Ego Maniac(55)

In the kitchen, he pulled a stool out from under the granite island and patted the top. “Have a seat.”

I swiveled around on it a few times as Drew pulled things out of the cabinets and refrigerator. Remembering what we’d done up against the glass a few hours ago, I stopped twirling and looked at the window. It was dark outside now, and I could see the lights from the city illuminated so clearly.

“Can people…can they really see inside?” A mixture of panic and embarrassment crept up my cheeks as I remembered how my breasts had been pushed up against the glass. In the moment, it had seemed exciting that someone could possibly see—added to the eroticism. But I definitely didn’t want to wind up on YouTube because some creeper had filmed us through a telescope.

Drew chuckled. “No. It’s one-way glass. I wouldn’t put you at risk like that.” He reached over my head to grab a pan and kissed my forehead on his way down with it. “Plus, I don’t share things that are mine.”

The first part of his response made the rational part of me breathe a sigh of relief, but the latter gave me warm fuzzies inside.

Drew was also still wearing just a towel, his wrapped around his narrow waist, and I was enjoying the view of his back muscles flexing as he chopped an onion, when I noticed a scar. It ran diagonally along the side of his torso, extending from the front to the back. The mark was faded to a lighter shade of tan than the rest of his skin—definitely not new, but something serious had happened.

“Did you have surgery?” I asked.

“Hmmm?” Drew dropped some butter into the frying pan and turned with brows drawn.

I pointed. “Your scar.”

A flicker of something passed over his face. Sadness, I thought. He turned back around as he responded. “Yeah. Surgery a few years back.”#p#分页标题#e#

Maybe I was looking too much into things, scrutinizing everything he did, but I couldn’t help it. My mind was trying to put together a puzzle without knowing what the picture looked like.

Drew chopped up a bunch of other things, refusing to let me help. When he plated two gorgeous Western omelets, they looked like they could have been made at one of Baldwin’s fancy restaurants.

Baldwin.

I couldn’t waste another three years pining for a man who was never going to return my feelings. I needed to remember that Drew wasn’t interested in more than sex. Getting attached and growing feelings for this man was not an option.

Yet…I couldn’t help feeling some sort of connection to Drew. Like there was a reason I got ripped off and wound up sitting in his office on New Year’s Eve. Stupid, I know. I had no idea what the connection between us was just yet, but I was determined to find out.

We made small talk throughout our meal, and then I cleaned up. There weren’t enough dishes to run the dishwasher, so I washed while Drew dried. The two of us worked well together, and I found myself thinking it was interesting how in the office our opinions and counsel were so opposite, yet physically we were so in sync.

“You want a drink? Glass of wine or something?” he asked when the kitchen was put back together neatly.

“No, thanks. I’m too full.”

He nodded. “Come on, let’s go sit in the living room.”

Drew moved the pillows on the couch around, putting one at the end for my head, then pointed. “Lie down.”

He stood until I got myself comfortable. Then he lifted my legs and set my feet across his lap. “You ticklish?”

“Are you going to make it a challenge if I tell you I’m not?”

He flashed me a crooked smile. “No. I was going to rub your feet.”

I smiled and lifted one of my feet in the air, offering it to him. “I’m not ticklish. But when you admit that to people, they find it necessary to dig their fingers into your ribs until you bruise trying to prove you’re wrong.”

Drew took my foot and began to rub. His fingers were strong, and when he took his thumbs and deftly rubbed at a spot on the ball of my foot—the spot where my heels placed most of my body weight—I let out a little mewl.

“Good?”

“Better than good,” I sighed.

After a few minutes of his rubbing, my entire body relaxed, and Drew started to speak in a low voice. “Beck was five years old when he got into an accident with my ex-wife.”

Oh, God.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Drew’s brow furrowed, and then he quickly seemed to realize what I thought. “Oh, shit. No. I didn’t mean to make you think…he’s fine. Beck’s fine.”

My hand went to my chest. “Jesus. You scared the crap out of me. I thought…”