Page 86 of Under His Skin

The new espresso maker that she’d splurged on last night, after she’d dragged Reynolds out to look at paint samples, whirled to life, the steam puffing into the air.

“Magic that took you twenty minutes to program.”

“Sourpuss.”

They watched as the machine ground the beans, heated and frothed the milk, and combined it all into an aromatic beverage. Gingerly, she picked it up and presented it to him.

“What’s this called again?” he asked, looking at it suspiciously.

“A flat white. You didn’t like my latte the other day because of the froth that you called ridiculous and a waste of space,” she said, air quoting him. “The flat white still has the espresso but with simply a thin, flat layer of steamed milk. I think you’ll like it.”

“Can’t I just get a simple black cup of coffee?”

“Of course you can.” She rolled her eyes. “But you might like it. It’s coffee…elevated. Go on.”

Reluctantly, he took the cup and brought it to his mouth. He took a sip. Then shrugged. “It’s fine, I guess.”

She grinned. It was as good an approval as she’d get. He would come around. “Let me try it,” she said and took the cup from him. Taking a taste, she closed her eyes and moaned softly at its perfection. Well, near perfection. Once she added a touch of sweetener.

When she opened her eyes again, Reynolds was staring at her with that smoldering glare that told her he wasn’t thinking about coffee anymore.

He took the hot beverage from her hands and set it down before pulling her against him to give her a long, languorous kiss that tasted like espresso. The edge of the counter pressed against the small of her back, and her arms wrapped around him in a delicious hug as his hands grabbed her hips, holding her closer.

The jingle of the bell over the front door had them reluctantly pulling away.

“I’ll go see who it is,” she said, trying to calm her breathing to a normal range again.

She started to walk away when Reynolds pulled her to a stop. “You might want to…” he said and motioned toward the top of her dress.

She looked down, noticing that the neckline had moved to the right so her boob was practically falling out. Taking another moment, she rearranged the top and met his gaze. “Better?”

Reynolds nodded and grinned as he watched her go.

“Hello,” she called as she reached the lobby, finding an impeccably dressed woman with a short gray bob staring out the window, her back to Waverley. “Can I help you?”

The woman turned around and Waverley recognized her immediately.

“I believe you can.”

“N-Nina,” she stuttered. “What are you doing here?”

Nina nodded as she looked Waverley over. “I love that dress. Don’t tell me. It’s a Waverley Abbott original.”

Waverley flushed and nodded, glancing down at the dress that had taken her selling her favorite Monique Lhuillier gown to afford the fabric. Well worth it.

“That’s precisely why I’m here. I looked through all the sketches that you sent. They’re all gorgeous. It’s amazing the talent you’re displaying without any formal training. With the right financial backing and introduction, you could really be something.”

Waverley felt a little light-headed at the compliments. “You really think so?”

Nina smiled. “I wouldn’t have driven all the way out here to see you in person if I didn’t think so. And I want to be the one to help you get your footing.”

The woman liked her designs.

No. Not just liked them. She thought that Waverley had real talent and wanted to help her to make her wildest dream of becoming a designer a reality.

From behind her, she heard Reynolds join them. “Nina Brennan, this is Reynolds of Cavanaugh Investigations.”

“I would recognize that face anywhere,” Nina said and came forward to take his hand. “You’re even more delicious in person.”

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