Her breath hitched, heat surging up her neck.She ducked her head, pushing through the doors and into the cooler air outside.Straightening her spine, she fixed her gaze on the sidewalk ahead, willing her legs to remember how to walk without wobbling, even as every nerve in her body buzzed with the possibility that his eyes still followed her.
By the time she reached her SUV, her heart hadn’t slowed.“You’re not on the market,” she muttered, shoving her portfolio into the backseat and slamming the door a little harder than necessary.“Forget him.Forget those eyes, that voice, that—” She groaned through gritted teeth, cutting herself off as she slipped into the driver’s seat.
The drive to her client’s house should have cleared her head.It didn’t.Her fingers still tingled from where he’d steadied her, her skin prickling with the memory of heat and the faintest brush of calloused hands.
She parked, grabbed her portfolio, and stepped out, squaring her shoulders as if she could physically push away the memory of him.“You have goals,” she reminded herself.“Focus on those.”
But the traitorous part of her mind whispered anyway—dark eyes, warm hands, the kind of quiet strength that could make a woman feel safe enough to toss her spider-slaying days to the wind.
Shaking her head, Natalie pasted on a professional smile as she approached the door.“Get it together,” she muttered.But the thought lingered like a dare, curling through her mind:What if you never have to kill another spider again?
Chapter 2
Natalie was still warm from the encounter in the lobby, her skin buzzing with the ghost of her stranger’s touch, her mind stubbornly replaying the way his gaze had pinned her in place.She’d told herself to focus on work, but the awareness lingered, threading through her with every step toward her next client meeting.
Unfortunately, that warm, fuzzy feeling changed the instant she reached the door.
The familiar scent hit her first—a faint, woodsy cologne she hadn’t smelled in years but would never forget.The warmth her stranger had left in her veins iced over in an instant.Natalie froze, every muscle locking tight.The smell wrapped around her like a cold, invisible hand, squeezing until her pulse spiked and her stomach churned with old, unwelcome memories.
Her second warning came from the woman in the doorway.The smile she wore was too bright.Too fixed.The heavy makeup couldn’t quite disguise the exhaustion shadowing her eyes.
“Are you Natalie Gibbons?”the woman asked, her voice thin and shaky, as if she were balancing on the edge of something sharp and dangerous.
Ignoring the tension knotting in her shoulders, Natalie extended her hand.“Yes.And you’re Henrietta Ackers?”
“Yes!”The woman’s relief was immediate, though still brittle.“Oh, thank goodness I finally found you.”She gestured toward the living room, her movements too hurried, too jerky.
Natalie stepped inside—and immediately felt smothered.
The space was immaculate to the point of lifelessness: the living room to the right contained two white sofas in rigid formation, a gleaming coffee table perfectly centered between them, a bouquet of flowers so precisely arranged it looked more like a prop than anything meant to be enjoyed.Even the stack of art books beside it had been squared off like soldiers in formation.A gilt mirror on the mantle reflected the symmetry, flanked by matching candlesticks.Every element was deliberate.And utterly without soul.
“Please, come in,” Henrietta said quickly, stepping aside.“Can I get you some coffee or tea?Water?”
Natalie shook her head with a polite smile.“Thank you, but I’m fine.”
Henrietta gave a jerky nod, as though relieved she wouldn’t have to fetch anything, and motioned to one of the white sofas.
Natalie set her leather tote gently on the floor and took a seat, the pristine cushions barely giving beneath her weight.The air felt heavy, charged.Henrietta’s hands fluttered to her hair, smoothing already motionless strands.
“You were looking for me specifically?”Natalie prompted, keeping her tone professional despite the unease slithering up her spine.Normally, being requested by name was flattering.Now it set off alarm bells.
Henrietta’s fingers twisted in her lap.“Yes.”She hesitated, then her voice dropped to a whisper.“Well, not me.My husband… he saw some of your work and… asked that I hire you to decorate our home.”
Asked.The word lodged in Natalie’s gut like a stone.The tremor in Henrietta’s voice, the stiffness in her posture—it all felt like someone bracing for a blow.
Natalie opened her notebook, determined to push forward.“Why don’t we start with your budget and which rooms you’d like to redecorate?”
Before Henrietta could speak, the front door burst open.The slam reverberated like a gunshot.Henrietta flinched so violently Natalie’s pulse lurched in response.Any bit of warmth from earlier was long gone; in its place came the crawling, suffocating weight of dread.
And then he appeared.
Mark Soloman.
The air punched out of her lungs.Her ex-fiancé walked in with the same calculated arrogance she remembered too well, his tailored suit a perfect armor, his expression unreadable but for the flicker of satisfaction in his eyes.He crossed to Henrietta, bending for a perfunctory kiss to her forehead while his gaze locked onto Natalie, smug and unyielding.Meanwhile, Henrietta seemed to shrink under his touch.
“Hello, Natalie,” he said smoothly, his tone almost amused.
Her throat tightened.She forced herself to meet his eyes with what she hoped looked like indifference.“Mark.”
