Текст книги "If You Dare"

Автор книги: Jessica Lemmon

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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 12 страниц)

Chapter Twelve

Willow Mansion faded into the mist as Marcus backed out of the weed-infested driveway and onto the main road. Lily didn’t take a single look back at the place, but her imagination supplied plenty of images that went with the sounds she knew she hadn’t imagined.

Marcus hadn’t asked if he could drive, but simply piled his duffel bag into the backseat, her into the front, and climbed behind the wheel. As he took the ramp to the highway, nearly empty that early in the morning, she rested her head on the seat and looked over at him.

Determination set his mouth into a firm line, and one hand was nested in his hair, the other casually resting on the steering wheel. He stared, eyebrows down, and she wondered what he was thinking. Then, he told her.

“I rigged a speaker.”

She blinked, sure she hadn’t heard him correctly. He spared her a brief glance, taking his eyes off the road just long enough to say, “I found a clip of a woman’s voice saying the word ‘go’. I had a remote. Whenever you heard that, it was me.”

When he turned to look out the windshield again, she thought twice through what he’d said, then a third time. She must have been too tired to be angry with him because what came out was, “But she didn’t say ‘go’ when we left. She said ‘out’.”

“I know.” He didn’t look over.

“And the crashing sound? Did you put that on the speaker?”

He shook his head.

“And…the footsteps?”

He gripped the steering wheel and kept his attention on the road. “No.”

So. That was alarming.

“Come home with me,” he said. She snapped her head to look at him. He didn’t glance back, but he did put one hand on her leg. “It’s not a sex thing, Lil. I’d feel better if I knew you were safe.”

She didn’t answer, but clearly, she didn’t have to. Ten minutes later he pulled her little red car in front of a house that, she assumed, he owned. It was almost…quaint. Cute, even. There were flowerboxes on the windows, navy-blue shutters against white siding. And it was clean. Tidy.

What she’d expect from a guy like him was some sort of playboy bachelor pad. An über chic lair filled with high-end electronics and slim-lined furniture. She supposed those things could still be inside the humble abode she was now staring at.

But she doubted it.

The wide hand that hadn’t moved away from her thigh squeezed. “I’m so fucking tired.”

So was she. And now that they were sitting in front of his house, she knew he was going to press the offer he’d made.

“Yeah,” she said, her voice holding a nervous edge. “Scary.” The house, the sounds, and the fact that she was very close to saying yes to sleeping next to Marcus for the rest of the night. She was pretty damn tired herself.

“Want to come in?” His tone was low, gentle.

“Marcus.”

“I don’t want you driving home.” He lifted his knuckles and brushed her cheek. Her eyes closed heavily. As if it was decided, he pulled his hand away and unbuckled his belt. “Let’s go inside, McIntire. I have a warm bed with me in it waiting for you.”

“It’s probably better that I go home.”

He didn’t acknowledge her weakly spoken argument, instead climbing out and rounding the vehicle, where he opened the door. He bent over her, unclipped her seat belt, and then hauled her out of the car.

“The manhandling isn’t necessary,” she grumbled.

He pulled her close to his lips, gripping her firmly by her arms. “Get your incredible ass in my house.”

“Why?” She beat back the smile dying to produce itself on her face.

He grinned. “So you can protect me from the things that go bump in the night.”

Her knees went soft. “Was that a sex joke?”

“Yeah.” And now his eyes were twinkling.

“Fine.” She shook out of his grasp, leaned into the car, and snatched up her purse. “I’ll stay.”

“That’s my girl.” He took his bag from the backseat and locked her car with the key fob. It made her remember the remote he’d confessed to, which made her surly all over again.

“You bought a speaker to play a voice by remote,” she said as he unlocked the door and went inside.

“Going to bed,” he called over his shoulder.

If she wasn’t so tired, she might have argued with him. Then again, he did have her keys. She was having trouble holding onto those suckers.

“What about my missing keys?” She stepped inside and closed the door. He hadn’t bothered with the lights, so she couldn’t look around.

“I don’t know how to explain half the shit that went on tonight,” he admitted, dropping his bag on the floor and coming to her. “We’re going to sleep now, and ask questions later.”

“I’m not having sex with you.”

“McIntire.”

“Again,” she said around a yawn.

“Not tonight you aren’t. Come on.” He lifted her, gingerly this time. Her legs felt as if they were wrapped in lead. She was crashing and crashing hard. By the time he laid her on a very soft mattress, her eyes refused to open. He undressed her, and soon after she lost all sense of time and place as her consciousness faded into dreamland.

…

In his bed.

Lily McIntire was in his bed.

Not an air mattress in a crumbling house, but wrapped in slate gray sheets, her strawberry-blond hair spread over a pillow. He’d put her in one of his T-shirts and since she was already out, didn’t even get a kiss good night.

He’d crawled in next to her and slept like the dead. Which reminded him of the unexplained sounds in the mansion. What the fuck? He didn’t believe in hauntings, but he and Lily had been in the house, all over it, and found nothing to explain what they’d heard.

It was as inexplicable as the heat sizzling between them last night.

Head propped on one arm, he stared blankly at the framed photo on his wall—a photo of Diamond Head Volcano in Oahu. He’d always wanted to see it, ever since he was a kid and learned about it. The ragged brown peaks offset an impossibly blue sky and turquoise water dotted with surfers.

He hauled in the first deep breath he’d taken since last night and looked at the clock on his nightstand. Eleven. Late for him. Even for a Saturday.

Exhaustion had hit him hard. He’d sunk into sleep shortly after Lily, barely slipping back to reality when she jostled the bed, he assumed to use his bathroom. He’d been unable to open his eyes. It was nice, though, the feeling of her sliding in next to him when she came back. It’d been a while since he’d slept next to a woman. If someone would have told him a week ago that come Saturday the next woman he’d wake up to was Lily McIntire, he’d have sooner believed in the Tooth Fairy.

Then again, he was believing in all sorts of things lately. His pragmatism had been given a run for its money.

He turned his head and studied her sleepy face, the way her lashes lay softly against her cheeks. The freckles on her nose. Gorgeous. His dick bobbed. He couldn’t help it. Normally when he woke with a hard-on, it was with Lily in mind. With her in the flesh, there was no way to avoid it.

He remembered every sigh, the sound of his name as she called it out, the way she felt coming, clenching around him as he pumped into her. He grunted uncomfortably and adjusted himself. No way could he keep thinking in that direction if he wanted his dick to retreat to a neutral corner. And he couldn’t exactly wake her up for morning sex.

Could he?

She licked her lips and stretched next to him like a languid cat, her nipples punching against the soft cotton of the T-shirt she wore.

Prob’ly not.

He did have the day free. Even hardworking Lily didn’t go in on Saturdays, unless they had a big bid they were trying to win. But they’d nailed the London account, so there was no need to work overtime and weekends now. Still, it wasn’t hard to guess that the moment she opened her eyes, she would realize where she was then make a hasty excuse, clipping away from him with that smart little walk she had.

Not what he wanted. He studied the threads of blond running through her soft, reddish hair. He’d like a cup of coffee, maybe breakfast. Wouldn’t mind talking to her a while they lounged on the deck. Which was really weird. Because in the past when a woman was in his bed, his plan in the morning was to get up, put on his workout gear, and wake her up using the excuse of a ten-mile run.

Sleepy women didn’t want to get up at five a.m. for a ten-mile run, he’d learned. At the suggestion, most simply climbed out of bed and left without too much argument. If they stayed the night at all. Now that he was admiring the light freckles dotting Lily’s cheeks, he tried to remember the last woman he’d kicked out of bed and realized it’d been a while.

He calculated back, recalling a rowdy Saint Patrick’s Day, and then realized that was about the time Lily and Andy were on the rocks. Surely he didn’t curb himself thinking he’d have a shot with her… A guy of his caliber wouldn’t bench his libido without a guarantee…

He pulled a hand over his face, feeling the thick growth there.

Damn. Had he done that?

Lily stretched again and he couldn’t help smiling. If he’d thought she was cute on her air mattress eating sushi yesterday, right now she was damned adorable with sunlight in her crumpled hair. Who knew she had those curls in the morning? He wound one around his finger as her eyes fluttered open.

“Morning, McIntire.”

She sucked in a deep breath, a smile tickling her peach-pink lips. Lips he wanted to kiss.

“Where’s my coffee, Black? What kind of host are you, anyway?” Her voice was thick and sleepy and she’d woken up busting his balls first thing. He shouldn’t like it, but he did.

Unable to resist, he reached for her hips under the sheets and tucked her next to him. “Have an idea.”

“Hmm.” She nudged his erection with her backside and he grunted, his hand climbing her hip and beneath the T-shirt.

She rolled over, the sound of sheets sliding over her partially naked body making him harder than he was—and that was saying something. Her light blue eyes slammed into him. Thought evaporated as his body took over. He flattened his hand on her bare skin under her shirt, smashing her breasts to his chest. He kissed her lightly, then deeply when her tongue snaked out for a taste of him. Then they were making out fervently, her leg sliding against his, a grunt low in her throat as she tilted her head to kiss him again, then—

“Wait.”

Shit. He didn’t want to wait. He backed off some, rerouting the hand that’d been going for a breast. He swallowed thickly and tried to see her clearly through the lust veiling his senses.

She slid her leg away and backed her hips from his a second later. “Um…”

Well. This wasn’t good. Covering, he tried to avoid this moment by talking over her. “Right. You asked for coffee. Coffee and kisses. Always get those two confused.” It was supposed to be funny, but the lame joke fell flat, deflating the sensual tension and leaving behind only tightened strain.

He didn’t like it.

She blew out a small laugh, but he could tell she was uncomfortable. And when her blue eyes flitted to the side, then snapped back to him, there was a shutter there that made his heart sink—like she’d purposefully backed away, even though she was lying inches from him. He didn’t like the distance, and she couldn’t hide it. In the late morning sunshine, it was impossible to miss.

He’d seen a similar weightiness before, when he lived with Annie. He’d been in a serious relationship a long time ago. He had thought things were fine. Then he woke up one morning, after living in her apartment for seven months, to a similar expression to the one Lily wore now. Their final conversation had started out with—

“Listen, Marcus…”

Fuck.

“Second thought,” he said, throwing the sheet off himself and putting his feet on the floor. No way was he letting her dump him when they’d barely gotten started. “I missed my run.” He went to the closet and pulled on a pair of jogging pants, busying himself to cover the moment—and his raging hard-on. “Do you run, McIntire?”

“No.” She sat up and studied him a quizzically.

“I do ten miles.” He snatched a long-sleeved shirt off a hanger. “Uphill some of the way.”

“Marcus.”

Yeah, he didn’t think he’d be able to distract her. But he wasn’t going to stick around and wait for her to finish whatever had started with “Listen, Marcus…”, either. With an easy, practiced smile, he came to her side of the bed and lowered his lips for a kiss. “Hang out if you want, but if you have stuff to do, I get it.”

“Are you…mad?” she asked as he pulled a pair of socks from his top dresser drawer.

“Not mad.” He wasn’t. But it didn’t make this exchange any more pleasant. He got it—it sucked, but he got it. Under the cover of night at Willow Mansion, where things happened and no one knew why, he and Lily could be one thing. But here in the real world—in the glaring daylight, they were back to themselves. Coworkers who didn’t sleep together and argued over who got the last crab rangoon at lunch.

“Coffee, you said?” he asked, snatching up his tennis shoes. “I can make you one to go.”

She frowned, but agreed. “That’d be good, thanks.”

“No problem,” he lied, walking out of his room and taking the stairs two at a time.

…

Lily felt her brow scrunch as Marcus disappeared, leaving her wearing only his T-shirt and sheets. This was…strange.

Did he actually think he could roll over and convince her to have sex just because she was here?

You wanted to.

She did. Lord help her, the moment his lips hit hers, her brain went AWOL. And there was still a distinct warmth between her legs telling her she’d made a big mistake in pushing him away. And what was with that jogging excuse? Did Marcus really jog?

She dressed quickly, finding her clothes thrown over a chair in the corner of Marcus’s rather spacious bedroom. The room was a little cool so she was glad she had a hoodie to throw on. She opted to wear Marcus’s bigger T-shirt. It was warm from her wearing it, and she really didn’t want to fuss with a bra this early. So, she balled up her shirt and bra, determined to stuff them into her purse. She wouldn’t be here long anyway. She’d just head home and try to have a normal weekend. Clean the house, do laundry…feed her neglected goldfish. She’d have to spend some extra time with Bubbles today.

Sure. That’s better than morning sex with the hunk downstairs.

She sighed, straightening the sheets and pillows in a sloppy attempt at making the bed. She wasn’t going to think about sleeping with Marcus last night. Literally sleeping. Snuggling next to his big body had been nice, and she didn’t like that she liked it. It would be better if it had been neutral and they could just go back to being friends. Sort of. If that’s what they were. Acquaintances seemed the wrong label after last night, which was…intense. Proof was in the fact she hadn’t thought about how she almost dropped through the rotted floor to her death until just now.

A huge poster of what looked like mountains in Oahu caught her attention. The picture was framed and hanging over Marcus’s solid, dark-stained dresser. She shook her head, considering. So, Hawaii wasn’t just another chance to win something. He really, really wanted to go. She smiled softly, reaching out a finger to swipe away a bit of dust from the frame. He’d had it a while.

“Lock up behind you, McIntire!” a voice called up the stairs. She walked to the railing and peeked down at Marcus. He stood at the front door, dressed, jacket on, sunglasses hiding his eyes.

“Seriously? You’re really going jogging?” Now? Instead of hanging out with her?

But you don’t want him to hang out with you.

Or, rather, she shouldn’t want him to. She did though.

“How else do you think I maintain my sexy figure?” He gestured to himself—and yes, his sexy figure—and grinned to beat all. He was back to himself. Less intense. Less looking at her like she was edible. He’d either completely blown off her awkward rejection this morning, or else he was really good at faking it. “Stay as long as you like. I don’t think you’re going to steal my stuff or anything.”

Steal.

As he closed the door behind him, she sat on the top step, her limbs going numb. That word acted as a palpable reminder that by cutting Marcus short before they went too far, she’d done the right thing. It was maybe too late to rectify what happened last night, but he’d promised not to tell Joanie and Clive, so really, they could go back to normal on Monday.

The last time she’d had a relationship with her coworker and earned a promotion, he’d gone over her head and accused her of stealing his design. Being this vulnerable with anyone was hard, but when an affair intertwined career and personal life, it was potentially twice as damaging.

She stood, swiped her hands down her pants, and went downstairs. As promised, a travel mug sat steaming on the countertop. She took a sip and found it was already creamed just the way she liked it.

Trying not to read too much into that, she tucked her bra and shirt into her purse, grabbed her coffee and keys, and locked up behind her.

Chapter Thirteen

Lily swiped mascara onto her lashes Monday morning and regarded her reflection in her bathroom mirror dubiously. She was supposed to be back to normal by today. Supposed to have forgotten that Friday night—going into Saturday morning—had ever happened.

She’d gone about her duties over the weekend, doing a load of whites and scrubbing her refrigerator until it shined inside and out. But all the while, she was turning over the fact that Marcus’s house was cozy and homey, that his bedroom, while not frilly and girlie, did have the touch of design to it. Thick slate gray curtains matching the sheets, light beige walls, and his furniture all matched. He didn’t have glass end tables or a wrought iron bed frame. No white leather furniture—no black leather for that matter. No, his sofa was a rich mahogany color with big, square gold pillows, the end tables flanking it of old-world design.

She noticed all of those things in her brief visit to his house, and it bugged her she’d been so wrong about his living situation. Why this bothered her, she had no idea.

Yes, you do.

Yes. She did.

Because it made him harder to marginalize. She’d assumed he was a playboy. At best, a super neat freak with clean lines and monochrome furnishings, or at worst, living like a frat boy with a TV on milk crates and dirty clothes strewn on his bedroom floor. But his house was comfy. He was comfy. And the idea she’d been comfy with him was freaking her out.

They’d slept side by side in his bed, and she’d slept great—and after the night at Willow Mansion, she should not have slept great.

So. She drove to work giving herself a stern talking to. No matter what all her feelings were saying, her mind and instincts warned her against anything long-term. A workplace romance was not the end goal.

She and Marcus had simply had a consensual one-night stand. And while she wasn’t as versed in the after-effects of hooking up, having been a relationship type girl up until now, she was sure Marcus would find his footing easily. Hell, maybe he already had.

She’d see soon enough at work. Too soon, she thought with sinking dread as she parked in the small Cameron Designs parking lot. And there was his white car, gleaming like he’d just washed it.

Why didn’t you drive?

My car is white. I just washed it.

She hadn’t spoken to him the rest of the weekend, which she now realized would make today awkward. It wasn’t like they hung out after work…ever. But now that they’d seen each other naked, had shared his bed for a few hours early Saturday morning, things were going to be strained.

And she still couldn’t explain what happened at the mansion. Terror on the high plains followed by the most amazing sex ever? Or… had it been okay sex masquerading as amazing? It’d been a while for her, and given the fact she’d been terrified, every sense, every nerve, every cell in her body was on high alert. Had that created a shroud of feelings that didn’t really exist outside of being frightened out of her mind?

Hard to say, she thought, as she twisted her lips.

There was only one way to find out how things would go with him from here on out. She’d have to go inside and come face to face with him. She steeled herself and entered the building, but didn’t see Marcus. She waved at the temp at the front desk and rounded the corner, running into Joanie on her way to her office.

“There you are!” She grinned, her hazel eyes shining, her dark, curly hair bobbing as she tilted her head. “Clive told me all about it. You know he wasn’t supposed to be there that night, right? He wasn’t supposed to slip out, and accompany Marcus on a stupid, childish mission to spook you out of your fair share of the bet.” Her grin changed to concern, her eyebrows bending subtly. “You know I didn’t know anything about it, right? Why didn’t you call me this weekend? I just found out this morning, and it was filtered down from Marcus to Clive to me.”

Lily shook her head at Joanie’s machine gun chatter and gave her friend a nervous laugh. It was way too early, or Lily hadn’t had enough coffee, or something… She had no idea how to answer any of Joanie’s questions. She hadn’t thought of Joanie at all until she was standing directly in front of her.

“Sounds like you’re in the know,” Lily said with a wan smile. Surely Marcus didn’t tell Clive the one thing he promised not to. The sex thing. She’d kill him.

“Well, I guess the humiliation of getting scared out of the house by raccoons is salved by the fact that Marcus split the trip with you.”

Split…the trip?

“I mean, I’m not going to lie.” Joanie lowered her voice and took Lily’s elbow. A minute later they were standing in Lily’s darkened office. “The two of you together on this trip might be kind of awkward. Maybe you can just drink a lot of piña coladas and forget he’s there.”

“Good plan,” Lily said, pretending she knew what was going on.

“Hawaii will be worth any discomfort. It’s the least he owes you after sort of cheating to get it and sort of cheating to keep it.” She laughed through the next words. “Clive told me about the mask, too. You should have kicked his ass!”

The mask. Raccoons. Clearly, Marcus had come in first thing this morning and worked some damage control. Lily did her best to play along.

“I should have,” she agreed, a smile stuck to her face.

“Joanie!” Clive called, coming around the corner. “Oh, hey, Lil. Nicely done on snagging half the trip.”

“Hi, Clive,” she said flatly.

“Baxter on line three,” he said to Joanie. “I have a conference call with Ed in two minutes. Can you take it?”

“Got it, babe,” Joanie said, as Clive broke into a run down the hall. “Maxine Baxter is opening a new consignment shop. Wish me luck?”

Lily, head still spinning with uncertainty, flashed her friend a smile. “Luck.”

Once Joanie walked away, Lily stood at the threshold of her office, blinking at her wall calendar. What just happened? She was five minutes late and this place was practically vibrating with energy. One thing was for sure—she needed to find out what Marcus had said to Clive…and what he hadn’t.

Marcus’s office was across the hall and down from hers. He was out of his chair, hovering over the drafting table, which meant he had hooked onto a really good idea. She’d seen him like that before. When he was working through something, he couldn’t stay in his seat.

Maybe she shouldn’t interrupt. Then again, how long could she play dumb? Since their offices were on one side of the building and Clive and Joanie’s on the other, she didn’t bother closing the door when she came in.

She tapped on the wall with her knuckles. “Hey.”

Marcus lifted his head and turned to face her, his eyes hazy like he was still lost in thought.

“I can come back,” she shot a thumb over her shoulder to point behind her. “Just wanted to return your mug.” She placed the travel mug on his desk, her excuse for coming in there. Whispering, she added, “Didn’t think I should bring your T-shirt into the office. It’s in my car.”

“Okay.” He nodded, his expression unreadable. Gosh. This is…weird.

“Come here.” Unlike the last time he’d said that to her—low and sexy, right before she punched a hole in the floor with her foot—his voice was gentle and inviting. She stepped deeper into his office, which was huge, with a desk on one side, a drafting table on the other, and a set of large file cabinets holding his drawings and current projects.

When she reached his side, he swiped bits of eraser off the wide sheet of paper on which he’d been drawing. “What do you think?”

“Main Street Salon,” she read. A complete redesign. And it was gorgeous. Rather than being an open floor plan, now each sink and chair had its own partition—like a private room. “I like it.”

“There will be a closet here for the customer to hang their coat and purse.”

“It’s great,” she said, meaning it. “I’d get my hair done there.”

“We all will. The owner offered us a deep discount.” She glanced up at him and he winked. “She’ll keep us pretty for years to come.”

That smile again. She bit down on her lip, trying not to feel anything she shouldn’t for him. But she couldn’t help remembering the stubble against her nipples, the way his tongue felt gliding along her ear, the way he was demanding and sexy in the most perfect way…in the most unlikely place.

Say my name.

She cleared her throat and stole a peek behind her. Surely, Joanie and Clive were still on their calls. She kept her voice down anyway. “I ran into Joanie. She said she knew all about Friday.”

He turned his back to the drafting desk, leaned against it, and crossed his thick arms. “Not all,” he said.

“Care to tell me what parts?”

“I didn’t tell him we…” His eyes flicked to the doorway then back to Lily. “You know.”

Hearing him avoiding saying what they did would have been funny if she hadn’t been so relieved. “Good.”

His eyebrows drew together slightly.

“I assume you didn’t tell them about the voices.” She pursed her lips, then added, “The one you recorded or the ones we can’t explain.”

“Neither.”

He turned back to his project. “It’s not like anyone would believe us if we told them the truth.”

The truth. About the voices, the footsteps… The other thing. The them thing.

“Raccoons seemed to be the easiest explanation,” he said, palms on his desk as he studied the drawing in front of him. “Clive spilled the beans to Joanie about accompanying me to the house.”

“And Joanie knew about the mask,” Lily added.

“Traitor,” he said. Then he flicked his eyes over at her and added a sheepish, “Sorry about that.”

“Well. It’s over now.”

Something in his eyes darkened. She’d meant the night at Willow Mansion was over, but somehow it came out sounding like she meant the thing between them. And because that’s where her head was, she wasn’t sure what Marcus meant when he said in a wholly serious tone, “We’ll see.”

They shared a moment of silence. All she could hear was the soft hum of the copier running in the adjacent room. He stood away from his desk and rolled a pencil between his hands. “As far as the Hawaii thing, I meant it. If you don’t mind sharing a trip with me, we’ll split it. You can go as my plus one.”

A long flight. A long vacation. A shared room. All with Marcus. She tried to make it sound bad in her head, but it didn’t. It sounded fantastic.

“If you’re not comfortable with that compromise,” he said, “let me know and I’ll find someone else to go with.”

Jealousy spiked, sharp and angry. “Who?” she asked, the word coming out as barbed as the emotion pricking her.

He grinned, letting her know he’d set her up a little. “My brother would like to see the island.”

Dammit. She needed to chill out. And make up her mind. Either they were doing the them thing or they weren’t. Hawaii definitely sounded like a them thing.

“McIntire.”

She tilted her chin to look up at him. His eyebrows were arched, the stubble around his mouth a tempting sight.

“Was just thinking on my feet,” he said gently. “I wasn’t trying to corner you.”

“Yeah, no. Yes. It’s… It totally makes sense. It’s fine. And Hawaii is…fine.”

A hint of his smile returned, like he was amused at her stammering. “Hawaii is fine.”

“Totally fine.” Her brittle smile broke at the edges and she backed away from him. “Well…”

“Well.” He crossed his arms again, watching her closely.

Her forehead beaded with perspiration. Without saying another word, she turned and scuttled for her office across the hall. When she got there, she shut the door. She never shut the door, but right now, she needed to shut the door.

“Well,” she said to herself as she plunked into her chair.

That was really all there was to say.

…

Marcus watched Lily’s backside wiggle across the hall and into her office. Then he watched her shut her door and tried to remember the last time he looked across the hall and saw a panel instead of Lily’s frown of concentration while she sat at her desk.

Never.

That, as they say, was that. He’d suspected she’d show up this morning and ignore him. Get right to work. If either of them was the consummate professional, it was Lily. In this case, he was glad to be wrong. Maybe her being willing to go to Hawaii with him meant she’d reconsidered about them.

Maybe not.

Women were hard.

He faced his drawing again, deciding distraction was the best medicine. He was pretty satisfied with what he’d come up with for the salon. Of course, he’d spent the remainder of the day Saturday and all of Sunday working on it, seeing how he didn’t have a feisty, sexy redhead in his bed begging for sexual favors.

Shame.

The bright side to knuckling down all weekend, and coming in bright and early at five a.m. today was that he’d made a hell of a lot of progress. Nothing like pent-up frustration to fuel hours upon hours upon hours of work.

He should respect Lily for wanting to move forward and forget, and part of him did. The other part of him wanted to see what might come next. He’d never been so curious or intrigued by the next stage with a woman before. Even when he’d lived with Annie, the move-in had been a technicality. His lease was up, and her invitation was “You may as well.”

With Lily, one night wasn’t going to be enough to satisfy his curiosity—in bed or out. He wanted to explore whatever this was. Preferably before the RSD dinner. Them showing up with plus ones other than each other at this point would be…