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“This.” He leans down, like he’s done a million times before, and kisses my forehead. “You take my breath away, Kennedy,” he whispers roughly against my damp skin. His lips linger against my forehead as he inhales deeply, breathing me in.
Time stops, and suddenly I’m transported back to the past when things were simpler between us. When we laughed and teased and loved. “Connor, I—” My voice breaks, and I don’t dare say another word.
“I know,” he says quietly as he steps back. “I’ll let you finish dressing.” And then he turns and walks out of the bathroom, quietly shutting the door behind him and leaving me in stunned silence.
To my surprise, I realize I’m smiling.
When I finally muster the courage to show my face after the impromptu meeting in the bathroom, I find Connor sitting on the sofa, his laptop set before him on the coffee table.
“Catching up on work?” I ask, trying to sound casual, ignoring the fact he kissed me in the bathroom just now.
“Yes. One of the members of my team is finalizing an investment deal for me since I’m out of the office. I wanted to make sure everything was still on track. It’s a big deal, and I don’t want to leave anything to chance.”
I’m amazed by how much Connor has changed. He was always such a goofball at work, cracking jokes and teasing colleagues. Of course, he was Will’s PA at the time, and he didn’t have much responsibility beyond getting Will’s coffee and making lunch reservations. Now he’s an account manager responsible for a fortune in capital investments. “So, how do you like it?”
“How do I like what?” he asks, sounding a bit distracted as he reads something on his laptop screen.
“Working at Carmichaels, being an account manager at the tender age of twenty-three. It’s a lot of responsibility. How big is your portfolio?”
“Two billion pounds. And I love it,” he says. “With a wave of my pen, I get to make someone’s dream come true. It’s quite satisfying to invest in a start-up company and watch them soar. And my track record is solid. How about you? Do you like your job in New York?”
“What’s not to like? My focus is on global risk assessment, and I get to travel the world.”
“Have you ever found yourself back in London?”
I shrug, quickly realizing this could get really awkward. “A few times.”
He frowns. “You’ve been back in London and you never called me? Not even to share a pint and catch up for old time’s sake?”
Guilt hits me hard. Twice I found myself back in London for a few days on business. The desire to call him was overwhelming. I looked for him everywhere I went—on the streets, in restaurants, in pubs. Each time I found myself back in London I’d wanted to contact him, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. “They were quick trips in and out. I never had any free time.”
When Connor rises from the sofa, I notice he’s changed into a pair of gray shorts and a black tank top. His feet are bare.
“How about some lunch?” he asks.
If he noticed me staring at him, he doesn’t mention it.
“I don’t know about you, but I’m starved,” he continues, ignoring my lack of an answer. “Swimming always makes me hungry.”
I nod. “Sure, I could use a bite to eat.”
He heads for the kitchen and opens the fridge to peer inside. “It’s certainly well stocked. You’d think we were going to stay a whole week, and not just a couple of days.”
I join him, and we survey our options.
“This salmon looks too good to pass up,” he says, grabbing a package of fresh fillets wrapped in clear plastic. “How about having these with a lemon garlic butter sauce, paired with some of these baby potatoes?” He holds up a produce bag of tiny yellow potatoes the size of golf balls. “How about we steam some of these and make a salad?”
“You sound like you know what you’re doing.”
“I do actually, believe it or not,” he says. When I stare at him in disbelief, he adds, “I’ve learned a thing or two in the kitchen.”
“Youknow how to cook?” I’m flabbergasted. “When we were together, re-heating leftover pizza in the microwave was the extent of your cooking skills.”
Connor grins. “What can I say? Sarah’s been teaching me.”
“Sarah?” My stomach drops, and my heart skips a beat. I know I sound jealous, but I can’t help it. This is the first time he’s mentioned another woman’s name. “Who’s Sarah? Your girlfriend?”
He laughs. “Good lord, no. She’s my housekeeper. Sarah Allen. Her husband, Bruce, is my chauffeur. They have a private suite in my penthouse apartment. Sarah’s like a second mother to me, always reminding me to eat my vegetables and carry an umbrella when it’s raining.”
