“Wow.” Lisa performed a slow pirouette. “You have four floors?”
I nodded. “A view from each room.”
“Gabe would love this place.” She sighed out loud then ran her hand across the granite countertop leading into the kitchen. “He has a thing about houses.”
“I know.” I followed her into the kitchen. “Ever since the death of his fiancée and her obsession with living in Seattle.”
Lisa’s face froze, her fingers tapping against the counter. “How long have you known Gabe?” Her shoulders were tense.
“Not long,” I said quickly. “I’ve known Wes, however, my entire life.”
She turned and smiled weakly. “So that makes you safe?”
“No,” I answered honestly. “Probably not the safe you’re thinking about.” I circled around her. “Safe from any sort of harm? Absolutely. But safe? What is safety?” I grinned innocently. “And do you truly want to be safe all the time, or only in certain circumstances, ones where you know you don’t have the upper hand?”
“You’re a little too philosophical for my tastes.”
The light still wasn’t in her eyes. I felt like I needed to fix it, fix her, fix what had happened between us, even though I still didn’t know what the hell I was doing. I’d told her she wasn’t mine, not my type of beautiful. Because I knew, damn but I knew, she’d been his. And taking her? Truly taking her? Right now? Seemed wrong. It was wrong. And suddenly I wasn’t okay with the plan I’d put into place. If I could go back in time and talk to myself, I’d probably shake some sense into the old me and get over it, maybe call her and ask her what happened, but I sure as hell wouldn’t have hidden my identity, stalked her like a total freak, and then seduced her out of her mind.
Then again, that last part was a total accident.
One I wanted to repeat the more I was around her.
“Are you tired?” I exhaled and went over to the fridge and pulled out a carton of orange juice, then followed it with cups from the cabinet. In my experience, women were more emotional if they were hungry or thirsty. I filled both cups with orange juice, slid one over to her, then put the carton back in the fridge. I pulled out some cut up grapes and apples and a few slices of gouda cheese.
When I had everything arranged the way I wanted, I moved the plate toward the middle of the breakfast bar and looked up, offering it to her with one raised eyebrow.
Lisa was watching me, her blue eyes flashing with amusement. “Do you label your underwear, too, or just the food containers?”
Heat blasted into my cheeks as I looked down at the container with cheese printed on the front, and the next that read grapes. With a chuckle and shake of my head, I scooted them away. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“Oh, I would. I’m seriously curious now. A bit OCD, are we?”
“You have no idea.” I sighed. That was the last thing she needed to know. The last thing I wanted to talk about. It would remind her of him, too much of him, and I’d already decided I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t ruin her more. I just didn’t know what that left me with except morbid curiosity and a need to know if it was the same diagnosis.
“So—” I popped a grape in my mouth. “—I think you should eat some food. After all, I am a doc—”
“Professor.”
I held out a piece of cheese to her and lifted my eyebrows. “Doctor.”
She rolled her eyes and took it between her teeth, making me want to throw the food against the floor and take her across the breakfast bar. My body tightened, letting me know it was liking the idea more and more as I watched her chew.
Food. I needed to eat before I devoured her. I popped two more grapes in my mouth just as she asked, “How old are you?”
In the middle of swallowing, I damn-near choked to death. I banged across my chest and reached for the orange juice, already picturing the headline: Westinghouse Heir Slain by Grapes. Fantastic, that’s just what my father needed; then again, he’d probably be able to run for president after such high approval ratings. Imagine, his son, taken so young.
“Old,” I finally managed to croak out. “Like a gross old man. You’re lucky I stopped kissing you when I did Don’t want my arthritis rubbing off on you.”
“First off,” Lisa said, holding a grape in the air. “Gross. Second, you can’t be that old. You went to school with Wes, right?”
“Twenty-seven,” I answered before I lost the nerve. “I graduated from high school early. Wes is younger than me, but our families vacationed together a lot. We attended the same private school. Even went to the same crappy summer camp.
“You and summer camp.” Lisa squinted. “I can’t picture it. That must have been horrible for you, all those labeled clothes jammed into a suitcase… spiders, ants…” She shivered. “You poor thing.”
“Have I somehow given you the impression that I’m unable to survive outside?” I teased, leaning in so I could be closer to her.
“The labels.” She shrugged one shoulder and popped another grape into her mouth. “Kinda killed the whole alpha-male thing you had going for you.”
“I like order,” I argued, placing both of my hands on the counter so that I was as close to her as possible without actually jumping over the counter or pulling her down with me.
Lisa tilted her head as if assessing me. “You like control.”
Well, that was blunt.
I opened my mouth but shut it again. “In some areas, yes, though in my experience, too much control could be a bad thing.”
“Yeah.” A shadow crossed her face. “It really can.”
I knew I’d touched on her past, knew it by the lost and guilty look on her face.
“More grapes?” I held up the plate like I had the social skills of a seven year old and didn’t possess a doctorate degree.
“No.” She placed her hands on her stomach. “I think I’ve had enough food and drama for the night. Maybe I should just go to bed.”
Bed.
Satin sheets.
Red sheets.
Hell, no sheets, just the floor next to the bed, the wall, the stairs, anywhere I could take her — I wanted her writhing, shaking, moaning, licking? Too many verbs, too many actions I was unable to fulfill as my body grew hotter and tighter with the need to peel the dress from her body and touch her skin. My body leapt to attention at the mental image — any minute, and I was going to start panting.