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His expression darkened for a moment before he blinked it away, pressing the button that would take us to the roof. He inhaled a deep breath, letting it out with a low hum as he stared straight ahead, watching the elevator doors close.
I felt gravity press down around us as the elevator rose, dinging only seconds later as we reached the roof. My eyes held on to the vertical line where the two doors came together, eager for them to open again. When they did, I let out another gasp that had Leo’s head snapping in my direction.
It was . . . stunning in an obscene way. Artificial grass surrounded large concrete squares where various patio furniture sets were placed—the trendy rattan kind, with upholstered cushions and soft pillows in creams and beiges. Edison lights were strung along the outer walls of the building as well as along the walls of the balcony, blanketing the entire roof in a soft, warm glow.
And the view.
At thirty-five floors up, I could see more of Denver than I thought possible. My feet carried me toward the nearest ledge before my brain even registered what I was doing, but I was drawn to the beauty that lay before me. The city streets stretched far and wide, their sparkling lights radiating against brick buildings and tall trees.
Despite the light pollution below, the stars were more than visible. I looked up and felt the vastness of the world around me in a way I hadn’t felt in a long time. Not since I last went hiking, I supposed. I was usually so tucked into the city spaces I frequented that I tended to forget how much of the world was actually beyond me.
I felt the warmth of Leo’s body as he stepped into place beside me. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” There was genuine wonder in his voice as he took in the same view I was lost in.
I let out a sigh, feeling a profound contentment in my soul. “It’s incredible,” I whispered.
Chapter Three
“Come on,” he said warmly, “let’s go sit.” Pushing his body off the edge of the low brick wall, he moved toward the lounges closest to us, setting the bucket of champagne onto the table. I watched as he placed the two glass flutes down before he looked back at me. He held the blanket up for me earnestly, a crooked smile brightening his face. “This is for you . . . it’s a bit chilly out tonight.”
He was right. I’d put the hoodie on for my walk home, but my plan for when I was back inside my own apartment had been to throw on some warmer sweatpants over my bare legs. With this adventurous turn of events and our now thirty-five-story-high celebration, the crisp late-night breeze was chilling me straight to the bone. I followed him over and took the blanket from him. “Thank you.”
He nodded as I sat down, pulling the fleece over my legs. It was heavier than it looked, providing instant warmth and allowing me to relax into the cozy cushion. Leo gave me a small smile as he picked up the bottle of champagne and removed the foil from the top, exposing the cork beneath. He popped it with one quick flick of his honey-toned wrist and looked at me with gleaming eyes, his broad chest puffed with pride.
“You never told me what we’re celebrating,” I remembered, hoping to dissect Leo’s joy a little bit, to understand how a man like him ticked.
He poured a generous amount of champagne into each flute and handed me one before he spoke. “I closed a deal,” he explained, his smooth voice curling around me, heating my blood up a notch. Or two. “Maybe the most important one of my career.”
I’d had a hunch it would have something to do with business, an early judgment based on the way that he was dressed. I imagined he was a man who invested in stocks, who had a 401k and a high-yield savings account. “A big one?”
His shoulders lifted in a small shrug. “Actually, not a very big one. But an important one all the same.”
It was pretty late in the night for him to be closing deals. “What kind of business do you do?”
Leo simply looked at me, hesitating. And I wondered why . . . it should have been an easy answer, right? “It’s a little complicated. The ‘professional summary’ section of my résumé includes various buzzwords”—he grinned at me, like he knew exactly how he sounded but was confident enough to own it—“like executive leadership for struggling companies, acquisitions and mergers, flipping businesses for hefty profits . . . Essentially I ensure that any business I work with performs well and exceeds profit expectations.”
“Oh.” My thoughts instantly turned to Larkspur and my dream of buying it. “That’s pretty impressive.”
He gave me a sheepish smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, his shoulders noncommittally lifting and falling. “It’s a family business. My father is much more impressive at it all than I’ll ever be.” I narrowed my eyes at him as his face flashed with what looked like resentment before he wiped the expression clean altogether. His father, I gathered, was a sore subject.
“So did you buy a business? Or sell one? Or . . . lead one?” I asked, steering the conversation to safer ground.
Amusement settled back over his features as he smirked playfully. “Bought one. Though it’s not one that would normally fit my firm’s portfolio.” He sighed. “Anyway, I’m confident in its potential.” A clump of dark brown hair fell into his eyes as he tilted his head to look at me, and I watched eagerly as he ran his free hand up to push it back.
I lifted my full champagne glass, stretching my arm out to meet his. “Cheers to your success, Leo.” My mouth pulled with a smile. His returning grin was devastating as he reached forward with his own flute to clink it against mine. We both took long sips, our gazes locked together. I wondered what might come next, after we finished our drinks. Would we end the night, or would we have another? Would I end up in his bed, like I was starting to hope for? “Aren’t you going to sit down?” I asked as I put my glass back down. It was cold, and I thought he might want some of this blanket, too.
Plus, with his body closer to mine, I could throw out a few signals to see if he took the bait. It would be nice to be touched by a man again.
Leo’s eyes ping-ponged between the seat next to me and my face. If not for the sudden fixed intensity in his expression, as though he could read my thoughts, it might’ve been comical. He moved around the rectangular coffee table and lowered himself down next to me, instantly warming my side. “So,” he husked, “you know why I’m celebrating. Now it’s your turn. What were you doing out so late? Middle of the night sandwich craving?”
I laughed. “No, I just got off work—I’m a bartender. Rudy’s is on the way home, and I stop in sometimes after my shift when I haven’t had dinner.”
Concern flashed across his face. “You didn’t eat dinner?”
I took another sip of my champagne before answering. “No.”
“I’ll make you something,” he said quickly.
“Oh . . . no, it’s okay. Really. I’m not even that hungry.”
