Chapter Seven
Leah realized that she was staring at the back door—the safely closed and locked back door—and she made an annoyed sound.
“You’re doing it again,” she muttered, rolling out the croissant dough with a little too much force. After an intense fifty minutes or so of cuddling early that morning, the alarm had seemed like the worst kind of intrusion. Hamilton had quietly walked her to work, waiting for the door to close behind her before going upstairs to his loft. She hadn’t seen him since. Granted, it had only been a few hours, but he could’ve at least stuck his head in before leaving for work. “Knock it off. You need to accept facts, girly. He likes your sugar, but he doesn’t want your sugar.” The intense cuddle session popped into her mind, and she had to amend her statement. “Maybe he does want your sugar and your sugar, but that’s it. He’s not going to be your boyfriend. If anything, you’ll get a sugar friend out of the deal.”
A masculine laugh from behind her made her swing around, the rolling pin clutched in one hand.
“Who are you talking to?” Q stood behind her, smirking.
“Q, I’m going to kill you one of these days,” she said, letting the hand holding the rolling pin drop to her side. She’d had it cocked back, ready to swing like a baseball bat. “Kill you or make you wear a collar with a bell on it.”
The threat didn’t kill Q’s grin. “I’d make a collar look good.”
She managed to hold out for five seconds before saying, “Yes. Yes, you would, and, as someone who can’t pull off...well, really anything as a fashion choice, I hate you just a tiny bit for that.”
“Right.” Q rolled his eyes. “Because you don’t have the snuggly cookie-kitten thing going.”
“The what?” She laughed, turning back to the croissant dough now that she knew it was Q and not a psycho killer standing behind her. The thing with Jude was making her twitchy.
“Please.” Dragging a stool close to the table, Q straddled it. “As if you don’t know.”
“Know what?”
He gave her a don’t-play-dumb look.
Putting the rolling pin down, she held her hands up as she walked over to the cooler to get the butter blocks. “Honestly. I have no clue why you’re babbling about snuggles and cats and cookies.”
“I bet Mr. Hamilton knows.”
Her hands froze in the middle of peeling the parchment off the chilled butter, and Q chuckled.
“You should see your face right now. Guess you like him an awful lot.”
His teasing broke her paralysis, and she finished removing the parchment and then folded the croissant dough around the sheet of butter. “He’s okay.” She tried for breezy, but she was pretty sure she hadn’t pulled it off.
That feeling was confirmed when Q nearly fell off his stool, laughing.
“Why are you torturing me, anyway?” she asked, starting to roll out the dough again with smooth, even strokes, being careful not to fracture the butter inside. “Shouldn’t you be working? Maybe doing something productive up front and not harassing me back here?”
“I’m not even supposed to be working today,” he said, not sounding at all concerned about her scolding. “I just got up early so I could talk to you before school.”
She stopped mid-stroke with the rolling pin and looked at him, her eyes wide. “Talk? About what? You know you can’t quit, right? If you quit, then I’m most likely going to curl up under this table and die. Just so you know.”
His laugh made her relax slightly, and she went back to rolling out the dough. After all, he wouldn’t have thought that was funny if he’d actually been planning on quitting. Also, she had a limited amount of time to finish the roll-outs before the butter got too soft and absorbed into the dough. If that happened, her croissants would be gummy messes, rather than the delicate, flaky delights that they should be. Once the rectangle of dough was thin enough, she brought each side to the middle and then folded it in half, so it looked like a book made of dough. Turning it ninety degrees, she started rolling it out again.
“I’m not quitting. I was just hoping to have Saturday off?” He gave her his slow smile as he asked, and his voice went up in that cute way at the end that she knew he knew she found endearing.
Still, she groaned. “I have to do Saturday by myself? Why? What entertainment could make it worth you inflicting that kind of misery on me?”
He lowered his voice, even though they were the only ones in the entire bakery, and leaned closer to her. “Remember when I told you about my lab partner, Carlisle?”
“Your chemistry lab partner? The soccer player with the adorably nerdy tendencies and unfortunately pretentious name?” She finished the final fold and pulled plastic wrap over the dough.
“Yes!” He wiggled a little on the seat as if he couldn’t hold in his excitement. “He asked me out.”
“Q! That’s amazing! You’ve liked him for what—two years?” Leah slid the croissant dough into a rack in the cooler before turning back to Q.
“Forever.” His grin was huge, bigger than she’d ever seen. “I don’t know how he knew. I mean, I’m not out at school yet, and we usually just talk about, like, hydrochloric acid and things like that.”
“So you’re going out Friday night, then?”
Q’s expression was both tentative and hugely excited. “He’s going camping Saturday with his family, so Friday’s the only night that works, unless we wait until next weekend.” Leah could tell that Q really did not want to wait a week for his date with Carlisle. “I told him I might not be able to get off work.” He stared at her hopefully, and she rolled her eyes.
“Of course you can have Saturday off. Do you think I could stand to look at your sad, sad face all morning? Besides, I’m not a Carlisle-blocker.” Q grabbed her in a hug, making her laugh. “Go out with your adorable nerd boy, have fun, sleep in and let me know next week how it went.”
“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” He hurried toward the swinging door. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
“Bye!”
The bakery went quiet again as Leah scooped blueberry muffin batter into the paper-lined tins. She glanced at the clock and gave a satisfied hum. There was enough time before opening to bake the muffins and finish rolling out the croissant dough if she moved quickly. She enjoyed weekday mornings, even though they didn’t bring in the sales that Saturday did. While Saturdays were frantic, the other days had a relaxed rhythm that didn’t involve having to run back and forth between the kitchen and the customers.
She made a face as she sprinkled sparkling sugar onto the tops of the muffins. Without Q there to help, Saturday was going to be rough. An idea niggled in her brain, and she tried to ignore it.
“He’s helped you enough times,” she said firmly. “Give the poor guy a break. He shouldn’t have to get up at five on a Saturday to slave away for cupcakes.”
Although he’d probably be awake by five anyway, a tempting voice in her head reasoned.
“Stop it. Don’t take advantage of his kindness—or his desperation for sweets.” She slid the muffins into the oven and closed the door with a resolute bang.
Despite her determination not to ask Hamilton, the idea stayed with her all day, poking at the back of her mind. As closing time approached, her heart rate sped up every time the front door opened, but it was never him. She wondered if he was planning on walking home with her again, and heat flashed through her body.
Quickly corralling the mental images this idea produced, she wiped down the café tables and ushered the final straggling customers out. She performed her closing duties automatically as her gaze kept flying to the door. Jude hadn’t been in at all since his early morning appearance the day before. She had a feeling that it was over, that he’d called her some nasty names in his head and then found a new bakery and a new croissant provider he could obsess over. It wasn’t as if they were in a tiny town that had limited options. Denver had a whole host of bakeries to choose from.
When everything had been wiped down and put away and readied for the next morning, Leah pulled her phone out of her pocket and studied the blank screen as she debated texting Hamilton. She’d never used his number for anything non-landlord-related before, though, and it felt strange.
Making a frustrated sound, she shoved her phone back in her pocket, annoyed at the wimpy, confused person this whole Hamilton thing was turning her into. She pulled on her hoodie and collected her bag. It was just that she didn’t know where they stood. They were more than landlord and tenant, more than temporary employee and employer, not quite lovers, and a strange sort of friends. She and Hamilton were floating in a strange gray space between possible relationships, and it was messing with her mind.
Enough. It had been a long day, and she needed to stop thinking about Hamilton. She pulled open the door, double-checked that she had her keys, and let the door fall shut behind her. Automatically, she gave the handle a tug, making sure that it had locked, and then she started across the parking lot.
The sun had mostly gone down, turning all the natural light a dark gray outside of the reach of the streetlights. The wind was cold, cutting through her sweatshirt. With a shiver, she pulled up the hood and walked faster toward the start of the trail.
“Leah!”
The shout made her whirl around, her heart thumping. It took a second to recognize the male voice and figure jogging across the lot toward her. She waited until he reached her before thumping Hamilton on the upper arm.
“Between you and Q, you’re going to give me a heart attack,” she grumbled, but she couldn’t stay crabby in his presence, which was a worrying thought that she refused to dwell on.
“Why didn’t you wait for me?”
“I didn’t know you were coming.”
“Of course I was coming. You don’t have your car here.” He was obviously pissed, his face tight and his eyes narrow. For some reason, his glare didn’t scare or annoy her. It turned her on.
Ripping her gaze away, she focused on the path ahead of them and tried to think about unsexy things. Who got turned on by a frown? Obviously, she was a weirdo. Dragging her mind back to their discussion, she saw that he was still silently glaring, as if waiting for her to answer. “I’ll text before I leave next time.”
“Don’t leave by yourself.” His voice had softened a little, although he still sounded grumbly. “You shouldn’t be walking alone at night, especially with a stalker.”
She opened her mouth, intending to argue, to say that if Jude was a stalker, he was a very bad one, in that he hadn’t shown his face since they’d kicked him out of the kitchen, but then she closed it again. Hamilton was worried about her, and he was taking time out of his day to walk her home. He’d even slept over the night before and had gotten up at stinking two-thirty in the morning to walk her to work.
Impulsively, she reached toward him and caught his hand, feeling him start as she laced her fingers with his. He didn’t pull away, though. After a stiff moment, he gripped her hand tightly, sending a bolt of pleasure up her arm and right down to her lower belly.
“I’ll wait for you,” she said. Forming words into sentences that made sense was a little difficult with all of her brain power preoccupied with the feeling of his hand around hers. “Were you able to get some sleep after you walked me to the bakery?”
“No. I went for a long run and then went to work early.” He sounded wooden, as if small talk was a struggle. It was endearing, although Leah knew she was so loopy over Hamilton that she’d find anything he did to be sweet.
“Thank you for walking me to work—and home now, of course, but this is a more reasonable hour.” She stroked her thumb over the back of his hand, and his fingers tightened. “I hope you weren’t tired today at work.”
“No. I’m used to not sleeping much.” Before she could ask why, he continued in a rush. “I’m sorry I was late tonight.”
“You weren’t, not really,” she said. “Did you get held up at work?”
He grimaced. “Yes. A meeting ran long, and then, afterward...”
As he trailed off, shooting her an unreadable glance, curiosity flared brightly in her. “What happened afterward?”
“Nothing. It was nothing.”
“Ham,” she said warningly, “do not make me hurt you, because I will. I am probably the nosiest person you’ve ever met, so there’s no way you can tease me with ‘afterward’ and not tell me what happened. If you do, I will be the first person in the world to die of unsatisfied curiosity.”
The corner of his mouth twitched in one of his almost-smiles before it disappeared, and he shot her a wary glance. “You’ll think I’m strange.”
“I already do, but I don’t mind strange. In fact, I kind of like it, so start talking.” She gave their joined hands a small shake for emphasis, and his tiny smile appeared again.
“Someone stopped me before I could leave the conference room,” he finally said, and Leah found herself leaning toward him. Catching herself before she burrowed into his side, she gave herself a mental smack. No climbing Ham unless he gives you permission, she reminded herself firmly.
“Okay,” she said when he went quiet. “Who was it?”
“I don’t know.” He slashed his free hand through the air, as if impatiently brushing away the memory. Every loaded pause, every hesitation in his story made her more interested in hearing the rest. If he’d just passed it off as a boring work story, she wouldn’t be even half as interested in what he was saying, but he hadn’t. For some reason, this post-meeting encounter was a big deal. “I think she’s new.”
“Uh-huh. Why do I get the impression that you could work with someone for a year or two or three and still think they’re new because you’ve never noticed them?”
“Because you’re perceptive,” he said, and Leah’s eyes widened in surprise. She hadn’t really expected him to admit it, much less give her a compliment. Quickly, she refocused on the oddly fascinating tale.
“Okay, so this woman—who might or might not have been working with you since you started there—stopped you from leaving.” When he nodded, she went on. “What did she say?”
“Nothing.” He sounded annoyed.
Leah let out a huff. “We’re back to that?”
“No,” he said defensively. “I’m being honest. She was talking and talking and not saying anything.”
“She stopped you from leaving,” Leah said slowly, trying to work out what had happened by translating Hamilton’s verbal shorthand. “But she didn’t say anything important?”
“Exactly!” The word blasted out in a huff of frustrated breath. “She just made me late.”
“What were her exact words?”
He gave her a sideways glance. “Why are you so interested?”
“Because there were obviously two very different views of what was going on in that conference room, and it’s fascinating. It’s like a puzzle. I want to figure out what was happening from her perspective.”
Staring at her, he paused for a long moment before asking, “You think I’m fascinating?”
“Yes.” The answer was out before Leah even considered it. For several seconds, they were both silent, her answer ringing loudly between them. Pulling her shoulders back and lifting her chin, Leah decided that she didn’t care if it was embarrassing. It was the truth. Everything he did was fascinating to her.
“She was talking about the company party coming up next month. It’s an annual thing the owner does in April, rather than having an event around Christmas.” Hamilton answered her earlier question, completely skipping the part where she admitted she found him fascinating. Leah was okay with pretending it hadn’t happened. “I never go, so I don’t know why she was going on and on about it.”
“Ah.” She grinned. “That’s what it is. I should’ve guessed.”
“What?”
“This woman who might be new but probably isn’t,” Leah asked, “how old would you say she is?”
He looked at her blankly. “I wasn’t really paying attention. Twenties? Thirties? What does her age have to do with anything?”
“Pretty?”
Looking hunted, he rubbed a hand over his head, leaving his normally tidy hair a rumpled mess. “I don’t know. She was fine, I suppose. Just...normal-looking.”
That poor woman. “Ham,” she said gently. “She was hitting on you. She brought up the party because she wanted you to ask her to go with you.”
“What? No, she wasn’t.”
“I bet you a gazillion dollars that’s what it was.” She used her grip on his hand to pull him toward her so she could bump her shoulder against his arm teasingly. “She made her move, and it flew completely over your head.”
“I believe you’re wrong.” His voice had gotten stiff again. “I’m not an idiot.”
“You’re not even close to being an idiot. In fact, you’re on the opposite side of the idiot spectrum. You’re probably the smartest person I’ve met. There are just—” she waved her free hand as she searched for the right phrase “—a few social cues you miss sometimes.”
He was quiet again, and she hoped she hadn’t offended him. A part of her—a big part—wanted to tell him that she didn’t mind that he had no idea when women were hitting on him. Actually, she kind of loved that she was one of the few people he focused on, that he truly saw. It made her feel special, like she was one of a very small group of individuals who were important to him. She bit back her reassurances and let the silence stretch, knowing—well, hoping—that he was processing what she’d just said. His hand still held hers firmly, so that meant he wasn’t completely aggravated by what she’d said.
When they reached her building, she unlocked the door and Hamilton caught it, holding it open for her to pass through. She turned to ask him if he wanted to come in, and he was already inside. Facing forward to hide her pleased smile, she started toward the stairs.
They’d almost reached her floor before he spoke. “Whenever I’m with Louis—”
“My friend the artist?” she interrupted, sending him a teasing grin, and he dipped his chin in a short nod while glancing upward in a move so quick she barely caught it. If it hadn’t been Hamilton, she would’ve sworn he’d just rolled his eyes at her.
“Whenever I’m with your friend the artist,” he started again, “and James—”
“Who’s James?”
“Another friend from my unit. James Hawkins.”
As she opened her apartment door, she reluctantly released his hand so she could get to her keys. His fingers slipped away reluctantly. Shaking off the pleasurable shiver that went through her as she thought about how they’d held hands the entire way home, she refocused on the conversation and tried to remember where she’d heard his friend’s name before. “James Hawkins...that sounds so familiar.”
“He’s in the news quite a bit—the financial news, at least.” He followed her into her apartment. Everything was dark and quiet, so Annabelle was most likely working late yet again. Leah flicked both of the light switches, illuminating the kitchen and the living room.
“Oh!” Something clicked in her brain. “James Hawkins—he’s the rich guy who’s always buying up failing businesses and then fixing them and making a ton of money. The one who the media people go nuts over because he’s so young and mysterious and sexy, right?” And horrifically scarred, she thought, but she kept that part to herself. It seemed rude to use that as an identifier.
Folding his arms, he gave her a cool look. He was so tall, and he had a way of tilting his head back that made her think of a prince looking down at a peasant. Instead of irritation, though, she couldn’t stop thinking about how very hot he looked standing that way. Instead of aggravating her, his mannerisms were hitting all of her pleasure centers. There was something very wrong with her. “He is excellent at turning businesses around, but I don’t know about the rest of it.”
“I do.” Hiding a tiny grin at the annoyance in his tone, she dumped her bag and headed for her room to get rid of her flour-dusted clothes. “I can attest for the mysterious and the sexy bits, although I don’t know his age.”
“He’s my age—thirty-one.” Hamilton appeared even more miffed as he followed her to her doorway. “And he has a serious girlfriend. They’re both in Los Angeles right now.”
As always, she couldn’t keep torturing him. Despite the fact that it was pretty funny to see him all stiff and horrified, her marshmallow center didn’t allow her to keep poking the bear. She closed the bedroom door. It wasn’t quite in his face, but he was only a few feet away. “That’s nice. Do you like her?”
“She’s...” The atypical pause and the strange note in his voice made her wish she could see him. Yanking off her work clothes, she changed quickly and hurried to the door. As she pulled it open, she saw he was right outside it again. “She’s enthusiastic.” He looked slightly horrified as he said the word, as if some memory of her being “enthusiastic” was running through his mind. Leah was immediately intrigued.
“Enthusiastic is usually good.” She waited, hoping for more, but he was apparently done talking about James Hawkins’s girlfriend. When nothing else came, she slipped past him and walked to the kitchen. “This is awesome. Now I’m friends with a famous artist and a filthy-rich business genius guy. Who else do you have in your army-buddy hopper? A professional athlete? Pop star? Politician?”
“No.” He ignored her teasing tone and answered seriously. “Louis, James and you are my friends. That’s all.”
She was simultaneously hugely touched that he’d counted her in as one of his friends and so, so sad that he had such a small pool of people he was close to. She knew he didn’t trust easily, but she didn’t think he only had three friends—including her. Torn between bursting into tears and hugging him, she forced herself to turn away until she could control her grabby and sobby impulses.
Taking a deep breath, she blinked and stuffed her feelings deep down inside, where they belonged. “How about pasta tonight?” She didn’t ask him if he was hungry or if he wanted to stay. If he wasn’t, then he didn’t have to eat, and if he didn’t, then he could leave, but she wasn’t going to encourage it. She wanted him here. A huge, secret part of her wanted him in her bed that night, too, and not just to sleep.
“Pasta would be good,” he said, and she blinked rapidly, pushing away the mental images that immediately crowded her head when she thought about the two of them, together in her bed. Last night had been wonderful, and they hadn’t done anything. It was too easy to imagine how it would feel if they’d done more kissing, more touching, more—
“Okay!” It came out too loudly, and he eyed her curiously, but she pretended not to see him. “Pasta it is. Do you like meatballs?”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
“I would assume so, but I don’t have any scientific evidence of that, so I need to assume that you’re an outlier until I hear otherwise.”
He smiled at her, his eyes admiring, and she felt like the smartest, funniest person in the world. “I like meatballs.”
“Then we’ll make meatballs.” She started pulling out ingredients, humming a little when Hamilton went quiet. Bending over from the waist, she opened the lower cabinet and pulled out multiple pans—one for sauce, one for pasta, one for—Someone slapped her ass, and she squealed, almost dropping the pan she held.
Straightening, she whirled around, her mind trying to wrap around the fact that uptight Anthony Fitzgerald Hamilton III had just smacked her butt, when she saw Annabelle, grinning at her.
“You!” she blurted, feeling a strange mix of relief and disappointment. It wasn’t that she wanted Hamilton to have morphed into an ass-slapper, but having his hand on her there might have made the sting worth it. “You are an evil, evil bitch.”
“I know.” Smiling broadly, Annabelle turned to Hamilton and held out her hand. “Hi, I’m Annabelle, the roommate. We briefly met before at the bakery, but it was months ago.”
“Anthony Hamilton.” He shook her hand but didn’t linger over it. Her roommate was gorgeous, but Hamilton seemed indifferent. His small smile was gone, and his expression had fallen into its usual serious, unreadable lines. Leah felt a sharp pang, already missing the more animated, happier version of him.
“We’re doing pasta and meatballs,” she said, pushing away her disappointment at Hamilton’s emotional shutdown. “Want to join us?”
“I would, but I grabbed a burger from Blast on the way home.”
Her eyes going wide, Leah turned to Annabelle. Between the butt slap and Hamilton’s mood change, she hadn’t noticed Annabelle’s shaky smile, the mix of terror and relief plastered on her face. “You only go to Blast to celebrate.”
“Uh-huh.”
Slapping her hands over her mouth, Leah muffled her shriek of excitement. “You quit?”
“I quit.” Although Annabelle still looked terrified, there was a deep satisfaction there as well. “I quit dramatically. I said a lot of things that will most likely cause me to not request a reference from the dick.”
“Congratulations!” Leah dove at her roommate, hugging her hard. Laughing, Annabelle squeezed her back. “That’s amazing. No more Dick. No more endless workdays. No more transcribing terrible memoirs. Did I mention no more Dick?”
Although Annabelle was still laughing, there was an underlying shakiness that made Leah pull away so she could see her roommate’s face.
“What’s wrong?”
“I haven’t been jobless since I was twelve,” she said, clutching Leah’s arms with tight, desperate fingers. “What if I can’t find anything right away? What if I spend all my savings and still can’t find anything? What if I have to settle for something worse than working for Dick? What if this was a huge mistake, and I’m being selfish and shortsighted and—”
“Hey.” Leah gave her a little shake as she interrupted. “Quit it. You are amazing and talented and educated and a complete smarty-pants. You’ll find the perfect job in about five minutes, and then you’ll wonder why you didn’t leave Dick a long time ago. If it does take a little longer, I’ll cover your rent and feed you like I already promised I would, and then you can pay me back as soon as you do find that utterly perfect position.”
“But—”
“Nope. No buts.”
“I can’t—”
“Shush.”
“What if—”
“Zip it.”
The panic faded from Annabelle’s face as she started laughing. Looking at Hamilton, she made an apologetic face. “I’m sorry for interrupting and dumping my emotions all over the kitchen. You see, I work—used to work—for a dick.”
“Leah told me,” Hamilton said. By the way he stood, so upright and still, Leah would’ve never guessed that he was uncomfortable, but she saw the way his finger rubbed the side of his thumb. Once he noticed her looking at his hand, the movement stopped. “Do you want me to call Louis?”
“Louis?” Annabelle sounded puzzled.
“Louis Dumont. My friend.”
She looked like someone had just slapped her across the face. “Louis Dumont?”
“Yes.” He shifted his weight, so very slightly, and his eyelid twitched. Leah watched, intrigued. She could see through his formerly impenetrable emotion-shield, and she knew he was feeling awkward. Realization hit her hard. All those times she’d thought he’d been cold and condescending and obnoxious, had he just been covering up his discomfort, hiding how bad he was at social situations and small talk? “I don’t know if he needs a gallery manager at the moment, but I can check.”
“You can check if Louis-fucking-Dumont needs a gallery manager.” Annabelle sounded dazed.
Hamilton blinked, shooting a quick, quizzical glance at Leah before looking at Annabelle again. “Yes. Unless you’d rather I not contact him.”
“No!” Annabelle’s eyes got huge and panicked. “I mean yes! I mean...” She took a visible breath, closing her eyes for a second before speaking again. This time, she sounded much calmer, although Leah could still tell her roommate was about to burst with excitement. “I would very much appreciate if you could ask Louis-fu—uh, Dumont if he has a position open. Sorry for swearing earlier. Normally, I’m much more professional, but your offer took me off guard. Let me get you my résumé.” Turning, she walked sedately out of the kitchen. As soon as she was out of sight, Leah heard her running feet as she dashed for her bedroom.
With a happy laugh at Annabelle’s eagerness, Leah moved toward Hamilton. He watched her, looking both wary and hungry, as she reached out and squeezed his arm. It didn’t feel like enough, so she stretched up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. His entire body went tight, his muscles turning to stone under her hand and lips. The heat of his face, the prickle of his scruff, made her pause for a moment. Then she realized that she’d been kissing his cheek for much too long a time, and she pulled away, unable to resist giving his forearm one last squeeze. It felt like the arm of an iron statue. Her fingers didn’t even make the slightest dent in his skin.
“What...” He cleared his throat. “What was that in response to?”
“Thank you for this.” Leah kept her voice low, so that Annabelle couldn’t hear in the other room. “It’s very kind of you.”
Tipping his head slightly, he dropped his gaze for a moment before meeting her eyes again. “He might not be hiring right now.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Before she even realized what she was doing, her hand was on his arm again. It was like he was magnetized—she couldn’t keep from touching him. “She was freaked out and terrified she’d made a mistake. Now she knows there are options besides the big dick, and she’s excited about the possibilities. So thank you.”
He studied her silently for a long time. “You’re welcome.” Raising his hand, he gently closed it around her arm, mirroring her hold on him. Her stomach instantly went into a spin cycle as she stared at him. His hand nearly covered her arm from wrist to elbow, and was so warm she felt as if her whole body was melting into goo. He leaned closer, his head lowering toward her, his gaze fixed on her parted lips.
Her heart immediately started hammering against her rib cage. His eyes were hot, and his face was tense, but it wasn’t with his usual annoyance or discomfort. Everything about him was screaming lust, and Leah felt her temperature shoot up, desire for him moving from steamy to detonation-worthy levels. He was getting closer, and she shut her eyes, ready—even desperate—for his mouth to meet hers.
Instead of kissing her, though, he gently moved her away from him. Her eyes popped open and her heart rate slowed with disappointment, allowing her to hear Annabelle’s quickly approaching footsteps.
Leah shot him a wry smile, which he came close to returning. It was good he’d stopped things before they got going, but everything inside her was still clamoring for that kiss.
“Here you go.” Annabelle breezed into the kitchen. Although Leah knew her roommate was faking that she was calm, that she was actually squeeing like crazy internally, Annabelle looked serene except for a slight flush on her cheeks. “This is my updated résumé. All of my contact information is on there, in case...” She coughed, and her color darkened even more. “If Mr. Dumont is interested in talking to me about a position.”
“Call him Louis,” Leah said, grinning. “After all, he’s your friend now, too, since I’m your friend, and he’s my friend. Therefore, in the chain of friends, you and Lou are buds.”
Hamilton lifted his eyebrows skeptically, but there was an amused twist to his mouth.
“Okay!” As Leah stepped away from Hamilton toward the stove, she resisted the urge to sigh. If she had her way, she’d be plastered all over him for a good portion of the day. The thought made her smile before she ripped her thoughts away from Hamilton and his impressive body. “Let’s make some meatballs.”
* * *
Dinner was fun. Even though Annabelle had eaten a monster-sized Blast burger, she sat with them, picking apart a piece of garlic bread while Hamilton and Leah stuffed their faces. Leah wasn’t sure if it was the company or the jubilant, post-Dick atmosphere, but the food tasted amazing.
With the three of them washing up, it was finished quickly.
“Want to watch a movie? Or we could play a game.” Leah looked back and forth between Hamilton and Annabelle, trying to hide how much she wanted Hamilton to stay.
“I’m too giddy,” Annabelle said, heading for her bedroom. “I need to go dance some of this energy off. I’m going to call Devon and Sydney to see if they want to go out. You’re invited, of course, but I know you’re up insanely early tomorrow.”
Leah made a face. “Insanely early is right.” As much as she loved her bakery, it did limit her social life.
Glancing at Hamilton, she realized that she didn’t mind missing out on the night out so much. She’d take an early bedtime with him over any club or bar. The only problem was that she didn’t know if he wanted to stay. In fact, she didn’t even know how he felt about her. While she wanted to tear off all of his clothes and have her way with him, he might not be on the same wavelength. It was highly possible that she was just a responsibility to him, a dull task he had to complete because he felt it was his duty to keep her safe from possible stalkers. He was just so darn hard to read.
“So...” She eyed him carefully, trying to catch any signals that he was reluctant to hang around. “Want to play a game, or do you need to get home?”
He paused for an uncomfortably long moment, his unreadable gaze locked on her. “Yes. I’ll stay.”
A burst of excitement flared inside her, and she gave him an impulsive hug. “Oh, good!” Knowing she had sounded much too thrilled, she dropped her arms and stepped back, regretting the loss of his hard chest pressed against her. “Are you sure? I know that a night of board games and an early bedtime sounds like an average night at a nursing home, and I hate to drag you down with me.”
Hamilton didn’t respond. Apparently, the hug had silenced him, and, by the way he was staring at her, his eyes hot, it wasn’t because he was feeling awkward. To break the loaded silence, she turned toward the shelf holding her and Annabelle’s limited selection of board games. It seemed like a better idea than watching a movie like they had the previous night. No matter what was on the screen, she didn’t think she’d be able to concentrate on the television rather than on the man—the extremely hot man who’d cuddled her in her bed the night before—sitting next to her.
Her gaze landed on the perfect game. “Scrabble?” she asked, pulling the box from the stack. Scrabble had to be the least sexy of all the games. After all, how would she be able to think about jumping her sexy, socially awkward landlord and kind-of friend if she was trying to think of how to use J, X and Z in a word?