I decided to work from home on Monday, preferring the solitude of my apartment to the quiet intensity of the office. The next day, however, I had to go in for several meetings with Sam and Dakota. Freya met me in reception with a warm smile and a hot cup of coffee, like nothing had happened. We walked side by side to my office. She ran through my schedule for the day, punctuating her words with small touches to my arm. Every brush of her fingertips fueled my irritation. I couldn’t get past Carter’s admonition. When I suggested you move here for a clean start, I didn’t mean bring all that baggage with you. His words made sense. My relationship with Freya was beyond dysfunctional.

I settled into my desk and powered up the computer. “That’ll be all,” I said without looking at her.

“Well, if you need anything else, let me know.” Despite my assurances, she hovered on the threshold of the door. I continued to ignore her. After a second, she stepped into the office and closed the door behind her. “Are we okay here?”

I groaned and scrubbed a hand over my face. I didn’t want to have this conversation first thing in the morning, before coffee, but it needed to be done. “Do you really need to do this right now?”

“Yes. I’m worried about you—about us.” Her voice softened. She came around to my side of the desk and sat on the corner.

“Freya, there is no us.” The space between her brows narrowed. I caught her gaze so she could see my sincerity. “You’re my sister-in-law and my assistant, not my girlfriend or my mother or my wife.” I paused to let the words sink in.

Her frown deepened. “Why are you acting like this? What’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing has gotten into me. I just think we need to set some boundaries.” I turned my attention to the computer, scrolling through my emails.

“Is it Carter? Because you can’t listen to him. He’s the last person in the world you should take advice from.” She bent to straighten the items on my desk, fussing over the stack of reports. “When he’s not drunk, he’s in jail or off chasing some miscreant.” She smoothed a palm over the sleeve of my jacket. I caught her hand in mine and pushed it away.

“That. That’s what I’m talking about. You don’t have any respect for my personal space.” Irritation harshened my voice. I drew in a deep breath and started again. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. And you do a great job here, but I need some space.”

She stepped back and lifted her chin. “Obviously, you’re going through something. I’ll give you space if that’s what you need.” Before I could open my mouth to say more, she stomped toward the door in her high heels. She paused at the threshold. “You’re meeting with the Seaforths in Sam’s office at nine-thirty.”

Once the door closed behind her, I dropped my head into my hands, knowing I’d hurt her feelings. I’d let her take over my life. She was Amy’s sister, a part of my family, and she’d been there for me when I’d been at my lowest point. I was beginning to regain my mojo, though. If I was going to rebuild my life, I needed her to back off. There had to be a way to reach a happy medium for both of us.

The situation kept churning through my thoughts until the meeting. I took a seat across from Beckett at the small conference table. Sam and Dakota sat on either side of me. They were about to acquire an architectural firm and needed a strategy for absorbing the debt of the new company without compromising the assets of the existing business. It was my specialty and something I enjoyed doing, but this morning I moved through the points of my presentation on autopilot.

At the end of the meeting, Dakota walked me to the door. “How is Bronte? I thought about her all weekend. I hope she’s okay.”

“We haven’t talked.” I scrubbed a hand over my face, overcome with renewed guilt.

“She’s sweet. I can’t wait to get to know her better. We’re doing lunch this week.”

“That’s great. Tell her I said hello.” The words lodged in my throat. I didn’t want to be that kind of guy. I should tell her myself. At the very least, I should touch base with her to make sure she was okay.

I glanced down at my watch. It was almost twelve-fifteen. I knew exactly where she’d be.

* * *

Bronte sat on our park bench alone, her brown paper bag at her side, a sandwich in her hand. Sunshine warmed an otherwise chilly day, and crinkly leaves skittered along the pathway in front of me. Her red hair was piled high on her head. Her black-rimmed glasses perched on her nose. A young man jogged past her, did a double-take, and circled back. My gut tightened when she smiled up at him.

What the fuck? The hackles on the back of my neck lifted in primal warning. In general, the park was a safe area, but I didn’t like the idea of random men stopping to talk to her. Or maybe I didn’t like the idea of any guy talking to her. He might say something to hurt her feelings or try to take advantage of her sweet nature. I quickened my steps.

“Hey,” I said, sidling next to the man. He looked to be in his mid-twenties, one of those rocker-hipster types with a goatee and long hair.

“Hi,” she replied and used an index finger to push her glasses up her nose. Fucking adorable.

“Well, I’ll see you, Bronte. Text me later?” The guy looked me over, sizing me up, no doubt. I stared back, happy to note I was a few inches taller than him.

Text me later? What the hell was that about? Surely she wasn’t going out on a date with this guy. The thought made my stomach flip.

“Okay. Don’t forget Friday,” she said. The guy leaned in and pressed a kiss to her cheek. The top of my head nearly exploded. He cast a sidelong smirk in my direction. I wanted to punch him in the jaw.

“Do you know him?” I asked as the guy jogged away.

“That’s Shane. We play Scrabble together on Fridays.” The light faded from her smile. “What are you doing here? I thought you were too busy for lunch.” She crammed her sandwich into the sack, preparing to leave.

“Hang on a minute. I came looking for you to apologize.”

“And?” She arched an eyebrow.

“I’m sorry for the way I acted Saturday night.”

The brown paper bag crinkled as she wadded it and tossed it in the garbage can next to the bench. “Is that it?”

“Well, yes.”

“Okay. See you.”

I stood frozen to the pavement, watching her walk away.

“Wait.” My brain caught up to the situation. I trotted after her, admiring her spunk. No one had busted my balls in a long time. Most people avoided me altogether, afraid of hurting my feelings after Amy’s death. I hated their sympathetic smiles, the way they handled me with kid gloves. Bronte’s no-nonsense treatment was refreshing. “Can you give me a minute to explain?”

She stopped but didn’t turn around. I circled to face her, bending my knees to catch sight of her downcast eyes. Their vibrant blue hue caught me in the gut. Sweet, intelligent eyes incapable of guile. She lifted an index finger into the air. “One minute, then I’m out of here.”

“I was a total douche this weekend, and it didn’t have anything to do with you.” Her gaze softened but her lips pressed into a tight line. I swallowed and kept going. “I’m still trying to work through some issues with Amy’s death.” Once I started talking, the words poured out. “When she died, I was lost. We’d been together since college. Freya and my friend Carter kept me going. I owe them a lot. And I want to move on, but it’s not as easy as it sounds. I’ve got mental baggage to sort through. None of it has anything to do with you. I like you, Bronte. And if you don’t mind, I’d like to be friends.”

A glimmer of tears shone in her eyes. The corners of her mouth turned up. “I understand baggage, Rhett. Everyone has it.” Her gaze dipped to my mouth, causing a peculiar but pleasant twisting in my stomach. “I have a freight car loaded with it.”

An invisible weight lifted from my shoulders. I hadn’t realized how much our disagreement had bothered me until now. I was so afraid of being hurt that I kept my emotions on lockdown, and it was turning me into a bastard. I tapped the tip of her nose. “So am I forgiven?”

“Yes.” A full-blown smile illuminated her features. She started walking again. “Apology accepted, but you’re going to have to make it up to me.”

“Sure. Name your price.” My heart felt lighter than it had in months. I shoved my hands into my pockets and kept pace at her side. “Anything.”

“I want you to promise never to talk to me like that again. If something is bothering you, you have to tell me. No bullshit. I don’t understand things like that.”

“Done.”

“And I want chocolate. Lots of it. Not the white stuff. Chocolate should be brown, and anything else is just wrong.”

“Is that it?” I lifted an eyebrow, an unstoppable grin spreading over my face.

“Yes. For now. I may have other demands later.”

“Okay. How about dinner tonight? Someplace quiet? Like my apartment? I’ll cook for you.”

She blinked and rolled her lips together. The action drew my attention to her mouth. It was full, the same color as a rosebud. After a lengthy exhale, she shook her head, and the sunshine in my world dimmed. “I can’t.” She started walking again.

No, no, no. It wasn’t supposed to work this way. I went from buoyant happiness to abject disappointment in one shake of her red head. “But you said I’m forgiven.”

“You are. I’m not sure if I trust you, though. How do I know you won’t decide you’ve made another mistake in the middle of dinner and dump me off at my doorstep?” She paused to push her hair off her forehead, features somber, eyes sincere.

The gravity of what I’d done hit me with the impact of a blow. I cursed under my breath for hurting her, for letting her believe my douchebaggery was her fault. This wasn’t a girl for head games. She said what she meant and expected others to do the same. My selfish actions had upset her. I’d wanted to protect her from the Scrabble Guy when she really needed protection from asswipes like me. “I won’t hurt you like that again. And I’ll figure out a way to make you trust me, but you have to give me a chance to prove myself.” I pressed a palm to my heart in pledge. “I promise.”

“Okay.” Her smile warmed my insides.

We’d reached her office building by this time. She paused on the steps. A lock of her hair had escaped the clip on top of her head and drifted over one eye. I tucked it behind her ear, letting my fingers linger over the curve of her jaw. The warmth of her soft skin tingled through my fingertips. Without thinking, I cupped her face in my hands and laid my lips on hers. She tasted of sweet strawberry jam. A moan drifted between us. I didn’t know if it was hers or mine, but it didn’t matter. All I knew was that I liked it, and I wanted more.

When she didn’t protest, I deepened the kiss, sliding my tongue between her lips. Her hands found my shoulders, fingers digging into my jacket. I slid my hand to the back of her head to tilt it. My thoughts whirled, overcome by the subtle jasmine scent of her skin and the taste of her tongue on mine. I forgot where we were, that it was the middle of a workday on the street of a bustling city, that we were supposed to be friends and not lovers.

“Get a room,” a passerby said from behind us.

Bronte pulled away but left her hands on my shoulders. Her lips quivered, swollen from my mouth. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

“I want to do it again,” I said.

“Trust,” she replied, lifting a warning finger between us. It was one word with a million-dollar meaning. What ass from her past had abused her trust? Probably some mixed-up fucker like me. I understood her reservations. Amy had shattered my faith in people. Until I met Bronte, I didn’t think I could ever trust a woman again.

“I want yours.” I took her finger in my hand and kissed the tip. “And I’ll get it or die trying.”