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I study her like I can find the answeron her. My gaze travels up and down her curves, from the mask covering her eyes to the fringe on her dress swishing against her knees to the stars dangling from her silver anklet.
Wait.
Déjà vu slams me harshly into yesterday evening at Tate’s office, but the details aren’t clear. I scrub a hand across my jaw, trying to activate the memory fully.
But now that she’s seconds away, I’m torn. Figure out what’s been nagging at me or find out why my mystery woman is ditching me.
I’m tempted to grab her hand, toss her over my shoulder, carry her into the library, and ask what the fuck?But I’m not going to push a woman around.
I step out of the doorway. “You’re avoiding me,” I say, using words, only words.
But she flinches, then stumbles. I dart out a hand, catching her wrist before she falls.
Her breath catches. “Oh.” It comes out shuddery.
“Aren’t you?” I ask.
Her gaze drifts down to my hand on hers, but she doesn’t try to shake it off. “I don’t know what you mean,” she says, her voice not quite her own. It’s as if she’s trying to hide it, pitching it down.
But fuck games. “You haven’t looked my way the whole night,” I say.
“I’ve been working.” Her tone is neutral, but a little shaky under the surface like she’s fighting to stay that unaffected.
I’m scaring her. She got cold feet, and I’m fucking scaring her.
The dating world is shitty enough for women. I don’t need to be a demanding, aggressive prick. Resigned to being stood up, I let go of her and raise my hands in surrender. “I’m sorry. Forgive me. Have a good night,” I say, then I step around her, but my eyes land again on her anklet.
That’s…
The woman racing into the bathroom yesterday at Tate’s office.
“Your ankle bracelet,” I say heavily, dread swirling in my gut.
Her eyes widen behind her mask. She gulps. Oh hell.
Yesterday, Tate said he had to meet his daughter for dinner. I swear I saw her rushing down the hall, catching only a fading glimpse of her legs.
Thatwoman was wearingthisanklet.
I grab her hand again, and this time I do jerk her into the library, shutting the door and locking it behind us. I rip off my mask. “Are you…?”
With a pained expression, she slowly removes hers—revealing my best friend’s beautiful daughter.
She’s even more stunning with her mask off.
8
LIKE A GOOD GIRL
Finn
I slam my fist against the wall. “Fuck,” I grunt, then shake out my hand. My knuckles burn. I can’t believe my bad luck. “I’ve done nothing but think about you for the last two weeks,” I grit out.
“Join the club,” she says dryly, handling this much better than I am.
But it’s not funny to me. I stare harshly at the beauty in front of me. “Do you have any idea how much you’ve been on my mind?” I ask, but I’m not angry at her. I’m pissed at fate.
“No. How much?” It’s a challenge and a genuine question.
