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Should it?
I was too busy backing away from the door to listen to whatever Xavier said next but still flustered enough that I ran right into the coatrack he had in his hallway and knocked the whole thing down with a crash.
“What the fuck?”
To my horror, Xavier’s footsteps sounded. A few seconds later, the door opened, and he found me standing over a mess of jackets and the fallen rack, trying for all the world not to look like I was eavesdropping.
Which I had been. Completely.
He wore the remnants of a dark blue suit, with navy pants and a lighter blue shirt that made his eyes shine the same color, and a paisley tie to match. A business day, then, not a restaurant day—not particularly his favorite.
Instead of irritation, however, worry colored his carved features. And then, once he realized I was all right, it was replaced by humor.
“You’re shit at hide and seek, Ces,” he told me with a wry half-smile. “One second.”
He disappeared, and I heard him sign off with his companion.
“Next week, then,” he told the woman, who responded in kind before Xavier returned to where I was already picking up jackets.
“I wasn’t eavesdropping,” I told him resolutely now that I had picked myself off the floor, though the look on his face said he absolutely didn’t believe me.
“Never said you were,” he said. “Out of curiosity, though, how long were you standing there?”
“Not long.” Just enough to know you’re upset about a woman. “Not long at all.”
He studied me for a moment, well after I was finished rehanging his jackets. One was a trench coat. The other three were varying Arsenal hoodies. A cashmere overcoat I recognized from last winter.
It was everything I could do not to lean in for a whiff of his clean, masculine scent. And then everything I could do not to rip the shirt he was wearing off his body for the same reason. Lord, his tattoo was peeking out on his forearm, and I wanted to lick it. I wanted to lick him all over, feel the smooth texture of his skin under my tongue, taste that salty residue of his skin…
And my mind was back in the dirt.
Dammit.
“Something on your mind, babe?”
That deep voice was like a direct conduit to between my legs. Even more, when I looked up and found those blue eyes watching me knowingly, a black brow perked over the left one, like he knew exactly what tawdry ideas were floating through my mind.
I shivered. “Er—I thought you might want to see this.”
Xavier’s gaze fell to the journal I was holding out, and he sighed.
“It was Henry’s,” I said. “From 1984. He—he mentions your mother.”
Again, Xavier examined me, like he could sense the tension and desire underlying even those innocuous words. A mountain of questions lay between us, as always. Questions like,Why do you even care?andDo you still care about me?andCould you care about us again?
He cleared his throat, took the book from me, then turned on his heel and walked back into the living room, letting me follow at my leisure.
“Does this mean you’re doing it?” Xavier asked as he sank onto a leather couch he’d bought two weeks ago.
I perched uneasily on a stool by the counter. Lord, I could smell him from here. Damn olfactory overdrive from the baby. And oh, he smelled good. Like brine and water and the very best liquor and smoke…
“Ces.”
I blinked. “Huh?”
Xavier tipped his head, causing a black lock to fall forward. “I asked if you’d made a decision about school. Does the fact that you’re reading these mean you’re going back to study?”
Something in his voice made me pause. He was acting nonchalant, but IthoughtI had heard a note of excitement in his voice.
