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A shy smile flits across her face, and I know my job here is done—I’ve successfully pulled her attention away from her asthma attack.
“Well,” she says slowly, “you’re probably thinking, Why am I in this kitchen when I should be at the party?”
“Come on, that’s too easy. Of course I’m thinking that.”
She laughs, and I grab two waters from the steel refrigerator behind me.
When I turn around, she’s stuffing the inhaler in her bra.
“You weren’t supposed to see that.”
“See what? You look like you could use a water. I don’t know anything about an inhaler.”
A hard laugh escapes her, and our eyes lock for a beat. She’s really pretty. The kind of pretty that could make me forget why staying uninvolved is safer.
I shake off the guilt that’s creeping in as she swallows a few gulpfuls of water, then points the bottle at me. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, but you still didn’t guess what I’m thinking.”
She squints one eye like she’s deep in concentration. “Okay, you’re thinking I barely escaped the Collins boys and accidentally ended up here.”
“Damn, you’re good.” I lift a finger. “Except I don’t know who the Collins boys are. Other than that, you read me like a book.”
“How could I have ever doubted myself?”
“Beats me. You don’t look like the doubting type.”
Our eyes lock for another moment, and something inside my chest shifts. It’s not attraction, exactly. It’s recognition, like something I’ve been circling without realizing it. And suddenly I want to stop circling and find out more—about her.
Which is exactly how you lose control, Maddox.
“We should be getting back to the party.” I come around the counter to stand by her, getting a whiff of her perfume—it’s sweet, like honeysuckle nectar on a warm summer night. “That’s if you’re up to rejoining the Collins boys.”
She smiles. “I think I’m good. They’ve probably moved on to someone else by now.”
“Here, I’ll escort you back to the lobby. I’m Rhett Maddox, by the way.”
Her eyes widen as if she either already knows my name or is surprised I’m a Maddox.
She gives me a little wave. “Hey.”
We walk and talk through the dining room. “Is that all I get? ‘Hey’? When you successfully guessed my thoughts on your entire backstory?”
Her lips twist into a playful smirk. “There’s a lot more backstory you missed.”
“Be still, my wounded heart.” I tug on the glass door, ready to allow her to exit first, but the damnedest thing happens.
The door won’t budge.
“Huh.”
Overhead, the lights flicker once, like they’re in on some joke. She spots it and flinches.
“The lights been doing crazy things on you, too?”
Her jaw drops. “So I’m not the only one?”
“Not by a long shot. But it seems we’ve moved from strobing lights to”—I try the other door, and it’s secure as well—“locked doors.” I drop my hands to my hips and shake my head. “Who’s the culprit?”
