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“Why did you change your hair?” he asks at last.
I almost gasp in relief as I realize why he’s been so absorbed in my appearance. I forgot that he hasn’t seen Amber’s new blond hair.
Masking my expression, I give a little shrug. “I just felt like a change. Don’t you like it?”
His brown eyes scrutinize every detail of my appearance. His gaze is mostly focused on my hair, but I notice it also slips down to linger briefly on my breasts.
He and Amber are engaged to be married. Of course he’s allowed to look. But it still makes me feel strangely naked, exposed.
“You don’t like it?” I ask when he doesn’t answer. Any woman in the world would feel insecure if she thought the man in her life didn’t like her new hairdo, so I know the slight quaver in my voice is exactly right.
“Of course I like it.” He’s still studying me with frightening scrutiny. He tightens his tie and reaches over for his suit jacket. “It just takes some getting used to. It makes you look really different.”
I suddenly realize what a great advantage the apparent change in hair color is. A major alteration of appearance like that can also explain any other slight incongruities William might notice. Hair can make eye color, facial shape, and skin tone seem different too. Surely a dramatic change from brunette to blond will mask the very minor differences between my appearance and Amber’s.
“Well, I like it,” I say, patting my messy hair. I’m starting to feel too self-conscious under his observant eyes, so I climb out of bed, mumbling that I need some coffee.
I’m able to escape for long enough to get a cup of coffee, and when I return, William is sitting on the edge of the bed and reading a message on his phone.
“Everything all right?” I ask when I see his eyebrows draw together, creating little lines of worry on his forehead.
He glances up, as if he’s surprised. “Of course.”
There isn’t any “of course” about it. He’s clearly distracted by whatever message he received, and it has obviously concerned him. His shoulders look a little tense, and his jaw is set tightly.
“What is it?” As far as I can tell on our brief acquaintance, he seems like a basically decent guy. I don’t like this change in his demeanor. It means something is wrong with him. I sit on the bed beside him, holding my coffee mug in both hands. “Did something happen?”
His eyes cut over to my face, and for a moment he looks like he’s going to say something, like he’s going to share whatever is bothering him. But then he gives an almost imperceptible shake of his head. “It’s nothing, Amber. Nothing for you to worry about.”
My mouth tightens in annoyance. He’s clearly hiding things from me, shutting me out. My first instinct is to resist such treatment. I want to know what’s wrong.
But I stifle the irrational instinct. Obviously, William and Amber have their regular habits—which seem to consist of holding each other at arm’s length. I would be incredibly foolish if I don’t take advantage of this situation.
The more distanced I am from William, the safer I’ll be.
“Okay. Good.” I sip my coffee.
He shoots me a strange look I can’t interpret and then gets up, buttoning his suit jacket as he does. “I’ve got to get to the office. I have a dinner meeting, so I’ll be back late tonight.”
If I was really his fiancée, I’d definitely have something to say about his working all day after being gone for a week. But, as it is, his absence adds to my advantage. “Okay. Have a good day.”
He stands looking at me for a minute, as if he’s waiting for something.
Hit with a sudden realization, I stand up too. I stretch up to kiss him on the mouth, carefully holding my coffee away so I don’t spill it on his lovely suit. He smells delicious—warm, masculine, faintly expensive, nothing too obvious or obnoxious.
He kisses me back, gently stroking the length of my hair as he pulls away. His brow is lowered when he looks down at me again.
I freeze, wondering if he can tell the difference between my kisses and Amber’s. Obviously, people have their own ways of kissing. But how different could such a simple kiss be?
“I’ll talk to you later.” Then he walks out of the room.
I release a rough sigh and flop back down on the bed, relieved to be alone again.
So far, things have gone all right. But this is going to get really complicated fast.
* * *
William doesn’t get home until after eight that evening. And then, after grabbing a sandwich from the kitchen and giving me a brief greeting, he disappears into the one locked room in the apartment—which is obviously his home office.
