"Ours," Matt had said and turned his head to kiss her. "We're going to make wonderful memories here."
And they had, too, Holly thought, swallowing around the tightness in her throat. Just not enough of them.
And now she didn't belong here anymore. There was nothing left.
She looked around, wondering where Lukas had got to.
She cocked her head, listening closely, and realized she could hear water running in the back of the apartment. There were muffled sounds and occasional clattering noises punctuating the sound of the water. Curious, Holly followed the sounds down the hall and into the bathroom. The door was open. Lukas was on his knees, scrubbing the grout around the edge of the shower.
"You don't have to do that!"
He sat back on his heels and looked around at her, then shrugged. "Okay." But he made no move to get up.
"I can clean it myself," she protested.
"Yeah." He straightened slowly and stood, eyeing her speculatively, and Holly began to realize what he was doing. Lukas wasn't on his knees in the bathroom with an old toothbrush in his hand because he was desperate to clean grout or because he thought she couldn't do it herself. He had been giving her space and time of her own.
She took a breath and smiled-a little wanly perhaps, but it was still a smile. "Thank you."
Lukas's gaze flicked over her. "You okay?"
"Yes." Then, more firmly, "I'm fine. I will be fine."
"Of course you will be," he agreed. "Are you ready to go?"
She tilted her head, considering. "Unless you want to scrub the rest of the grout?"
He grinned, getting to his feet. "I believe Fraser Holcomb can do the rest."
* * *
He was an idiot.
His own worst enemy.
The guy least likely to get laid on the planet.
All of the above.
He now had temptation on his doorstep 24/7-and it was his own damn fault.
Lukas sprawled on his bed, staring up at the skylight, and wondered when the hell he was going to get a clue.
Not only had he pushed his way in when she had clearly left a message telling him no, he'd got the bright idea of hiring her to be his gallery manager, then moved her into the manager's apartment where she would be right there in his building for the next six weeks. Underfoot.
Then, heaven help him, he'd shared a glass of wine with her and had the unfortunate realization that she was shattered from leaving the last home she'd shared with Matt, whereupon he had somewhere-somehow!- discovered the scruples to tell her good-night, turn his back and walk out the door!
God.
Lukas thrust his fingers through his hair and flung himself over onto his stomach. It didn't help. In fact, it was worse. It brought his arousal into direct contact with the friction of the bedclothes and made him more desperate than ever.
He either needed the brains to recognize how far gone he was on Holly-and how far she wasn't gone on him-and so keep her at a distance instead of tormenting himself with the knowledge that she was sound asleep in her bed four floors below him, or he needed to be unscrupulous enough to pursue a woman who was still in love with another man.
But this-having her right under his nose every day and still keeping his hands off-was likely going to kill him.
He rolled over to the other side, then, irritably, flipped onto his back.
He'd bet Holly wasn't tossing and turning. She'd looked completely spent by the time they'd got her furniture where she wanted it and had made up her bed.
The others had helped bring things up, but then Holly had thanked them profusely and sent them away, saying they'd done enough. She'd tried to send him away, too. But he'd had to offer to help.
He could hardly insist she move in, then abandon her the minute she got there. He probably should have. Being there with her, in the intimacy of her bedroom-even one primarily filled with boxes-hell, it was like having her on his dad's sailboat all over again.
She'd dug out a pair of soft, pale blue sheets and they'd stood on either side of the bed, spreading them and straightening them. And it was all Lukas could do not to make some comment about spending the night in them. God knew he wanted to.
But he'd seen her hollow-eyed exhaustion, and he'd witnessed the emptiness in her expression as the condo had stopped being her home and had become just a holding space for pieces of what had once been her life with Matt.
He could get her out of the condo, but he couldn't intrude on her memories. She deserved to have them, to remember the man she'd loved and lost. She had been silent on the drive across the bridge into Manhattan. He'd seen her fingers twist in her lap, and he'd wondered what he was doing bringing her here.
Certainly not what he'd hoped in the mad moments he'd pushed for her to come. It had seemed like a perfect opportunity to get her where he could spend time with her, get to know her again-without being the odd man out this time. Charm her off her feet. Go to bed with her.
But she hadn't even been able to look at him while they were putting sheets on her bed. And he'd been ready to cut his losses and head out the door when she'd said quickly, "I have a bottle of wine. We should drink a toast to my new life."
Anyone less likely to be embracing a new life than the Holly who'd smiled tremulously at him would have been hard to imagine. Her face was pale, her eyes deep-sunken. She looked as if she was going to shatter any second.
But maybe a glass of wine would settle her, make her sleep. And apparently he was a glutton for punishment, because Lukas had found himself nodding. "Sounds good."
She'd found the wine without too much trouble, and even came up with a corkscrew to open it with. "Charlotte labeled the kitchen boxes very thoroughly," she'd said with a laugh.
But she'd fumbled with the corkscrew and muttered in frustration. So Lukas had taken it from her and done it himself. "Got glasses?"
She'd rooted in another box and produced a pair. He'd poured, then set the bottle down and raised his glass to her. And Holly had looked at him with her eyes wide and terrified looking.
Lukas didn't speak. He didn't know what to say that wouldn't make things worse. Then at last Holly smiled, a small, twisted smile. "To the future."
It sounded as if she was expecting one unmitigated disaster after another. But as long as she didn't say so, Lukas could drink to that.
He clinked his glass to hers. "To the future."
She had taken a sip, then followed it with something close to a gulp, after which she had coughed herself silly. Lukas had taken her glass and set it on the counter, then didn't know what to do with his hands. Patting her on the back-touching her at all-was out of the question.
She'd laughed, a little desperately to his ears. "God," she'd muttered. "I'm hopeless."
Lukas had shaken his head. "No. You just need a good night's sleep," he added. "Everything will be all right in the morning."
Of course it wouldn't. It was just one of those platitudes his mother used to tell him. "Let's hope so," she'd said.
"Right. I'll go. Let you get some sleep." He gulped down the rest of his wine and turned for the door.
Holly followed him. "Thank you, Lukas."
Her voice sounded breathless and achingly sexy, and he needed to get out of there before he did something he'd regret. He gave her a wave of his hand without even turning around. "G'night."
Then he had shut the door behind him with a solid thunk.
So he hoped to God she was sleeping now. She'd been tired enough. As for him-well, no rest for the wicked. Another of his mother's platitudes. And one better suited for the occasion.
From outside Lukas heard the wail of a siren, reminding him that there were people with greater problems than his. The clock on his dresser read 2:42 a.m. He wasn't going to sleep.
He wanted to get up and go knock down a wall, get rid of some of the tension. But there were no walls that needed knocking down. He groaned and rolled over again.
And that was when he heard the knock.
Knock? There was no one in the building but him.
And Holly.
Holly was knocking on his door? He half vaulted out of the bed before he dropped back again, breathing hard.
Suppose it was Holly. Suppose she needed him to fix the thermostat or maybe the refrigerator wasn't working. Suppose she was afraid of the dark in a new place and wanted him to sit with her until dawn.
Did she trust him enough to do any of those things in the middle of the night?
Did he trust himself? Lukas scrubbed his hands down his face. Trust himself? Ha. He slumped back against the pillows and assured himself that he was hearing things. Tormenting himself with imaginary knocks from a woman who, God help him, wasn't imaginary at all.