Page 75 of Bride on the Dotted Line

“I know you’re in there. You—um—you left one of your shoes in the guest room.”

Bracing myself, I open the door, letting in a gust of spring air and Nick’s rosemary smell. He’s standing with one hand in his pocket, mouth curved in that soft smile I love so much, holding a drawstring bag.

“Which shoe?” I ask.

He reaches into the bag and pulls out a red stiletto with a pearl sewn into the toe. My broken heel from the charity gala. “I fixed it as best I could,” he says. His bronze hair is mussed on one side, and he isn’t wearing a coat over his white t-shirt and jeans. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was just a normal, mega-hot, mega-successful guy. “It needed some superglue.”

“Okay.” My voice is thick as I take it from him. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

We look at each other, the moment stretching long. Sunlight plays at the ends of his lashes. His beautiful eyes survey me, my hair, my mouth. I’ve been imagining looking into those eyes since last night, since I finally admitted to him how I feel. Now I can barely stand the agony in my bones at the sight of him. Joy and torture at once.

Joy, because, as impossible as it seems, I’m in love with Nick Harwood.

Torture, because, as impossible as it seems, I’m in love with Nick Harwood.

“You shouldn’t be here,” I tell him. “We’re not supposed to see each other.”

His smile doesn’t fall the way I expect it to. Instead, his voice gets deeper, sending tingles up my arms. “Who says?”

“Your father, Nick. Your—your future.”

Nickmmms, never taking his eyes off me. “Can I tell you something?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t really care about either of those things.”

His words from last night repeat in my head for the hundredth time this morning.

The contract—mycontract—isn’t about the company anymore.It’s about making sure you’re good, baby.

“You …” Words fail me. I must have taken a step beyond the threshold of my suite, because suddenly the soles of my feet are on the doormat, and we’re close to each other. I can feel warmth radiating from him, melting into the kiss of the springtime breeze. “What are you saying? Your dad and Alvin called this morning?—”

“I know.” His smile falls. “I’m sorry they did that.”

“Me, too.”

“You deserve better,” he says. “Your family deserves better.”

“I know.” I swallow hard. “But we knew this could happen. We knew they could find out about my dad.”

He’s quiet for a moment, then he reaches up and caresses my cheek with his thumb. It’s the most intimate physical contact we’ve had since the night of the charity gala. Fire crackles through me.

“I said no,” he tells me.

“To what?”

“To the company. To the CEO position. To all of it.”

There’s a bird singing in the tree next door. I search for a lie in Nick’s face and, finding none, the world goes very bright, like someone pried open the lid of a tightly closed box and let light in.

“You did?”

Nick nods gently, his hand moving from my face to the upper part of my arm, where his fingertips skate over my sleeve. The touch is so hesitant and tender I might melt.

“But … you can’t say no,” I say. Tears are threatening, but I gulp them down.Do not cry, Sienna.“Not for me. I won’t put you in that position.”

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