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“Uh, no.” Sinclaire buttons her jeans and walks to the door. She only cracks it open enough to stick her head out. “I’m fine. I’ll be out in a little bit.”
“Okay. Well if you’re feeling up to it, we have your favorite tiramisu.”
“Alright.”
“You didn’t see Harper, did you, by chance? Like in the hall?”
Sinclaire’s shoulders stiffen beneath the soft yellow fabric of her seater. “Um, no. Why would you ask?”
“He went to the bathroom and never came back to the table. Guess he had to leave, but I thought he’d have stayed for dessert or said good-bye.” She chuckles. “But you know these writers. Craziest souls on earth. I should be used to them by now. I’ll check on him tomorrow.”
“I’m sure he’s fine,” Sinclaire says, her voice giving away nothing.
“He’s handsome, right?”
“Um . . sure.”
“Brilliant and such a great guy.”
“Are you . . .” Sinclaire releases a breathy laugh. “Are you trying to set me up with your client?”
“Well I don’t want to push, but ya never know. I just think he’s a nice young man. Maybe you two could—”
“Thanks, Mom.” Sinclaire gives me the finger behind her back, and I have to cover my mouth not to laugh. “I’ll be out in a second.”
I hear Merrin’s footsteps retreating back up the hall. Sinclaire rests her forehead against the closed door for a second, releasing a gust of air in a sigh. I walk up behind her and kiss the back of her neck, tongue the satiny slope, grip her hips and press into the curve of her ass.
“What are you doing?” She slips away, turning outraged eyes up to me. “We can’t.”
“Your mom seems to think we should,” I laugh, reaching for her again. “You heard her. I’m handsome and brilliant.”
“Yeah, that’s because she doesn’t know you fucked me up against a wall ten minutes after meeting me.”
“Ahh. Memories.”
“You have to go,” she whisper-shouts. “Let me see if the coast is clear and you can slip out.”
“I don’t want to slip out. I want to kiss you again.” I grin. “I want that tiramisu.”
“Well you don’t get it.” She pokes her head into the hall and then grabs my hand, dragging me out behind her. Tip toeing, she pauses at the sound of her parents talking in the dining room. The apartment is otherwise still, seems empty. She hurries past the living room and to the front door, opening it quietly and shoving me into the hall. Before I can tell her I need my coat, the door closes firmly in my face.
“Well, shit.”
I look around the deserted hall and think about the cold walk to the subway that’s ahead of me. I try not to feel rejected looking back at the closed door as I board the elevator. I took a chance and it backfired, but I’m not giving up.
I found her.
Against all odds, I found the girl who so effortlessly embedded herself in my mind. I haven’t been able to get her out of my thoughts for the last year and a half, and after one kiss, I know I won’t be forgetting her any time soon. Her mother is my agent. I wave to the security guard who let me up a few hours ago and draw in a deep breath, hesitating at the revolving glass door. A light snow is falling, and every instinct urges me to go back up and get my coat.
Every instinct but one.
I really pushed tonight. Was very clear that I want to see where this goes, but seeing me again so unexpectedly, discovering I’m her mother’s client, and that I wrote a book based on our one-hour stand—it’s a lot. I don’t want to push too hard in case I blow this for good. And this is too good, she’s too good, to mess up. So I’ll let her come to me.
In the meantime, a brisk walk in the snow won’t kill me.
Will it?
Visions of all the starving artists who must have died of consumption flash through my mind. I’m stepping out into the street, shivering in the cold as feathery flakes drift to the ground, when a sound behind me grabs my attention. I turn to find Sinclaire standing just outside the glass doors on the sidewalk with my coat folded over one arm.
“You forgot this.”
A laugh, so insistent I can’t even try to hold it back, bubbles up and forces its way past my lips. She grins at me and rolls her eyes, proffering the pea coat to me. “Mom spotted it and I knew you’d be cold.”
“Yeah.” I step forward to take it from her, gratefully slipping my arms in. “I was already thinking about losing a toe to frost bite.”
She tips her head back, meeting my eyes, and her smile softens, melts out here in the cold. Snowflakes fall like sprinkled sugar, stark against her smooth skin and dark hair. I press one frosty knuckle to the curve of her cheek.
