I twined my arms around his neck, lifting to my toes and pressing my body to his as I sought his tongue with mine. He obliged, and though his kiss was hot and sweet and savoring, his fingers dug into my back and he held me tighter than necessary.
Melted and reformed, my new shape soft and pliable, heat seeking and greedy for him, I poured myself into the kiss, hoping it would succeed where my words had not.
Sliding his hands along my sides to my arms, he broke away. I opened my eyes, eager for his. But Dan released me and took a step back. His gaze was on the floor between us and he reached into his pocket, his large hands concealed the object he withdrew.
Dan reached for me, opened my fingers, placed the object there, and let me go.
I stared, not quite able to breathe, because a ring so beautiful that it defied comprehension lay in the center of my palm.
An exquisite colorless diamond cut into a shape that wasn’t quite a square and wasn’t quite a circle surrounded by a halo of smaller diamonds in a filigree art deco platinum setting—maybe white gold?—sparkled back at me.
“I don’t want your gratitude,” he said, his voice rough but firm.
I lifted my gaze and blinked at him, at his chin’s determined tilt and the figurative barricade he’d erected between us with his stubbornness.
The last thing he wanted to hear was another thank you.
Okay. Fine. I understood, loud and clear.
Which meant I didn’t know what to say. So I said nothing.
Chapter Thirteen
A Private Company: (Or privately held company) A business company owned either by non-governmental organizations or by a relatively small number of shareholders or company members which does not offer or trade its company stock (shares) to the general public on the stock market exchanges.
—Investopedia
**Kat**
The next several hours passed in a hectic blur.
Dan was absent when I returned with more coffee, two large thermoses full. I’d purchased them at the gift shop and filled the containers from the cafeteria machines. Quinn explained that Dan was off someplace taking calls, sending emails, and working with Quinn’s executive assistant to rearrange meetings and schedules for the following week.
We received a text from Fiona’s husband, Greg, not to tell us they were on their way, but rather to inform us they were already at the hospital. Fiona had gone into labor.
Sandra arrived just after 7:30 PM, bringing dinner from the cafeteria and possessing the forethought to order enough extra food in case more people showed up.
Quinn paced the room like a caged animal and deflected any and all attempts at conversation. Eventually, I gave up and stewed in my own anxious contemplations, glaring at the gorgeous rock on my finger, and endeavoring to untangle the lump of nerves in my stomach. However, Sandra had managed to pull a laugh out of Quinn with a few of her dirtiest jokes. Nico also would have made him laugh, but the comedian was stuck in New York filming his show.
Elizabeth poked her head out at intervals to give us the thumbs up, tease Quinn, and ask if we’d heard from Marie. No one could reach Marie, not even Alex with his super sneaky computery skills. Alex didn’t come to the hospital. He stayed behind at Cypher Systems to cover things there.
Ashley and Drew were on high alert in Tennessee, debating whether or not to drive up now or wait a week and visit once everyone was home.
Close to 9:00 PM, I left Quinn with Sandra to see if I could check on Fiona. I didn’t want to text Greg while he was obviously concentrating on more important things; instead, I found the nurses’ station and asked about her progress. Unsurprisingly, since I wasn’t an immediate family member, I was unable to discover any information.
I was just typing a text to the group, asking if I could bring anything back, when I heard Dan’s voice from behind me call, “Kat, wait up.”
Automatically, I glanced over my shoulder, my heart giving a leap. The first thing I noticed, gone was his sexy suit from the wedding. Which of course made me wonder if he was wearing the red boxer briefs I’d brought him. Which of course sent a delightful spike of alertness through me because I was picturing him in nothing but the red briefs. Which of course made my cheeks and neck red hot.
Right on cue, I felt a little ashamed of my objectifying thoughts.
“Hi.” I waved, sticking the phone in my back pocket. Forgetting about the half-written text, I turned to meet him while trying to swallow past the tension in my throat.
The way we’d left things earlier weighed heavy between us. He didn’t want my thanks, and I didn’t know how to get my point across without voicing my gratitude.
“Hey.” He drew closer, and though his momentum led me to believe he planned to greet me with a kiss, he stopped abruptly a few feet away. “Where you going?”