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Wasn’t ready to expose that part of herself, a part she’d only just discovered. A part Alex had uncovered.
She hadn’t even known she was capable of being swept away on a tide of desire, and she wasn’t really ready to let anyone else in on her revelation.
“Yes.”
“By yourself?” he asked.
“Sounds ideal, actually.”
He pushed off from the door frame. “Well then, please yourself.”
“Shall.”
“I will see you next week.”
She nodded slowly. “Okay. Next week, then.”
“Then...then we’ll decide what we’re going to do.”
She nodded, holding back a groan. She wasn’t ready to decide anything.
“No guarantees.”
“People do not tell me no, Rachel. I warn you of that right now.”
“Funny, I’ve told you no quite a few times.”
“Yes. But before you said no, you said yes. Pretty emphatically. I’m sure I can get you to say it again.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
HE WAS SO TIRED he wanted to lie down and not get up for three days. But he didn’t want to lie down alone. He wanted to lie down next to Rachel. To pull her curvy body against his and just hold her while he slept.
That was probably the jet lag talking, but oh, well.
It was morning on the island, late night in New York. What he had to do was drink an espresso and suck it up. He was young—there were plenty of people his age who partied every night and went to work the next morning.
For some reason, though, half the time he felt old.
Maybe it was the strain of being a respectable businessman when he knew that it just wasn’t programmed into him genetically. He would have been better off selling his body for cash or selling other people to turn a profit.
He shut down that line of thinking and walked into the house.
He could hear singing. Coming from the kitchen. It was off-key, and it was horrible. Warbling about wanting to make someone feel wanted.
He followed the noise like a bread crumb trail, and at the end of it was a blonde with her hair piled high on her head in a messy bun, dancing around the room in short pajama shorts with an empty mug in her hand.
“Good morning,” he said. “Is the coffee made?”
She stopped then flailed, her arms flung wide. “Ack!”
“Sorry to interrupt.”
“You scared me. I didn’t know when you’d be back.”
“I texted you.” That was how he’d kept in touch with her over the past week. The occasional text just to make sure she was okay. Sometimes she’d even responded without an insult.
