“Hello,” I say to a stiff, taxidermic couple as they pass through the doorway. “Hi.” I nod to a tiny woman with a cane. “Welcome to the Historic Scavenger Hunt for Charity. Stop by the circulation desk, and our staff will provide you with a list of artifacts to search for. Once you find them all, you can return the list and get your raffle ticket.”
The tiny lady wobbles off in the wrong direction, so I wave and snap at an intern, and he chases after her.
“Welcome, welcome,” I say to another pair of newcomers. I straighten my tuxedo jacket and black bow tie. It’s a frigid night in Chicago, and the cold is biting. I’m grateful for the warm air whooshing out of the brightly lit lobby every time I open the door.
I finish giving my spiel before I circle back to find a new person walking up the steps.
It’s not winter anymore.
No, it’s a scorching summer’s day. Sweltering heat burns through the layers of my tuxedo before it pools in my stomach. No one has a right to look this good.
Kate is a walking felony as she ascends the museum steps like sheowns them. Matter of fact, with all the attempts to ban me from her “territories” lately, I bet she thinks she does.
Even though she’s wearing a cream-colored overcoat, a slip of her bare leg pushes through the long hem, and I’m in severe peril of becoming undone.
Kate does a bajillion different hairstyles on the regular, but she doesn’t usually make her straight hair curly. Tonight, the thick, black strands twist this way and that as they cascade down her back.
No matter how hot she looks or how hot I feel, what truly does me in are the black gloves she’s wearing.
In an instant, those black gloves are threading between my fingers in Jackson Park on a deserted December night. I’m tugging them, kissing Kate’s cheek, feeling her warmth. Then, I’m smooth-talking my way out of mattress store jail, telling the pissed off employees that I indeed needed to test the mattress before buying it. And yes, that included jumping on it. If they didn’t want my business, or if this was how they treatedallof their loyal customers, then I didn’t want to buy one anyway.
During that cosmic-kissed night, Kate had let me in. Literally. Snuck me through her dormitory at two a.m. after the mattress freaks released me and made true to her promise of showing me the ugly cherry blossom painting. Kate hadn’t been lying about how horrendous it was—it hurt to look at it.
But I still couldn’t help liking it because it was a part of her.
After our late-night conversations finally ended, I rode home on my motorcycle knowing it wasn’t the painting I couldn’t help liking. It washer. I guess not much changes over the years, despite how desperately I wish it would.
Kate flicks her gaze over my body so quickly, she could probably gaslight me that I imagined it. But both her bouncing left knee and I know the truth.
“Katie.” I dip my head toward her. “You’re looking especially dangerous tonight.”
She tries not to make eye contact. “I didn’t know my pepper spray was visible through my purse, but yes, Brandon. I am dangerous. Keep that in mind.”
“Trust me, I will treasure that tantalizing information for as longas humanly possible.” I darken my voice, my breath clouding in the too-wide space between us.
Kate’s lips twitch, and her gorgeous eyes finally meet mine.
I never did figure out how the sun could shine through such dark brown irises, but if the caramel flecks caught the light just right, it was enough to bring a man to his knees.
Unfortunately, her obsidian eyes are anything but warm right now. I fight back a shiver, the winter air suddenly biting again.
“Sorry I’m late, Kate.” An overgrown schoolboy in a tuxedo hurdles the short wall lining the bottom step. The thirty-something man pulls up short, breath puffing like a toy choo-choo train. His short hair is so blonde it almost glows. “My operation ran late, and traffic was a nightmare. Woah, you look incredible. You always do, but tonight especially. I mean, I think?—”
Even though it’s the dumbest compliment I’ve ever heard, Kate’s scarlet lips pull into a smile.
“Thanks. I’m glad you could make it,” she says.
My stomach thuds as she weaves those black gloves throughhisfingers and turns.
“Aren’t you supposed to open the door or something?” she asks.
“Oh, I can—” Blondie starts, but I cut in and sweep open the door.
“For you, Kate,anything.”
I wink.
She scowls.
