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“Of course not. Why would I be jealous?”
He turns the phone around to show me he textedthat he was sending her an Uber. She replies with two questions marks while it’s still turned toward me.
“She wants to know if she should put on the kitty ears and tail when she gets to your hotel,” I lie, closing my eyes again.
He laughs outright. “Not sure you can see straight to read in your condition, lightweight.”
“I had drinks before. I’m not a lightweight.” I feel the need to justify, although honestly, I kind of am. The heat is blasting, and the seat is so comfortable that I settle in. I only open my eyes when my head comes to rest against his warm, firm shoulder. He glances down at me, but he doesn’t push me away.
“Almost there,” he says gently, and I close them again, inhaling his scent, that familiar aftershave making all kinds of memories surface, all kinds of emotions twisting and swelling inside me.
I can admit looking back that I had a pretty big crush on Silas Cruz growing up. Who wouldn’t? Now, though, those feelings are confused especially as we fall into our old roles again. Him, the knight in shining armor, me, the damsel in distress.
“You’re always rescuing me, Silas Cruz,” I hear myself say.
“You always seem to be in need of rescuing, Ophelia Hart.”
12
SILAS
Past
When Heroes Break, part 2
Ophelia nods off as Hamish maneuvers streets that grow increasingly quiet as snow blankets Boston. Hamish isn’t only my driver. Nigella Gibson, my attorney, introduced me to him when I needed help with a situation that required special handling. He’s been with me ever since. He doesn’t ask questions, and he is trustworthy, two qualities I appreciate greatly.
I have been back in town for a few days closing a deal. Running into Ophelia Hart had been a possibility but not a probability. It hasn’t happened the half-dozen times I’ve been here the last two years. I know whereshe attends school and the building in which she lives, but I haven’t seen her apart from when I switch on the TV and find either Horatio Hart’s or Sly Fox’s faces splashed across the screen detailing the latest in the embezzlement case. That’s not to say I haven’t looked for her.
I am also well aware of the fact that she’s still dating Ethan Fox. That’s been on the news too. The legal trouble Hart and Fox have has pitted them against one another and the papers are loving the young couple at the heart of it.
They call them star-crossed lovers. Eye roll. They are no Romeo and Juliet.
Ethan Fox is incapable of love, and Ophelia, well, I can’t imagine her in love with the likes of Ethan Fox. I just can’t believe she’s dating the enemy, and I can’t imagine her father is happy about it.
I look down at Ophelia. She’s grown from the bookish, shy girl into a beautiful woman. I always knew she would. Her hair is loose down her back, and the curls are a little out of control. I like it. Any time I see her with Ethan, her hair is ironed flat. She’s wearing makeup, but most of it has faded, leaving just a little smudged black around her eyes. It’s sexy. She will have a bruise where I accidentally elbowed her, though, and that I am sorry about.
When we get to the house, I thank Hamish, who tells me he’ll be back by nine in the morning to take me to the airport. I head back to Atlanta tomorrow.
“Check the weather. Flights may not be going depending on the snow.”
“Will do, sir. You need me to help…” he trails off, gesturing to the still sleeping Ophelia.
“I got her.”
He nods and I climb out, then lift Ophelia out. She makes a sound and lays her head against my chest. I remember the night I lifted her out of the pool when idiot Ethan was giving her swimming lessons. Prick. She doesn’t weigh much more now than she did then.
Reaching into my pocket, I fish out the keys to the brownstone, a company house, unlock the door and push it open. Once inside, I switch on the lights, expecting Ophelia to stir. She doesn’t. I leave her purse, hat, and scarf on the couch and carry her upstairs. There are two bedrooms, but only one is made up. I hadn’t been expecting company, so the other room wasn’t prepared. I carry her into the primary bedroom and lay her on the bed.
I straighten and look down at her, stripping off my jacket and tossing it over the back of a chair. Her coat is open, and she’s wearing a silk dress with a halter top that is completely inappropriate for the weather. Some days I’m not sure what women are thinking, and I wonder what she was doing out dressed like this as a storm blew in.
“Come on, sweetheart, let’s get you changed,” I say to myself since she’s out cold. Lifting her, I take off her coat. I set it aside, then slip off her shoes. I cup herfreezing feet to warm them up. Her toes are polished a soft pink that matches her fingernails. Perfectly manicured. I notice the plain gold band she’s wearing on her right ring finger and something inside me twists.
It’s not from Ethan though. That’s not his style. He’d want flashy. This is too simple. Too beneath him. The expensive tennis bracelet on her wrist catches my eye. That’s more him. I pick up her wrist to look at it, find the inscription on the clasp. A heart with an E inside it. How creative.
I sit her up and lean her into my shoulder. She makes a sound, her hand coming to my bicep then dropping to my thigh as she settles her cheek against my shoulder. I glance down at her sleeping, soft face and can’t help but smile. Pushing her hair aside to undo the halter, I tell myself I’m undressing her just to get her into something warm and tuck her in to sleep as the deep violet silk slides to her waist.
I clear my throat and slowly lay her down, cupping the back of her head to set it on my pillow. I try not to let my gaze linger on her full, high breasts and carefully slip the dress off, noticing the stain on the skirt from when the idiot elbowed her drink right into her lap. That’s two elbows in one night.
