was just teasing. He’s English.’
He thought she might smile at his outrageous explanation, but she shot him a frosty look and then returned her attention to her phone, which buzzed with an incoming text.
He took another step closer.
‘Why are you upset?’ Why did he care? He should walk away now. He’d proved his point both in relation to their aborted contract and their newfound sexual chemistry.
Her glare wavered, as if she grew fatigued by the weight of it. ‘I’m not upset. I’m...disappointed with myself.’ She deflated.
‘Mistakes happen.’ He willed himself to stay on the stair. ‘The lawyers should have picked this one up sooner.’
She shook her head. ‘I’m responsible.’ She looked up at him then, her eyes deep pools of vulnerability. ‘I have dyslexia.’ Just as quickly she looked away, her shoulders rolling back so she was once again composed and untouchable. ‘I usually triple check everything then ask my assistant to triple check too. I guess I was just so keen to start the renovations...’
This time she used her finger to push her bottom lip between her teeth, her gaze distant as if she was lost to her self-flagellation.
Pieces of the puzzle slotted into place. This wasn’t his problem. So she’d messed up. So she’d confided something intensely personal. So she carried a lifelong learning challenge.
It changed nothing.
His feet moved as if of their own accord. He took the last two stairs until they shared the small landing.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
She lifted her chin, her stare hard.
‘Why would I have told you? I’d just met you. And I already felt foolish enough.’ Her shoulders lifted a notch and he quashed the crazy urge to touch her. To wipe away the small frown crinkling her forehead.
‘But you haven’t just met me.’ He shoved the other hand into his pants pocket, away from temptation.
‘I didn’t know that about you.’
She shook her head, eyes darting away.
All those holidays, the time they’d spent together—she’d never once mentioned dyslexia and neither had her family. Perhaps she was only mildly affected? No, that wouldn’t explain her obvious disappointment in herself.
‘I... I struggled to talk about it back then.’ She lifted her gaze to his—clear, unguarded. ‘It’s not easy being the dunce in a high-achieving family.’
Something visceral shifted in his chest, and his throat tightened. What the actual fuck...? He knew Hal Jacob was a world-class asshole, but surely he valued his daughter and her extensive achievements?
Not your problem. Keep walking.
Her phone beeped again. She read the text with a curse.
‘Problem?’ So he was a glutton for punishment.
She sighed, her shoulders sagging. ‘There are press outside. My driver is stuck.’ Her eyes slid to his—fatigue-tinged and wary.
‘Camera shy?’ Surely she was used to that. He’d seen her photographed many times over the years at some high-profile event or charity gala. She was New York elite after all, her status rendering her practically a celebrity.
She pinned him with a hard stare.
‘I wanted to keep a low profile tonight. The other designers...’ She sighed. ‘I know how hard it is, starting out. If they see me—’ she pointed down the stairwell, indicating the press ‘—they’ll concoct some story about how I’m using the Jacob name to promote my label, my own interests. It’s...’ she mashed her lips together, her perfectly arched eyebrows knitted ‘...distracting.’
He stepped closer, his movements slow and easy as if he feared he’d spook her. Or perhaps he was simply stopping himself from touching her again.
‘I have a car. Want a lift?’ He held his breath, her answer way too important for someone who shouldn’t care if she walked across Manhattan alone in four-inch designer heels.
No. It was the least he could do after Alex.
She looked up, a small shake of her head.
‘Your car is probably snared up in the same jam as mine. It’s chaos out there.’ She fingered her temple, her brow furrowed.
His hands twitched, the inexplicable urge to pull her close, to feel her feminine curves pressed against him again, relentless pounding waves. It must be the chemistry or sexual frustration on his part. Or the way she looked at him, as if she too liked the idea.
He retrieved his phone from his pocket and fired a quick text to Will. There was likely a back entrance to this building. Aside from everything, Harley looked beat. And despite what she thought of him, he wasn’t an asshole...revenge fucks aside.
‘I’ll sort something out.’ He pocketed his phone, his hands staying safely tucked in his pockets. Hands that remembered every contour of her and how readily she’d embraced their physical connection, her greedy abandon at his apartment the biggest turn-on.
She still wore the frown, eyes wary.
‘Why are you helping me?’
He shrugged, hiding the rush of skin crawling her question and the look on her face caused.
‘I’m a nice guy.’ She’d have once known that if she’d stuck around.
Not that their tender, naïve relationship would have lasted. After his parents’ acrimonious split, he’d re-evaluated all areas of his life, not deeming entanglements worth what it cost him in the control stakes.
He swallowed the surge of bitterness, forcing dangerous thoughts from his mind.
Her tongue darted out to moisten her top lip as she dissected him with her stare. A shot of lust zapped his balls. She favoured cherry-red lip-gloss; he’d noticed that this afternoon and again this evening. What would those pouty, luscious lips look like wrapped around his cock, leaving behind a red print? Damn, he really did need to get laid.
Her stare flicked south.
Was she thinking the same thing? Did she, like him, want another taste?
Perhaps this would tick all the boxes. He’d settle the score and she’d get a sample of what she’d missed out on. After all, he’d never had any complaints and she’d been keen enough this afternoon. She couldn’t hide her physical interest, no matter how much she disliked or distrusted him.
‘Do you want to hang about here in a draughty stairwell or shall we talk about the orgasms?’
Her eyes widened, a pretty pink flush staining her neck and cheeks. She shifted, crossing one foot over the other.
He held back a smile. So his words struck home. He could control this. Them—his physical craving for her and her reaction to the chemistry neither of
