Beauty's Kiss(18)
Troy was also worried that his bachelor brother Cormac had bitten off more than he could chew by agreeing to raise his goddaughter, two year old Daisy Davis, as his own. It was one thing to be asked to be a baby’s guardian. It was another to become the guardian.
Troy shifted restlessly in the library chair, trying not to glance at his watch. He wasn’t sure why he’d promised Jane that he’d attend the meeting tonight but he knew why he’d chosen to sit next to Taylor.
Last night he’d been surprised by her refusal to attend the Ball with him.
And then intrigued. And now amused.
He wasn’t accustomed to being rejected. In his world, women chased him and he spent tremendous energy dodging his computer and phone, overwhelmed by the number of women texting and calling, instant messaging and sending flirty snap chats. He appreciated a beautiful woman. He admired a smart, beautiful woman. But he wasn’t comfortable being chased.
He didn’t like feeling hunted.
Back in school he’d been popular. The Sheenan brothers were good looking boys. None of them had ever lacked for girls, or dates. But once he’d made his fortune, women weren’t just interested in him, they were interested in his lifestyle.
Maybe that’s why he’d chosen to sit next to Taylor in tonight’s meeting. She didn’t eye him as if he were a tasty steak, or a Thanksgiving feast.
She looked at him with indifference. Maybe even disdain. And that made him curious. Made him want to understand why Taylor Harris disapproved of him. It also made him want to prove her wrong.
Maybe he viewed her rejection as a challenge.
A man liked a challenge. A man liked the chase. Provided he was doing the chasing.
So Troy stopped listening to the committee, he gave up trying to keep track of all the details.... no longer caring to remember what kind of flowers or lighting or chocolate desserts there would be.
Instead he studied Taylor who sat with her legs crossed just above the knee, taking copious notes in her notebook, her pink lips pursed, her brow furrowed in concentration.
She looked so studious and focused with her glasses, cardigan sweater, and long gleaming ponytail. He’d always had such a thing for smart girls. Book girls. His sophomore year of high school he’d spent all his free time in this library, making out with Lani Murphy in any dark corner they could find.
They’d study, kiss, study, kiss.
It had been the best academic year of his life.
Sure, his grades hadn’t been so hot but he’d felt like a man, and she’d felt well... amazing.
He tried not to smile as he pictured Taylor back in high school. He was quite sure she’d looked the same. Same ponytail, same glasses, same smart, studious expression.
He wondered if she’d ever spent a high school afternoon making out in the library. Somehow from her starchy expression, he suspected not. She struck him as the kind of girl who believed libraries were about books. Silly girl. He’d love to teach her what dark shadowy corners in libraries were really for.
As if aware of his scrutiny, Taylor turned her head and stared back at him, giving him a significant, no nonsense look that he thought was as sexy as hell.
Until now he’d thought her eyes were brown, a simple chocolate brown, but now he saw they were a hazel green with bits of light blue. Or was it silver?
With her brows arching, dark elegant wings behind the masculine frames, and her hazel eyes snapping fire, he thought she’d never looked quite so bright and beautiful.
If only she understood that she looked very appealing annoyed.
Quite kissable with her pink lips pursed.
“What?” she mouthed at him.
“What, what?” he whispered back.
Her nostrils flared as she exhaled hard. “You’re staring.”
Heads were turning. Everyone seemed to be looking at them now but McKenna, who was looking away.
Troy leaned closer to Taylor. He spoke under his breath. “I like your glasses.”
For a moment Taylor just looked at him, her expression incredulous, and then she leaned very close to him, so close he could smell a hint of citrus and orange blossom. Shampoo or fragrance, he didn’t know which.
“They’re not a fashion statement,” she said quietly, tersely. “I need them to see. Now ssshh. We’re interrupting the meeting.”
Why did she say that?
The moment the words left her mouth, Taylor wanted to die of mortification. Ssssh. We’re interrupting the meeting. She sounded like such a fuddy duddy. Like the crabbiest old woman alive.
Like Margaret Houghton, Marietta’s head librarian.
But Taylor wasn’t Margaret, nor was she crabby. Taylor was an optimist. And a closet romantic. But even optimists and closet romantics had to know when they were out-classed.