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“Absolutely, I’m serious. I’d love for you to finally come visit.” He reaches over and squeezes my knee. His touch warms my skin through the jeans, and I pull my hair off my neck, still attempting to cool down from wearing a too-thick winter sweater indoors. “Come have fun for a night. Get away from here. What’s the worst that can happen?”
ChapterThree
Sandra
The New Year’s Eve before last New Year’s Eve
“Yes, Mr. Duke? A Sandra Turner is here to see you.”
The older man with kind eyes and a black suit jacket over a white Oxford with a crooked collar checks me out while holding a handset to his ear. About ten charcoal strands stretch across his scalp from one side to the other. He’d look so much better if he trimmed those long strands that do a poor job of covering his scalp.
“Yes, sir.” He sets the handset down with an air of authority. “You can go up. Eighteenth floor.”
“Thank you.” My heels click loudly on the marble as I wheel my suitcase to the elevators.
Rumor has it Ian has done as well as Sam, so a natural curiosity about his apartment and lifestyle exists. Oliver describes Ian to other people as a hotshot workaholic surgeon who made a mint investing in pharmaceuticals and medical devices.
The apartment lobby is nice, but it isn’t what I imagined a billionaire would live in, or what I imagine Sam and his family own in New York City. Oliver told me about that apartment once. Two stories with an outside area featuring an enormous gas fireplace and stunning views of the river, Manhattan, and Jersey. Based on Oliver’s description, Sam’s penthouse sounds television-worthy, and he doesn’t even live in it full-time, since he and his wife moved to Connecticut once they started having kids.
As the elevator rises, I fidget with my short dress, tugging it lower on my thighs. The dress code for the night’s New Year’s party is unknown. I didn’t bother asking Ian because he’d probably answer with something like ‘anything goes.’ I’ve learned over the years men are unhelpful in many areas of life.
If Oliver hadn’t gotten snowed in up in Jackson, I probably wouldn’t have come to Houston. He would’ve convinced me to come out with our group of friends. He would’ve forced me to because he’d been set up on a blind date, and he’d use that as an excuse to drag me along as a buffer. But without Oliver, my choices were celebrating with two married couples or sitting on the sofa reading a book.
Sitting on the sofa didn’t sound half bad. But the prospect of celebrating in a new place won me over. And I have been promising Ian a visit. He’s only a three-hour drive away, so it’s kind of ridiculous I haven’t yet visited. Not that Ian and I talk all that often, but we usually touch base via text at least once a month. Of the three Duke brothers, he’s always been the most sensitive and thoughtful. He’ll reach out if I don’t.
Mr. Duke may have called him a momma’s boy, but Mrs. Duke said he just got the blunt end of the stick one too many times and preferred life indoors with her. From what I saw, Ian could give as good as he got when it came to his brothers.
Sam and Oliver weren’t wrong when they complained their mom refused to believe Ian ever did anything wrong. She once found a six pack of beer in his closet and swore that one of his older brothers must have stashed it in Ian’s closet. We all laughed hard about that, even Ian. By then, Sam, Oliver, and I were all in college, and Ian must’ve been a sophomore in high school. Those were, as the song lyrics go, the good ol’ days.
When the elevator doors glide on the eighteenth floor, I step out and search for the letter B. After locating the door mere steps from the elevator, I pause, listening. Rock music flows softly out into the hall. I rap against the door and wait.
Footfalls sound distant and resonate more deeply. The door swings open, and Ian fills the doorway. His sandy brown hair has been cut shorter since I saw him on Christmas, and he’s shaved his short beard, giving him a more familiar, youthful appearance.
His tight, black, short sleeve sweater hugs the curve of every muscle, showing off a muscular chest and narrow waist. The gold buckle on his smooth black leather belt gleams. The charcoal trousers fit him nicely, not too tight, but just enough to reveal nicely shaped buttocks. The post-college Ian has always dressed well, like a subdued Prada-without-logos kind of man, and tonight is no exception. He excels at classy casual, and I’m so, so grateful I opted to wear a silky crimson cocktail dress with high heels.
“Sunny. Stunning as always.” And, yeah, that’s another thing that has always been true about Ian. He’s the king of compliments. Just a genuinely sweet guy, and I am certain girls will be falling all over themselves to meet him tonight.
“Thanks, Ian,” I say. “You look as handsome as ever. I’m sorry I’m late.”
He bends down and gives me a welcoming hug, enveloping me in his musky cologne. It’s not too much, but rather it’s just enough where, when he’s close, you can breathe his masculinity in. The earthy scent calls to me. He brushes his lips against my cheek, and his smooth, freshly shaven skin rubs against me, and I close my eyes to revel in the silky soft smoothness.
I grin up at the gorgeous guy who used to be the kid brother down the street. Wow.
“You shaved,” I say, suddenly incapable of intelligent conversation.
“I do that from time to time.” He winks with a smile so wide his teeth flash.
He opens the door wide and bends to grab the handle of my suitcase. I step inside and take in Ian’s bachelor pad. A dark gray wood floor leads down a narrow hall. Black and white abstract art hangs in square black frames along one wall. A small iron table set off to the side holds a wooden bowl and a stack of mail.
An enormous black and white aerial shot of the Duke family ranch is centered on the wall at the end of the hall, framed in a thick, black, wooden frame. I’d recognize the Duke ranch from any angle, but from the air, the trees and winding river and splintering creek border on modern art in photographic form.
“To your right,” Ian says from behind me.
At the end of the hall, I venture right, stepping past a contemporary galley kitchen and gape at the floor-to-ceiling curved glass wall overlooking a feast of glittering city lights.
“The view is why I picked this place. And it’s within walking distance to the hospital.”
“Wow.”
