Sinner (Shelter Harbor #1)(122)

She looks down into her drink as she laughs bitterly in this self-depreciating way, and before I know what the hell I’m doing, I’m sliding my hand across the table and putting it over hers.

The contact is electric. She looks up sharply, and our eyes lock as the moment freezes in stone around us for one single second.

“He sounds like a fucking idiot, Serena,” I say.

And I mean it.

And in another situation, with another girl, I’d probably make a move. In every other scenario where I’m in this place with a girl even half as gorgeous as her sitting across from me, a hand over hers leads to more. It leads to another on her jaw, which turns to pulling her forward across the table and claiming that mouth with mine. In the other version of this moment, I kiss her hard and crushingly, my hand tangling in her hair.

In the version of this that sizzles through my mind in that frozen moment, she’s wrapped around my finger before I even lead her out the front door. And by the time I’m laying her across my bed with her ankles over my shoulders, she’s begging me with every fiber of her being.

This is not that version though. This is not that moment, or that fantasy.

This is reality, and this is Serena Roth.

My co-worker.

My co-owner and partner in possibly the most important task of my professional career.

I have to remember that she’s the enemy here. She’s the outsider, somehow thrown into this whole thing and putting Sam’s legacy and my entire career in jeopardy. I have to ignore that spark that flashes in her eye. I have to ignore the gentle beat of her pulse, quick and hot beneath the soft skin of her hand. I have to ignore the fact that holding that gaze and feeling her skin beneath my fingers is getting me hard as stone beneath the table.

I have to forget about how damn gorgeous she looks in the low light. I’ve had plenty of gorgeous women in my bed, and every single one of them are immediately forgettable. Women in my life fill a need, and then I’m moving on. Because with my career, and with raising Emily on my own, that’s all I’ve got time for.

That’s all I’ve got the capacity for.

And that’s why I take my hand back. That’s why I ignore every synapse in my brain and every base desire I have, sitting there losing myself in those big green eyes.

I drag my eyes away from her and raise a hand to our waitress for the check.

This can’t, and won’t, ever happen. Because whatever teasing thoughts and fantasies linger in this moment and in the space between us, that’s all they can ever be. And I have to make damn sure I keep things professional with her.

She doesn’t need to know my story.

She doesn’t need to know about Emily.

She doesn’t need to be taking up space in my head like this.

And I need to leave. Now.

“Guess that’s a wrap then?” She arches a brow as the waitress brings the check to my waiting corporate card.

I spread my hands. “I’ve got an early, busy day tomorrow.” I shrug. “We have an early, busy day tomorrow, actually.”

“Right, yeah,” she nods, her eyes looking away now as she picks up her glass to finish her drink.

The check comes back and I sign quickly, slipping my wallet back into my jacket pocket as I stand. She follows suit, and we both head for the door.

Again, in the other version of this evening, there’s only one destination here, and only one outcome once we get there.

And yet, again, this is not that version.

“Until tomorrow then.”

For a second, it looks like she’s about to say something, and standing there with her on the quiet, empty Denver street corner, I want her to. I want her to say something to shatter the whirlwind of confusion blurring though my head.

But she smiles instead, her arm outstretching.

A handshake.

I could almost laugh.

“Thank for dinner, Landon. See you at the office tomorrow.”

Our hands linger for one final second.

“See you tomorrow, Serena.”

And then we’re parting, and walking in two different directions into the night.

‘Don’t fish off the company pier they say? Shit, boy, I say don’t even mention the sport on the company pier.’

I used to grin whenever Sam dropped some little altruism or personal opinion concerning women.

It’s never been more soberingly relevant than in this moment.





Chapter Eleven





Serena




Four Weeks Ago:



“Well that was…interesting.”

Landon laughs, the heat of the night and the drinks we’ve had bringing a redness to his face. He passes me the half-chilled bottle of champagne he bought at the bar down in the lobby of the hotel.

His hotel.

His hotel that somehow became our next destination after leaving the cocktail function Landon had to make an appearance at. The one I tagged along to. Rich cocktail parties with an insanely hot man I don’t know who bought me an obscenely expensive silver necklace specifically to wear to the event, and has now somehow gotten me up to his lavish hotel room balcony.