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Do not look at her feet. Do not look at her feet.
I skated my gaze down her silk clad body to those tone bare legs. Damn her for those pink toenails.
The doorman cleared his throat.
I jabbed the button for the top floor without looking up.
The doors slid shut and for the briefest of seconds I wondered what he saw. Did we look angry? Could he see the electricity that charged around us? Could he feel it?
When I dragged my gaze back up to her face, JoJo’s cheeks were tinted rose. She was still so damn beautiful. In that wild and natural way of hers.
I doubted she’d ever worn makeup... unless that dreadful mother-in-law of mine had made her.
She didn’t need it.
She’s not wearing the scarf in her hair.
How had I only just now noticed?
Maybe because she was only wearing a thin scrap of silk and I had a view of her legs I hadn’t had in twenty-two years.
How old are you, Kane?
I was acting like I was a man half my age who was getting his first glimpse of a woman. Not a grown man who had long ago learned how to master his urges because he couldn’t touch his wife but refused to be unfaithful.
“Why did you marry her?”
There was an earnestness in the question. No maliciousness or judgment.
How did she know I’d been thinking about Alma? Because that woman was ingrained in my very being. She’d been the bane of my existence so long I didn’t know how to function without her.
I put my hand in my pocket and leaned against the wall. “Are you sure you want to ask me questions? Because if I answer one of yours, you have to answer one of mine.”
She shifted from foot to foot, though she never looked away. She wasn’t afraid of anything. Not even me.
Except the water.
Had she gotten over her fear of that? Would that be the question I asked if given the chance?
Somehow the slow elevator had seemed to move like lightning. We were back on the penthouse floor. Grandma Josephine’s door was wide open. Because JoJo had chased me.
Not because she wanted you. Because she needs something from you.
If all went to plan, hopefully I’d gain something from her too. Like a way to keep most of my wealth.
She led me through the front door to the kitchen. “Want something to drink?” She pulled a mug down from a cabinet. “And that doesn’t count as a question for you to ask one in return.”
I resisted the urge to grin. I’d definitely been going to use it as one.
“Sure. Do you have any scotch?”
She frowned. “You aren’t drinking while we’re having a serious discussion.”
“If you want the answer to any questions about my soon-to-be ex-wife, I need alcohol. And lots of it.”
She ignored me and filled a tea kettle with water before setting it on the stove. The burner clicked then flared to life.
“You use it as a crutch.” She folded her arms over her chest.
