Or maybe not.
I look down at my outfit, confused. Was he expecting a nun’s habit? “I did.”
“No, you didn’t. There’s going to be flying brass from the shells. It could land in your... shirt.” He points vaguely to my chest area. I think he was going to saycleavage. He is all flustered.
“Oh.” I hadn’t known that. “I brought a jacket,” I offer, holding it up.
His shoulders relax. “That should work.” He pauses for a beat, eyeing me. “You look... nice.”
“Just nice, huh? Not striking?” I wink at him.Okay, I’m fishing.
His face goes a bit frozen. “You always look striking,” he says, glancing away before I can react. Maybe I’m not the only one having wayward thoughts tonight.
“Do my ears deceive me, or did you actually just compliment me?” I feel his forehead with the back of my hand. “Are you ill?”
He snags my wrist. “I have definitely complimented you before.”
I pretend to think about it. “Hmm. Nope, I think I would remember if the world had ended.” If he had complimented me, I would havedissected it and rerun it in my head a billion times. Infinity times. A googolplex times.
He frowns. “No compliments. Guess I’ll have to rectify that.”
He stands there for a long moment, squinting like he’s running through a myriad of possibilities and rejecting them one by one. After ten seconds of silence, I shoot him a dirty look.
“What? I’m thinking,” he says, laughing.
“Don’t hurt yourself.”
I start to move away but he catches my hand, a ghost of a smile curving his lips. When he speaks, his voice is an octave lower.
“Kate, you lookstrikinglybeautiful tonight. Even more distractingly beautiful than you look every day at work.”
I suck in a breath. I was expecting something like,Kate, you are exceptionally talented at annoying the hell out of me.Not arealcompliment. The combination of his nearness, the handholding, and his velvety chocolate sex voice nearly liquefies me into a puddle on the floor. A blush crawls up my neck.
He looks amused. “Wow. This flustered from one measly little compliment? You’re really opening up a can of worms here.” He tugs me toward the elevator, not releasing my hand.
I press a palm to my neck, embarrassed. My skin is so hot, my clothes are incinerating.
“Come on. You know you’re beautiful.” He says it a little shyly, and I feel like the Grinch—my heart grows three sizes. “You leave a trail of men in your wake wherever you go.”
My laugh is strangled. “That is such a lie.”
“You just don’t notice.”
His barrage of flattery has me so off-balance, I’m running a beat behind on our normal banter tempo. “Well... thanks.”
It’s an entirely inadequate response. He deserves a reciprocalcompliment, but when I consider telling him I think he’s the sexiest man alive,Peoplemagazine be damned, I can’t make my lips form the words.
“You’re welcome.”
His smile burns through my chest like a brand. I smile back, feeling timid and hopeful and nervous and... happy.
At some point as we stand there staring at each other, the air palpably changes, a crackling electricity whipping between us like static. My pulse intensifies as his eyes search my face, finally landing on my lips.
He looks like he’s going to kiss me. Or maybe—hewantsto?
My heart pounds as I mentally prepare for it—this is it—and I can’t seem to access the air in my lungs and I hope I don’t pass out, when a woman with a stroller wrestles open the front door of his building, huffing and puffing and making a ruckus. He drops my hand and rushes over to hold the door open, exchanging pleasantries as she struggles into the lobby.
My brain is absolutely screaming. Goddamn Ben and his chivalrous manners! I want to yell obscenities at this woman and her awful, cherubic-looking baby. Doesn’t she realize what she’s interrupted?
