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Uninvited.
Royce arrived home and tossed his key fob into the decorative bowl in the foyer. A lush green plant sat next to the tall narrow table in the entryway, its leaves shined to glossy perfection by his housekeeper. She also left a bowl of lemons on the kitchen counter along with a vase of fresh flowers in the dining room.
He appreciated those kinds of details. Living alone was fine with him, but he liked life breathed into the space that he returned to each day after work. It gave him a sense of not being alone, but he was never required to converse. Which he also liked.
At least he usually liked it.
Since his parents had shared the news that he was CEO, Royce had been elated. Practically buoyant. Talk about two emotions he didn’t feel often, if ever. His mother had taken a car home and he and his father retired to the bar for a scotch. Jack had reiterated that he would tell Gia and Bran personally, asking Royce not to say anything of their clandestine dinner. “Rumors can destroy a company,” he’d warned.
Didn’t Royce know it.
“You’re brilliant,” his father had added. “Hell, all my children are. But you are thoughtful and slow to speak. Careful in the right ways. That is what will make you a great CEO.”
Royce had agreed with that assessment. Then his father said something that made Royce frown.
“You’re also careful in the wrong ways. Being reckless is okay from time to time. The world won’t come off its axis if you do something wild.”
His mind arrowed back to—who else? Taylor Thompson. The kiss in the closet that never should have happened. It had been wild. Barely restrained. And while the world wasn’t knocked from its axis, it had been given a solid shove.
Taylor was an indulgence. An indulgence he was supposed to have forgotten about by now. An indulgence that should’ve been satisfied a week ago. An indulgence that was making him itch like he was wearing a new wool sweater. He needed to do something, but he had no idea what.
He tossed his jacket onto the back of the dining room chair and removed his cuff links. He didn’t typically undress in his kitchen but before he did anything else tonight, he was celebrating. A glass of wine would be nice. Then he could toast to himself.
He bent to pull a bottle of Old Vine Zinfandel from its home in the wine rack and admired the sleek black bottle with the pewter emblem on the neck. His house, normally welcoming and quiet, felt like a soundproof cocoon. He was happy but had no one to celebrate with—he couldn’t call up Gia or Bran—so he was stuck with his own company.
Keeping secrets from his siblings didn’t sit well with him, though he understood his parents’ motivations. They needed to tell Gia and Bran in their own time and in their own way. Royce respected that. He opened the bottle and poured a few inches of the red into a wineglass.
Unsure what to do with himself, he flipped on a table lamp and sat on the new-but-made-to-look-worn leather sofa. Strumming his fingers on his knees, he spotted the remote for the fireplace. In the click of a button flames flickered to life. Wine in hand, he sipped, struck by how odd it was to sit here without work in front of him. He set the wineglass aside, lifted a magazine off the table, also left in place by his housekeeper, and idly flipped through it before setting it aside as well.
He grunted what might’ve been a laugh. His father was right. Royce really didn’t know how to unwind.
The doorbell chimed and he jumped off the couch, almost embarrassingly eager to invite whomever it was inside. Even if it was one of his siblings, he could still share a glass of wine if not the reason behind it. Shared wine with company was a hell of a lot better than sitting here alone.
The black-and-white security screen in the kitchen showed a woman standing on his front porch but she was too tall to be Gia. He leaned in for a closer look.
“Taylor?” His first thought was that something awful had happened. Why else would she stop by unannounced? His second thought, after he’d yanked the door open, was that she was at the wrong house.
Her tiny trench coat was belted in the middle and hiding what he guessed was a very short dress. Her legs were smooth and tan, ending in a tall, spiked pair of heels. Her hair was slightly wavy, the same way it’d looked at the office except...bouncier.
Turned out he’d have someone to celebrate with after all.
Be practical. Practicality came as naturally as breathing for him.
But it wasn’t easy to be practical with Taylor in front of him looking like sex in stilettos. She teetered, those tall spindles nestled in the crooks of his cobblestone porch. The shoes were black and wrapped enticingly around her ankles with delicate straps and tiny gold buckles. Those delicate straps led to shapely calves, cute knees and up, up to a pair of plush thighs.
An eager part of his anatomy gave a peppy jerk. He warned himself to stop staring—to be practical—but as in his office this afternoon, he was incapable of either.
His eyes reached the short, white, belted coat with big black buttons and continued to dark blond hair framing her beautiful face. A staggeringly gorgeous face. A face he’d have sworn to his brother before last weekend was passably pretty.
A lie.
Taylor, with her slightly parted full lips, high cheekbones dusted pink and long black lashes shielding shimmering brown eyes wasn’t “passably” anything.
She was an absolute knockout.
“Good evening.” She said it as sweetly as Red Riding Hood, but the twitch in her smile was almost predatory. Before he could warn himself to be practical again, before he could rein in his hope that she’d come here for a reason that was as far away from professional as imaginable, his father’s words revisited him like the Ghost of Longing Past.
“You’re also careful in the wrong ways. Being reckless is okay from time to time.”
No, the world hadn’t flown off the axis when he’d kissed Taylor—in fact, things were going his way. Could be this was a sign that he was on the right track rather than the wrong one.
Lucky for her he was a safe Big Bad Wolf to her Red Riding Hood. With a grin he gestured to his foyer. “Won’t you come in?”
