She lets out a little huff of frustration as she stretches trying to dust the top of a tall bookshelf, and I’m on my feet and crossing to her in an instant. “Need help with that?”
Jennifer glances over her shoulder and gives a tight smile as pink flares in her cheeks. “I've got it but thank you.”
Ignoring her, I pluck the cloth from her hands and easily wipe down the top shelf. She's right there, close enough that I can smell her shampoo, something floral and sweet, through the sharp scent of the lemon furniture polish.
“Thank you.” Her voice is breathless, and when I look down, she's staring up at me with wide brown eyes and parted lips.
We're too close. Close enough that I can make out the faint flutter of her pulse at her neck that I want to bend down and lick. The smart thing to do would be to step back and put some space between us. Unfortunately, for an intelligent man, I’m not always the best at doing what I should.
“You're welcome,” I say, and my voice is low and rough with want.
She swallows hard, and I watch her throat work. Then she steps back, putting distance between us, and I feel the loss like a physical thing.
“I should... I need to clean the kitchen,” she says quickly, moving away.
I return to my place on the couch, pick the book back up, and don’t read a single word.
Around eleven, she starts making lunch. I give up on the book and move to the island, watching her work. She's making sandwiches, simple but precise in her movements.
“Tell me something about yourself,” I say, wanting to hear her voice and know more about the woman that has piqued my interest.
She glances up, with a guarded expression on her face. “Why?”
I nearly snort. “Because I’m asking.”
Her tongue comes out and swipes along her upper lip as she considers. “Like what?”
Grinning, I perch on the stool opposite her. “Anything. Favorite movie. Biggest fear. First concert.”
She laughs. “That's quite a range. Um, favorite movie is The Princess Bride. Biggest fear is probably spiders, which is ridiculous because they're tiny and I'm not. And I've never been to a concert.”
My brows shoot up. “Never?”
She shrugs. “Tickets are expensive. And I've never had anyone to go with.”
Something about that makes me angry. Not at her, but at a world where this bright, kind woman has never experienced something as simple as live music because she couldn't afford it or had no one to take her. I’d take her to any concert she wanted.
“What about you?” she asks, setting a plate in front of me with a tuna salad sandwich, cucumber slices and spears of red and orange peppers. “Same questions.”
“Favorite movie is probably John Wick, any of them. Biggest fear...” I pause, considering. “Failure. Being irrelevant. Dying without having mattered.” I don't know why I'm being this honest. “First concert was some tech conference keynote that happened to have a performer who I don’t even recall. I was eighteen.”
“That's sad,” she says softly. “That your first concert was at a work event.”
Chewing a bit of cucumber, I swallow and shake my head. “It was all I cared about. Building my company. Making my first million. Proving I could.”
She reaches for a bit of pepper left on the cutting board. “And did you? Prove it?”
“Yeah. I made my first million at twenty-five. Had fifty million by thirty. A billion by thirty-five.” The numbers sound strangely hollow when I say them out loud. “And then I collapsed in a board meeting because my body decided money wasn't worth dying for.”
She reaches across the island, covers my hand with hers. The touch is simple, compassionate, and it cracks something open in my chest.
“I'm glad you're here,” she says. “Getting better.”
“Me too.” I turn my hand over, threading my fingers through hers. Her hand is small in mine, soft and warm. “Especially if it means meeting you.”
She blushes, that gorgeous flush spreading across her cheeks. But she doesn't pull her hand away.
CHAPTER THREE
