Hard Rules
“This place is my father’s,” he says. “We have a family business I chose not to join, but they needed my legal expertise short term so it was convenient.”
“And now they convinced you to stay long term.”
“I convinced myself to stay, and I told a Realtor to find me a place today.”
“Wait,” I say, forcing myself to bite back my questions that will lead to his questions. “Please tell me this isn’t where he brought his woman.”
He freezes. “Holy fuck, that’s not what I want in my head when sleeping in my bed, but thank you for that motivation to get the hell out of this place.” He reaches for my wine glass. “And a good reason to drink. Try it. If you don’t like it I’ll grab another bottle before we start eating.”
I accept the glass and our hands collide, my eyes lifting to his, the connection I feel stunning me with its force. “Don’t pretend to like it if you don’t,” he warns.
“I wouldn’t do that, but we aren’t opening another bottle no matter what.” I tilt the glass up and sip, a really yummy sweet explosion of flavors finding my tongue. “It’s quite possibly the best glass of wine I’ve ever had and please tell me it doesn’t cost as much as your suit.”
“You know how much my suit costs, but not the wine.”
It’s an observation meant to invite information, which I don’t give. “You learn wine by being around someone who actually knows wine. Or taking a personal interest beyond an occasional drink.”
“And you know how much a custom suit costs by being around money.”
“Or arrogant attorneys that wouldn’t dare shop on the bargain racks.”
My quick rebuttal earns me the tiniest hint of a curve to his lips. “I think you just called me arrogant.”
“Of course you’re arrogant, Shane.” I pick up the glass. “But you manage it with a fair amount of grace.”
Now he laughs, disbelief lacing the deep, sexy sound. “Arrogance can be handled with grace. I had no idea.”
I take a sip. “I didn’t think so until I met you. But maybe you’re on your best behavior.”
His lips tighten, his mood darkening. “Yes. Well. Therein lies the problem.”
He’s not talking about me, and he doesn’t offer more detail, instead reaching over and removing the lid from my - container, like he needs to take care of me, and it’s kind of an amazing feeling. Knowing I said the wrong thing isn’t.
He shifts to his container and lifts the lid. “Let’s see how you like it.”
We both pick up our forks and somehow we look at each other at the same moment. “I’m good at hitting the wrong nerves, aren’t I?”
“I could say the same to you.”
He noticed but that doesn’t surprise me. “Then why are we sitting here together?”
“Because we want to be.”
Because we want to be. It’s such a simple answer when nothing else in my life, and I suspect his life, is simple. “And we’re hungry,” he adds, using his fork to indicate my plate. “Try it.”
I turn my attention to my plate and take a bite, and I can’t help it. I moan. “Holy wow. This is my new addiction. It’s way too close to my apartment for my waistline. I’ll be running double in the morning.”
“You run?” he asks.
“I do. It’s kind of my sanity. But I guess in the winter here I’ll have to try a gym.”
“I’m a runner too and I can attest to that fact. In the winter, you’ll want a gym. There’s a great one attached to the Ritz a few blocks away.”
“I’ll check it out.” We both take a few bites, the short silences actually remarkably comfortable, though I can almost feel him thinking. And I’m thinking about what he’d said about being on his best behavior as he opens his water, slugs a drink, and offers it to me.
I glance at the bottle, and then at the water on his bottom lip, deciding that if I had more courage, I’d kiss it away. But I don’t, and my gaze inches upward to his, the air seems to charge around us, and I forget to breathe. Oh yes. There is something far more intimate about us, and this moment in time, than sex, and I can’t seem to convince myself that it’s bad. I reach for the bottle, tilting it to take a deep swallow, before offering it back to him. He leans my way, his thumb stroking away the remnants of water from my lip, his head lowering for a kiss that doesn’t come.
His phone vibrates and he freezes, his lashes lowering, tension in his mouth inching toward mine. “Fuck,” he murmurs. “I should have turned it off.” He glances down at the phone. “Now my mother’s calling me.”
“Do you think she found out about the woman?”
“I hope like hell not.” He grimaces at the caller ID. “And now Seth is calling again.”
“Take the call, Shane. Get it off your mind because I know it is.”
He gives me an agreeable nod, and punches the answer button. “Is this about my father or the security feed?”
I’m appalled to realize I can hear Seth reply. “I’m on my way home to go through the security footage.”
“So this call is about my father,” Shane assumes.
“He took the woman to the Four Seasons.”
My jaw drops at this outrageous act by his father while Shane laughs without humor. “Of course he did. Who’s the woman?”