’t happen—last night, but one thing was for sure. She hadn’t expected Will to be gone or for her to feel what she felt right now once she realized he was.
Relief.
Whatever happened last night, Will was avoiding it, too. They wouldn’t have to talk about feelings and where this was going and whether or not she’d miss him when he was gone. If they didn’t discuss all that—stuff—then it wouldn’t become real.
Maybe they weren’t as opposite as she thought.
August
Chapter Fourteen
Will was sure Holly had been awake when he’d left this morning, but she never let on, just played her part in this dance they did, never sure who was leading.
He tilted his head back and let the shower spray pelt him in the face. This had become the routine. Ever since he’d pulled that bastard move, showing up at Holly’s on the Fourth and falling asleep in her bed, this was how the morning after went: slip out of bed before she woke, head back to the hotel to shower, show up to Trousseau separately, and go about their days as if they hadn’t slept naked and tangled together the night before. Holly never asked him to laze away the morning, and he never considered it.
He couldn’t explain why he could sleep through the night in Holly’s bed but not in his own…or why he needed to come back here for a reboot before getting on with his day instead of waking with a beautiful woman in his arms and seeing where those early bits of sunlight took them. Without discussion, they’d fallen into a routine of what worked for them—for their arrangement.
Will stepped out onto the cool ceramic tile of the hotel’s bathroom floor. He couldn’t see his unshaven self in the fogged mirror and was happy, for the moment, not to have any reminders of home, which was where he’d be heading this evening.
A buzz sounded from his phone on the counter, and he had to wipe the condensation off his screen before seeing whom the text was from. Hot out today. Pick you up six shots on ice for the fittings this morning?
Will smiled at how well Holly knew what he liked, and it was immediate for him to respond with Ta. I’d like that.
But his finger hovered above the word “send.” This wasn’t part of the routine. It had been a month since he came back on the Fourth, and in all of those weeks, they’d avoided this kind of familiarity. Shite, it was just a text, but the fact he was overanalyzing an offer for a coffee was enough to tell him that continued avoidance was the safer route.
He erased the response and typed a new one instead. Already had a coffee at the hotel. Ta. See you at nine.
The first part was a lie, but Will hit send anyway.
…
Andrea was heading past the elevator when Will arrived, so she showed him straight back to the fitting room.
“Holly’s the best I’ve got, you know,” she said as they weaved through the cubicles on the side of the office opposite his.
Will nodded. He had no reason to argue that.
“She’s young and focused, a few years younger than I was when I started Trousseau, and I know she’s going to make a great partner if she doesn’t lose that focus.”
They stood outside the fitting room now, but Andrea wasn’t opening the door. Will realized she wasn’t making idle chitchat. She was warning him.
“Is there something you’d like to say to me, Andrea?”
She crossed her arms and narrowed her gaze at him.
“Yes, Mr. Evans. There’s much I want to say, but for now I’ll be brief. I know what it’s like to have to prove yourself. I had to prove I was more than someone who’d walked off a runway and into an office. And I’ve been making Holly prove herself since day one because I know she’s a natural, but I need my clients to believe it, too. I want to expand Trousseau’s business overseas, and I need potential clients to trust me and my staff. That’s why I haven’t handed her the partnership yet, and that’s why her first international venture has to go off without a hitch. Without distraction. Without you playing any part in ruining what could be a career-making event for her.” She let out a long breath but never broke her stare. “I want it to be clear that Ms. Chan is a very valued client, but if there is a conflict of int
erest between any of the parties involved, I hope you’ll remember what this job means to Holly.” Andrea nodded toward the closed door. “Am I clear?”
Will kept his tone even but felt remnants of a younger, more reckless self itching to break free and put Andrea in her place for assuming he was a threat. This job wasn’t important to just Holly. His future rode on it as well. It had taken him six weeks to relax into the idea of what he and Holly were doing, to be okay with having something to look forward to each day instead of just sleepwalking his way through to the Fridays he flew back to London. Hell, he was just starting to think he might even deserve the time he spent with Holly.
He let all of this swirl in his mind, a tornado of outrage and indignation, until he remembered one very important detail. “I do appreciate your concern, Ms. Ross, but would like to remind you that Trousseau is under the employ of my client, and I assure you there have been no complaints from her thus far. She thinks Holly’s ideas are brilliant—as do I. We all have the same goal here.”
“I hope you do,” she said.
He opened the door, prepared to leave it at that, but Andrea put a hand on his forearm.
“Be careful, Will.” Her voice was gentle but still held that air of warning. “Your client may employ my company, but I still run it. If whatever is going on between you and Holly—and don’t think for a second I don’t see the way you look at her when you think no one is looking—compromises this show in any way, I’ll pull her off it. I want Holly to succeed, but Trousseau comes first.”
His jaw clenched.
“Are we done, then?” he asked, and Andrea offered him one slow nod.
“I do believe we are,” she said, brows raised, and then she walked away.
Will Evans had just been dismissed.
He pushed through the door to the fitting room and found Holly in a floral halter dress surrounded by half-naked models while a couple of Trousseau’s seamstresses measured, cut, pinned, and draped Tallulah Chan’s pieces over the women who would wear next year’s spring line on the runway.
Holly beamed as she buzzed about the room, snapping photos for her plan book, and for a few moments he let himself get caught up in the frenzy…and in the pull of her orbit.