Page 7 of Hidden Heart

“I stopped dreaming a long time ago.” She rinsed her dish in the sink and laid it gently on top of his.

“Before you stopped,” he pressed, handing her a towel to dry her hands.

“When I started college, I majored in English. I wanted to be either a high school English teacher or an editor at some huge publishing house in New York,” she admitted with a laugh.

“What changed?” He scraped the last of the potatoes into a Tupperware container. He looked so natural working in the kitchen, doing ordinary things. It gave her a sense of comfort, of home.

“I don’t know.” Her smile faded, and she shoved away from the counter to retrieve her wine glass from the dining room.

“That’s two,” he said as she walked back into the kitchen.

She slid the empty glass into the top rack of the dishwasher.

“What’s two? What was one?” she asked with obvious annoyance in her voice. One minute, she managed to keep the night secured safely in the friendzone, but then his voice, or his gaze, would shatter her resolve and have her acting against her own rules.

“If I tell you, you might run away.” He shut the door to the dishwasher and leaned against it. He crossed his right foot lazily over his left and folded his arms over his chest. Attraction and irritation mingled together, unsettling her. There shouldn’t be any attraction. Friends weren’t attracted to each other. Even with his outward laid-back appearance, the air thickened between them.

“I’m not afraid of you,” she told him, trying to find a casual stance to mirror his own.

“I’m nothing to be afraid of. I’d never hurt you,” he assured her in a soft voice. His eyes met hers, and, for a moment, she believed him.

She sighed and looked away. “So?” she prompted when he didn’t continue. “I promise, I’m a big girl. I won’t run away from the big scary advertising executive.”

He studied her for a moment, assessing her. “One was the little lie you told me about wanting fresh air. You didn’t want me to come up to your apartment. Not because it’s not clean—I’m sure I could eat off the floor—but because you think if I go up to your apartment, this becomes more than a friendly dinner.” He sounded too comfortable in his confidence.

“And two?” she demanded.

“Two was the little lie about you not knowing why you changed career paths. How could you not know? I’m not stupid, Jessica.” He uncrossed his arms and placed his hands on the countertop at his sides.

“Fair enough. So, you’re keeping count of little white lies?” She stepped toward him. Two could play intimidation games. Although, she wasn’t convinced his was intentional.

“I prefer the word strikes,” he clarified, and she looked at him with confusion.

“Strikes, as in three strikes I’m out?” It was her turn to cross her arms over her chest. She wasn’t sure whether she should laugh or be infuriated. So many times, she had found men to be lacking honesty, and this man was giving her a strike for every tiny insignificant white lie she spoke. If it hadn’t been so absurd, it would have been hilarious.

“No, not out.” He shook his head, not taking his gaze off her.

“Then what?” She rolled her eyes. The butterflies starting to flutter in her stomach should have warned her whatever he was about to say would unsettle her. It was his eyes, the way they bored into her as he decided whether he would answer her.

He cleared his throat. “At strike three, I would want to punish you,” he stated with ease, as though he had just told her the color of her shirt.

“Punish me? That’s ridiculous.” She shook her head. “Maybe I should just go.”

“I told you you’d run away,” he called after her.

She paused in the doorway and turned back to him. “I’m not running away. I’m leaving a very weird dinner,” she stated, forcing a bland tone. The war of arousal and confusion inside her was anything but bland.

“I said I wouldwantto punish you. I didn’t say Iwouldpunish you. You haven’t given me permission to do so yet.”

They stared at each other in the hallway. Royce remained casual and patient. Jessica had a whirlwind of emotions tunneling through her mind.

Her cell phone rang, ending the standoff. She dug it out of her pocket. Great. Kelly. Declining the call, she put it away.

“I thought I’d met every type of guy,” she mumbled.

He stepped closer, blocking her from getting to the closet where her coat hung. “Do you remember the couple we saw last night?” His voice softened, as though he were speaking to a stubborn child who wouldn’t listen to reason.

“The girl who got into the taxi? Yes.” The couple had remained on her mind since seeing them. She’d thought about how intimate the two had appeared during their exchange. The man hadn’t just deposited her in a cab and sent her on her way. He’d paid the cab driver, given him her destination, then gave her the most heartwarming kiss she’d witnessed in a very long time.

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