Page 33 of Based on You

The dangerous truth was, this wasn't the first time my mind had gone there. Back when Lara was still in the picture, she'd cornered me once, complaining about how much private time I spent alone with Violet. I'd told her there was nothing between us, and I'd meant it. At that point, it had been the truth.

But then Lara and I ended, and something shifted between Violet and me.

It started at the disastrous investor dinner. Violet had shown up in a stunning red dress that night, the kind that was technically professional and practically devastating.

I'd kept my hand on her shoulder during the tense pre-dinner introductions, telling myself it was just corporate positioning, strictly professional. I'd repeated that lie while my thumb stayed where it was and refused to move.

When the dinner ran long and she'd had far too much to drink, she'd gone quiet and pliant against my side. Her warm body leaned into mine, her chest pressing against my hand so directly that every time I shifted my weight, I grazed her. Her breath had been warm and close to my ear, and in that moment, I'd learned something terrifying about myself that I then deliberately boxed up and set aside.

The next morning, I'd coldly told her she was never stepping out with me again. I'd meant it as protection. For her. For me. I was just no longer sure in which order.

There'd been other compromising moments since. My casual words weren't always as offhand as they sounded. When I told her she looked good in something, I meant it in more registers than one. When Caleb Brown started circling her, I found it far less amusing than I let her believe. And yes, I wanted to believe she chose her outfits for me to see. I loved it when we accidentally matched. I loved it more than was professionally acceptable, so I'd filed the feeling away and left it there.

But it was still there. It was always there.

And now she was sleeping just down the hall, wearing my pajamas.

I didn't sleep well that night.

I was already at the kitchen island at dawn when Marta came in, and she had a fresh pot of coffee brewing by the time I settled.

"Good morning, Mr. Beckett."

"Morning, Marta."

"You're up early today." She glanced at my tired face. "Coffee's ready."

I reached across the marble island for the steaming mug she'd set down. "Thank you."

She went back to her prep at the stove. I sat alone with my coffee in the quiet kitchen. Olivia had been coming down for breakfast most mornings lately, ever since Violet crashed into her orbit and those online books opened something back up in her.

My niece, who'd spent eight miserable months sealed behind a closed bedroom door, now had strong opinions about plot pacing and character arcs, and she'd share them unprompted over scrambled eggs. I hadn't manufactured that. I hadn't paid a therapist for it.

Footsteps padded down the main stairs.

I looked up, and the coffee mug nearly slipped out of my hand.

In the middle of the night, when I'd reached blind into my closet, I'd yanked out the first pair of pajamas I could find, not stopping to think about what made them unwearable for mixed company. Pale sky blue. Thin. The fabric was a lightweight, worn cotton that went nearly transparent in the right light, which was why I'd long since stopped wearing the top half.

Violet was wearing the top half.

I could see the outline of her breasts through the sheer material, full and heavy, her nipples peaking beneath the thin fabric. The matching pants hugged her wide hips. To make it worse, the top button had come undone during the night, baring the swell of her breast through the open V of the collar. I stared for one second, then yanked my eyes up to the kitchen ceiling.

I crossed my legs under the island counter.

She padded in and stopped right in front of me. "Good morning."

"Did you sleep well?" I asked the far wall.

"It was so good." She sighed, happy. "Thank you again so much."

"You really don't have to keep thanking me." I made myself look at her face and ordered my eyes to stay locked there. Her dark curls were wild and loose this morning, tumbling around her bare shoulders, her cheeks still flushed from sleep.

I glanced down at the undone button for a fraction of a second, then snapped my gaze back up to her eyes.

"When should we leave to see your landlord?" My voice came out rough.

She gave a lazy shrug. "Whenever you're ready. I'm down for whatever."