“Oh, okay,” he says and dabs his mouth with a napkin before opening a second bottle. “Well, it’s pretty low-key. There’s dinner and some dancing I’m sure, and a silent auction and a lot of patting ourselves on the back for making a difference.”
That makes me laugh.
“And then at the end of the night, we leave a little less rich and a little more pleased with ourselves.”
“Ah, I see. I guess that’s what I expected.”
“It’s nothing to worry over.”
“Is Victoria going?”
He thinks on that a moment and nods. “Yes, she’ll be there.”
“Cool,” I say and try to ignore the tightening in my chest at his answer. “And Evan, is he a good friend of yours?”
“He’s a good chap. Brilliant at what he does.”
“Clearly. He’s got a crazy tight handshake.”
“How is that related?” Reid asks, a little confused and put off.
Apparently, I need to explain myself, as if shaking hands with the man crossed some sort of unspeakable line. “Oh, we shook hands when we met. You know the whole thing about firm handshakes?”
He’s puzzled. Maybe it’s just an American thing. “Like, a car dealer always has a firm handshake. Salesmen usually do. I don’t know why, something about character. I don’t get it.”
“Ah, I’ve experienced that before.”
“I’m sure that you need to have a firm handshake in your line of business.”
“I suppose so, but I think my handshake is pretty normal,” he says and offers his hand.
I set down my wine glass and slip my hand into his. Noticeable goose bumps spread up my arm as he holds my hand and starts shaking it.
“Pleased to meet you, Miss Montgomery,” he says in his poshest voice.
I giggle and play along. “The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Lewis.” The wine has definitely gone to my head.
“See? That’s normal right?” he boasts, then gives my hand a final squeeze and lets it go.
“Yes, it’s pretty normal, if you don’t consider Evan’s death grip normal.”
“Show me what you consider a death grip,” he requests with a sly smile on his face.
“Ha, okay. Let’s see if I can imitate it.” I stand up to get some good leverage and take his hand in mine and squeeze as hard as I can.
“I don’t feel a difference,” he teases and starts laughing.
“Shut up!” I squeal and squeeze harder.
“Absolutely no difference, but you’re making quite a face as you try.”
“Gah, whatever,” I complain as I fall back down into my seat. I grab for my wine glass and slouch to rest it on my belly. “So I don’t have Superman arms like Evan, sue me.”
Reid stares down at his plate and pokes at the salad. “You’ll have a lovely time with him at the gala.”
“I’m sure I will,” I reply quietly, but I wish I weren’t going with him, I wish I was going with Reid. It’s a troublesome wish, so to block it out, I pour more wine for both of us.
* * *
After a very minimal attempt to clean up the kitchen, we take our third bottle of wine to a nearby living room. The couches are leather and ancient, the walls are paneled in rich dark wood that shines despite the age, and nautical maps are framed and serve as art. It’s a man’s room, and Reid is starting to look very good in it. He takes a seat beside me on the couch and fills our glasses.
I extend my glass toward him and smile. “Cheers.”
“Cheers.” His glass meets mine and then his eyes meet mine. They are gorgeous, I can’t deny it, and I can’t look away either. In fact, everything is pretty beautiful at this moment, and I’m having a tough time remembering why I was ever angry with Reid. What with his strong jaw and the pleasant scent he always has and the very sexy chest that he held me against in his room, oh and the happy trail.
My god, the happy trail. I have not forgotten.
Suddenly, it’s impossible to think of a concrete example of how he has wronged me. All I see is the man who gave me goosebumps when he shook my hand earlier.
It’s just the two of us in this giant house, and the ghosts seem to be giving us some privacy. He’s staring right back at me, and I try hard to remember the reason why I should turn away, but I can’t think of it. I can’t think of anything else besides his body and the way his gaze and his mouth and his hands just ooze sex.
He sets his wine glass down on the coffee table, not very gracefully. He must be as buzzed as I am. I take another big drink and do the same, but I almost miss the table altogether. We both burst out laughing and turn in towards each other. I place a hand on his leg as we lose ourselves in the moment.
As the laughter dies down, he lifts my hand from his leg, weaves his fingers through mine and pulls me closer to him. I place my other hand on his chest to steady myself and his breath hitches just before he groans, throaty and raw.
The mood shifts from fun and flirty to serious and steamy in the blink of an eye. He takes hold of my hip and pulls me onto his lap so that I’m straddling him, breathing him in. Everything in my body is turned on, I’m electrified.
A part of me knows this isn’t right and that I should shove him away, but my body is not in agreement and apparently, his isn’t either, at least from what’s pressing against my sex. Is that what I think it is?
He lets go of my hands and very deliberately trails his hands up my arms, across my shoulders, along my neck and buries them in my hair. I close my eyes at the sensation and grind my pelvis instinctively against him.
Yes, it is what I thought, and it is very hard.
I open my eyes, a bit horrified at my behavior, to find his eyes on fire. My horror fades away while a flutter spreads across my chest and I move against him again, this time with my eyes open and connected directly to his. I bite my lip and absorb every ounce of the pleasure.
“Cara,” he growls and sits up straighter, pressing our heaving chests together. My nipples tighten and strain against his hard pecs, as everything south of my waist melts. He slowly pulls my head closer to his. Our lips are on a collision course as I press myself against him a third time. A frenzy begins. He starts grinding with long, hard strokes from beneath me. Our noses bump together, our breath mingles, and his lips graze over mine, causing my chin to quiver.
As his grip on me tightens and he’s about to go in for the kill, I snap back to reality and pull back. Victoria. That’s the reason. Shit, of course. As much as I can’t stand that woman, I don’t have it in me to be with a guy that’s involved with someone else.
I sloppily remove myself from his lap and get to my feet. I’ve got terrible balance, and I’m totally tipsy, but I’m aware enough to straighten out my clothes that were twisted and bunched around me during our momentary lapse of reason.
Looking down at him on the couch, my mind clears up, and my hand flies over my mouth. This is Reid. Reid. Reid, who is basically the thorn in my side. Reid, who has a girlfriend back in London. Reid, who is the nephew of my mother’s enemy.
“Sorry, I guess we got carried away,” he says as he stands up slowly, perhaps coming to the same revelation as I did.
I wrap my arms around my chest, take a step back, and will myself not to look down at his pants. “Yeah, I guess so. Well, I should really get to bed anyway, I’m exhausted,” I say, trying to contain the slur in my speech.
“So early?” he asks and takes a step toward me.
I take a reactive step back. “I need to make some calls back home and all that. Take a shower, you know.”
“But you already had a shower,” he replies. Oh, he’s so observant, it’s irritating.
“Oh yeah. Um, well, I think the wine has gotten to my head a bit.” That is certainly true. I back myself toward the door. “Thank you for dinner, and for everything, it was really nice,” I say and bump into the doorframe. “Ow!”
He takes a few steps forward. “All right?”
I hold up my hands to make him
stop mid-step. “Totally, yeah. Stupid door. So um, yeah, goodnight,” I mumble and quickly turn to go, more and more mortified the further I get away from him. He doesn’t follow me, and I don’t know if should be relieved or regretful.
Chapter Eight
Puddles
Reid
I stand motionless as Cara stumbles out the door. Why did she leave so suddenly? What does she have to lose? I’m the one that can’t afford the distraction or the complication. Yet here I am, uncomfortable in my trousers and wishing she hadn’t fled.
I pull my hands through my hair. God, what have I done?
This isn’t me. No. I’m a man of self-restraint. Control. Focus. Not a man that overindulges on wine and makes a pass at a woman I barely know.
Cara Montgomery is proving to be much more tempting than I gave her credit for. I should be in London, not off in sodding Somerset getting drunk and handsy with some graduate student.
But she feels so good.
Touching Cara feels even better in real life than the fantasy that plays through my head most nights. If only I could have kissed her, tasted her, felt her full lips on my mine. That thought travels directly to my groin.
“Stop this,” I tell myself and go into the kitchen to get a glass of water. I lean against the counter and drink it all down in one go. We’ve left quite a mess, the sloppy remnants of a meal I made for her. Since when do I cook for anybody?
Ever since we found the trunk of Anna’s jewelry, I’ve assumed the role of someone I barely recognize. I should be much more concerned about the Collins Group, not trying to impress a woman that will only prove to be a waste of my time. I have bigger priorities than Cara Montgomery.
I refill my glass and take slower sips the second time around. What is it about her that turns me upside down? I’ll have to redouble my efforts to get the job done and not get sidelined by her.
Cleaning the kitchen is a welcome distraction, but it doesn’t last long enough. I’ve got no choice but to head upstairs. Cara’s room is closed up and quiet. I hesitate a moment outside her door and have a dangerous urge to slip inside quietly and wake her with my lips. I shake off that ridiculous notion and go into my own room, where I open my laptop and catch up on work to the best of my ability, but it’s useless. All I can do is think about her and barely sleep a wink.
The next morning, I can’t take my eyes off her as she moves slowly around the kitchen. She’s obviously hung over from the wine. She’s standing at the espresso machine and pressing her fingers against her temples. When the machine whirls and hisses she closes her eyes. Even in this state, she’s lovely to the point of distraction. Her wet hair is pulled into a messy bun on top of her head. Her soft jawline and smooth, creamy neck are on display, and my fingers burn to touch her skin again, just like last night when I slid my hands up her body and into her hair.
“Want one?” she asks, breaking me out of her spell.
A good dose of caffeine will help. “If it’s not too much of a bother,” I reply loud enough for her to hear me over the machine.
She joins me at the table a few moments later with our coffees and a piece of toast held between her teeth.
“Is that all you’re having?” I ask, sounding just as disappointed and concerned as I feel.
She sets it all down on the table and answers, “It’s all I can stomach. Too. Much. Wine.”
This is my fault for letting last night get out of control. I know what I have to do, but before I put the words together, she says, “I see you cleaned up the kitchen.”
“I did.”
“Was that this morning or…”
“It was last night, after we—”
She quickly jumps in. “Right, yeah. Well, thanks.”
“About that,” I find myself starting, with no idea how I’m going to complete that sentence. There are so many things I want to say, so many ways that I feel about it.
It can’t happen again, Cara.
Why didn’t you let me kiss you, Cara?
It would be best if we kept this professional, Cara.
I want you so badly, Cara.
She shakes her head and cuts me off, “No worries, we don’t have to talk about it. We were so drunk. That was just a mistake.”
“A mistake?” I blurt out.
“Yeah, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“Cara, don’t.” Don’t what? Am I afraid of being rejected?
“It’s fine, Reid. We should get to work, right? I think its time to tackle the library. What do you say?”
Work. Yes, of course, there’s work to do. Her suggestion brings me back to my original idea. “Okay, here’s the deal. I think we need to split up today so we can move this along. I have a feeling you’re going to take a long time in the library, and I want to look through Trevor’s office and his files to make sure there’s nothing vital in there for me to take back to the firm.
She tenses at that, and I’m afraid she’s going to disagree. I don’t give her the opportunity. “To be honest, I think that’s going to take me quite a while too. They’re right next to each other, so if either of us needs one another, we’ll be right there.”
It’s a solid plan. I won’t be distracted by her, we can keep making progress, and I can be close enough to make sure nothing of incredible value slips past me.
“Will you set aside anything, like documents or letters, that is at all related to me, or my mom?” she asks, her tone tremendously serious.
“Of course,” I answer and she lets out a big breath.
“Anything at all,” she reinforces, and I nod. “Good. And you trust me with the books?”
A sly smile creeps up on my face. “Assuming that the really valuable ones go to auction. I know the library has first editions.”
“Gotcha.” She lightens up, finally. “I will try my best to maximize profit, sir.”
I shake my head while I push away from the table. “May I take this for you?” I motion to her empty coffee cup while balancing my own.
“Oh yeah, thanks,” she answers, a little caught off guard at the offer. I reach down to grab it, and we accidentally brush hands. She takes in a sharp breath and gazes up at me with a sultry smile. My cock twitches in response. Christ. It’s definitely a good thing that we’re going to be working in separate spaces the rest of the day.
* * *
Right.
I have all the space I need to work. It’s good to have her in the next room, out of my eye line. I can’t get caught up in her luscious pink lips as she chews on them while examining something. Nor can I get sidelined by her firm round ass while she bends over to dig through a drawer. And I certainly won’t lose my breath while she reaches up high and shows off the curve of her supple breasts.
No. Instead, I will work in here and apparently coach myself again and again that grazing just the edges of her is enough for me.
A sigh escapes me. It’s hard to concentrate when all I do is think of her and her effect on me.
I shake it off the best I can and go through Trevor’s filing cabinets. There are many files, none of which pertain to Cara or her mom. Most of the files I’ll need to take to the firm. Those are easy enough to sort, but it puts the broader situation in perspective. The files are now mine, as are the clients and the business. It’s all mine, and I have a responsibility to do right by the business Trevor built. For a while, I’m able to really focus on that task and be in a work frame of mind.
After going through the files, as well as taking a few business calls, I start on his desk and find all sorts of odds and ends. An engraved cigar lighter catches my eye. The inscription says it’s from Cara’s mom, Laura. I set it aside, as promised. She’ll be excited to see it.
Cara.
Even when we’re not in the same room, she haunts me.
As I dig through the desk, I find more items that one would consider sentimental. I’m going to need a small box to collect it all for her. Along the way, I find a stark white envelope with the wor
ds My Little Ballerina scribbled across it in bright blue ink.
Cara mentioned a nickname the night she stormed into my bedroom after her nightmare. It must be for her, surely he didn’t call Aunt Anna that. I place it in the box, along with all the other things I found. I’m looking forward to watching her go through it. I smile as I picture that curious look she’ll have in her eye.
Christ, I miss her.
How is that even possible? She’s in the next room over, and I miss her. I have made a conscious decision to avoid attachments so that I don’t open myself up to pain, but here I am in a house that is full of it, with a woman that is making me feel things I’ve hardly let myself feel since I moved back from Australia.
Disappointed in myself, I take a rest in Trevor’s desk chair and stare up at the ceiling. It’s hard to believe he’s really gone. I’d let him and Anna into my life, and here I am again at the bottom of everything, with nothing but a hollowness in my stomach.
Well, that’s not altogether true. There’s Cara and being with her last night, no matter how brief it was, had one positive effect. It filled me up just enough to ease the hollowness. And not just when we were grinding on the couch, it was the same when we talked over dinner. She’s fascinating and unexpected. I have no idea what she’s going to say next, and I like that about her.
I can’t deny that I want more of that feeling, but I have to find a way to make that work without getting completely derailed. Maybe resisting her is the real distraction.
Cara
My grandfather’s library is the type of thing girls like myself save to their Pinterest boards. The built-in dark mahogany shelves case all the classics and then some. Every book is hardbound because my grandfather was classy like that. No wonder I was inspired to go to graduate school for library science. My thirst to examine every single book is overwhelming.
Be What Love Is Page 9