When I looked up, Kat stood in the doorway.
“Kit-Kat.”
“Dan the Security Man.” She leaned against the doorframe, her hands behind her back, looking ten kinds of beautiful and, as always, impeccably put together.
Except this time, her clothes looked different. Expensive. Really expensive. Gone were her khaki pants with iron creases down the front, brown loafers, white dress shirts, and cardigans in different colors. Instead, she wore a dark blue dress buttoned up the front with pearl buttons, from her neck to her knees, matching blue shoes, and more pearls at her ears and wrist.
Also, as always, I found myself daydreaming about how it would be to disorder the order. Unbutton her dress, kiss off her lipstick, unhook her bra, and fill my hands and mouth with her body and taste.
Kat was twenty-five. Looking the way she did now, meticulously sophisticated, I wouldn’t have been able to place her age if I didn’t already know. My neck itched, but not because I was feeling guilty. It was the gang tattoos that I wanted to scratch; they felt like dirt on my skin.
I ignored the impulse.
“You’re back early,” I said. The clock by the bed told me it was only 3:30 PM. God, it was good to see her.
“I thought I’d work from here for a while. How are you?”
I didn’t say, Bored. Missing you. Horny. Missing you. Paranoid. Missing you. In pain. Missing you.
Instead, opting for, “Well-rested.”
Her gaze narrowed, like she didn’t believe me.
I listened for a minute. “Ma with you?”
My mother had been gone for almost a half hour after receiving a call from the hotel about something or other, which was why I’d called Quinn and jumped on the treadmill.
“She’s getting a massage.”
I lifted an eyebrow at that. “A massage?” My whole life, I’d never known my mom to get a massage.
Kat nodded. “And then a facial, pedicure, manicure, body glow scrub, haircut, and blowout.”
“Blowout?” Now I lifted both my eyebrows.
She took seven steps into the room. “It’s where they use a blow dryer to dry and style your hair.”
“Huh.” How about that. Definitely not what I was thinking.
“What did you think a blowout was?” Kat sat on the edge of the mattress, facing me, and slipped off her shoes.
“Never mind.” I stared at her bare feet, my eyes sliding to her calves, knees, and stopping at the hem of her dress. I probably shouldn’t admit what I thought a blowout was; plus, we had more important things to discuss. “How long will all that take?”
I watched as she neatly tucked her dark blue heels under the bed, toes in; a small smile on her lips. “A few hours.”
A few hours?
A few hours!
Thank you, whoever the patron saint of getting lucky is, assuming there was a patron saint of getting lucky. Maybe it was Saint Jude. That guy was the patron saint of lost causes, which was sometimes the same thing.
I knew we wouldn’t be going all the way. We were still on orgasm lockdown, and that was perfectly fine. But I missed the feel of her, her skin, the heat of her body, the way she moved when she was mindless and relaxed with arousal. All I needed was some of that and I’d be happy.
And some listening to her speak. And some making her laugh. And some making her sigh.
Yep. That’s what I needed. Just all those things.
So I returned my book to the side table and stood. “Oh. Really?”
“Yes. Really.” She also stood, her hands clasped behind her back.
The smile was gone, and in its place was a wide-eyed stare that looked suddenly nervous. I didn’t cross to her, figuring she’d be less anxious if she came to me.
“Whatever shall we do?” I tapped my chin with my index finger, keeping my voice light.
She cracked a small grin at that, releasing a nervous laugh and shrugged. “I guess we’ll think of something.”
Now she was staring again. And not moving.
Okay.
I took a small step forward, testing the waters. She took a small step forward. I took a larger step forward, and she did as well. She swallowed like swallowing wasn’t easy, and I noticed her hands were now at her sides, balled into fists.
Hmm.
“How was your day?” I asked, watching her carefully. Today had been her second day going into the office. Caleb had been there both days, but when she got home yesterday she’d said that she hadn’t seen him. That was good. I hoped it was a sign he’d planned to back off, but I didn’t believe for one minute he was going to.
Which was why our guys, Stan and Nicolas, had flown out from Chicago last Friday, taking turns as her shadow. Anywhere Kat went outside of the penthouse, she had a full complement of security, but either Stan or Nicolas never left her side. They were the two guys I trusted the most and they’d be with her until I staffed a permanent team and vetted everyone to my satisfaction.