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ChapterOne
Skye
Boy,Chloe wasn’t kidding when she said her brother was her twin. Well, technically, she said they’re Irish twins, but they could be identical. Aside from obvious things, anyway.
He eyes me from his spot outside my door, still as a statue. Gideon Reece has my best friend’s eyes. Deep and dark, both inviting and intriguing, with long, thick eyelashes. I used to accuse Chloe of wearing fake lashes, but if she does, so does he. He’s got her hair, too. Long dark curls frame his very serious face—at the moment, I’m half convinced it’s carved of stone.
I lift my hand and pat his cheek. Nope. Not stone. All warm male there. Actually, his skin is surprisingly soft. When I rub a thumb over the dark scruff on his cheek, he twists away and narrows his eyes at me.
“Sorry.” I grin as I pull my hand back and fold my arms over my chest. My thumb slips out of the book I’m holding, and I groan, frustrated to lose my page. The guy doesn’t crack. No smile. His lips don’t even twitch. So, maybe this is where Chloe and her little brother are different—Chloe and I have been best friends since high school when we bonded over our mutual hatred of algebra and our wild, fourteen-year-old love for Jesse McCartney. I knew she had a brother, but as Gideon went to a different school, I was never around him. If I was at her house, he was always in his room with the door closed. If anything, I would see his back or his shadow, and I would tell Chloe I thought she and her family made him up. Or that he was a ghost.
Sure, I saw pictures of him now and then, but let me tell you, the Gideon Reece outside my door looks nothing like the skinny, gangly kid with zits and braces in those pictures.
Chloe is fun. And funny. Probably why we hit it off, our love of adventure and laughter and food and well—life. Based on the minute I’ve spent with grown-up Gideon, I’d say he’s into still life. Concrete. Algebra—maybe calculus.
“There it is!” I point at him when his facial expression starts to change. Nope. I thought he was going to smile. Instead, he frowns at me, and it feels mean. “Sorry.”
“I’m Gideon.”
Holy hell, that voice is silk and honey. Steamy afternoon sex. Dark chocolate and dry red wine. Chloe could have warned me. Good grief. He shifts his feet impatiently, pulling me out of my X-rated thoughts.
I snort and nod. “Yeah, I know. I’m Skye. C’min.”
When he comes in, he’s careful not to bump that deliciously solid-looking body against me. He’s so tall. When he stands by me, I study him and wonder how he didn’t have to fold himself over to fit inside the door.
“Chloe told you—”
“You need a place to stay for a bit,” I interrupt him. “Yeah, yeah. I know. I have an extra room. It’s fine.”
He looks around the living room, which takes all of two seconds, and then back at me. Obviously, since I didn’t see much of him when we were kids, I’m not sure I ever heard him speak. I watch him now, watching me, and wonder if Chloe forgot to tell me anything. Anything important.
Like that he doesn’t speak much English. Or maybe he’s on the spectrum. I mean, compared to anyone meeting Chloe the first time, this moment is a million kinds of awkward. Here I had imagined a few weeks of binge watching some fun shows, maybe some movies or card games, and the usual hilarity I have with Chloe when we hang out.
“Um.” I clear my throat, anxious to fast forward us out of my cozy living room and into anywhere else. “Do you have a bag or something?”
He’s empty-handed, and Chloe had said he might need a place to live for a bit while he checks into a job opportunity here. I assumed he would have some luggage of some sort. Maybe a change of clothes at least. Not that I mind what he’s wearing—those jeans love his solid-looking thighs, and the dark blue t-shirt fits snug over his shoulders. The color doesn’t make his eyes pop, but something about it works with his dark hair and pale skin.
I jerk my gaze away when I realize I’m two seconds from mentally undressing him. Good grief. Who cares if he’s smoking hot, and he’s giving me the smolder right now? He’s Chloe’s brother. And apparently still not all that social.
“In my car,” he answers. Assuming he’ll go grab his bags now, I arch my brows when he just stands there.
“Okay.” I nod. “So. Your room.”
Why not move this uncomfortable situation to a bedroom? That’ll be fun.
He falls into step behind me, his hands in his pockets and his back straight and proud. As quiet as he is, I feel like he would be a sloucher, trying to hide his height, his huge physical presence. It’s weird leading him across my little apartment to the spare bedroom, like he’s not my best friend’s brother but a total stranger looking to rent a room.
I’m barefoot, but his footsteps click behind me as he follows. I wonder what sort of job opportunity he has here. Chloe says he’s into music, but that doesn’t tell me much. When I stop at the spare room, I look and catch him eyeing the slate floor tiles and the industrial looking ceiling. My apartment complex is relatively new, which translates to high rent. As much as I love the contemporary aesthetic, I curse it every month when the rent comes due.
“So.” I go to fold my arms over my chest again and realize I’m still holding the Jayne Ann Krentz book I was reading when Gideon knocked. I stare at it for a second, wondering what to do with it. Since I’ve already lost my page, I shrug helplessly and toss it at the charcoal gray loveseat a few feet from the bedroom door. The apartment is mostly an open floor plan; this area could be the living room, and the spot where I have my TV could be a dining room. But I don’t need a table; I eat at the kitchen bar, use the dining area for my living room—complete with a TV, a smallish couch, and an old recliner from my parents’ house. I don’t sit in it; it’s for my dad when they visit.
I’m not much of a TV watcher when I’m alone. I would much rather read, so the spot where Gideon and I are now standing is my favorite in the apartment. With floor to ceiling windows, the lighting is incredible, as is the view of the city street three floors down. Not that there’s anything exciting to see in the street. St. Louis has some beautiful areas, but mine is nothing special.
Other than the loveseat, there’s a low black apothecary cabinet that I found at an estate sale. Refinishing it was a fun mother-daughter project. Besides my bookshelves, it’s my favorite piece of furniture in the apartment. Maybe ever. I love looking at all the little drawers and romanticizing all the things that might have once been stashed in them.
Gideon’s looking at the bookshelves now. I’m not sure if he can really see the titles that well from where he’s standing, but I can’t imagine he would find anything to shame me for. Yes, I read and love romance books, but I read everything, and that particular bookshelf is a very eclectic mix.
I flip the light switch in the spare room and draw his attention from my books. Hands still in his pockets, he wanders into the room to look around. On the small side, there’s room for a queen bed, a dresser, and a nightstand. The comforter is ocean blue. The accent pillows and lampshade also blue. The rest of my apartment is highlighted with orange accents. My favorite color. I’m thinking the blue was a good choice in here, at least for Gideon. He doesn’t seem like an orange kind of guy. No windows, but there’s not much I can do about that.
