Page 42 of Kristoff

A black sedan pulls up behind the SUV and Kristoff waves to it. He really is taking a separate car.

“Men love this dress on me,” I tease. I need to know where that line is, where is the Kristoff I met, and where is this man who stands in front of me.

“Exactly,” he says with a raised brow and tense jaw. “They shouldn’t need you to paint on your clothes to love you.”

I want to question him about his statement. But he walks over to the second car and gets inside.

As it drives away, I simmer inside. He didn’t even touch me, but my skin is hot.

“Well, that was odd,” I say.

Dr. Morrow laughs. “Go get your things. I’ll ride back with you since he’s forgotten all about me.”

I watch his car’s taillights fade into the night. He’s almost gentle now. Kind even.

I’m not sure I like it.

19

She’sgoing to be a little pissed off when she gets here, but I can live with that.

It wasn’t a lie about dinner, I just let her believe we’d be going out for the meal. Considering her first reaction to seeing me was to toss me to the side, I couldn’t give her any reasons not to join me tonight.

I even cooked. Burnt everything, then ordered in, but I made the attempt. And I’m going to be damn sure she knows it. Because she deserves better than a monster, and I’m working to be that for her.

I tried to forget her over the past six months. When I found out, she rebuked every attempt at making sure she was okay, the only thing I could do was set her free. With men keeping tabs on her of course, but I didn’t interfere.

I know about her photography job, and I know she hates it. She’s snapping family photos for shit’s sake. And her little projects are puff pieces on the New York socialites. She’s hiding from the world.

That stops now.

And if that means I have to go on dates with her to make it happen, I will. Because she deserves everything the world can give.

The front door of my condo overlooking Manhattan opens and I hear the click clop of heels on the tile. She’s dressed up for me.

I step out of the kitchen to greet her. She’s fucking gorgeous.

The dress she’s wearing comes down to her knees, the neckline plunges enough for the swell of her breasts to show, and the dark green coloring is perfect for her skin.

“If I’d known we were staying in, I would have worn jeans,” she says, wiping a loose hair from her eyes. She’s left it down and curled it. It’s longer than it was when we met, past her shoulders now.

“If you’d known we were staying in, you might not have come,” I counter.

“True,” she concedes. She looks around the condo. It’s an open layout, the only two rooms that can’t be seen are the bedroom and bathroom. “You live here now?”

“Only when I have to be in New York.” Which gratefully isn’t often. But if she lives here, I’ll be spending more time.

“You cooked?” she asks leaning to see into the kitchen.

“In a way,” I admit. “Burnt the spaghetti sauce, so I ordered food.”

“You burnt spaghetti sauce?” she asks unbelieving. “I would think if you’re going to cook, you’d cook something you’re used to. Like something Russian?” She tosses her purse on the end-table and walks past the living area to the large windows showcasing the evening lights of the city.

“I thought you’d like spaghetti,” I say. This feels wrong. Off somehow. Playful banter, casual talk. It’s nauseating.

“Kristoff, why did you come here? I mean why now?” She turns to me, her hands fisted at her sides.

“I have a meeting—”

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