Page 6 of Beyond Question

Realistically, anyone would feel special with those pale green eyes focused on them.

And I’m sure that’s all it is, the attention.

I’m under no delusions that I’m past society’s idea of myprime. It doesn’t matter that I feel more beautiful with each year that passes, more confident, a hell of a lot wiser, and more in my power as I age—people in midlife just tend to be…overlooked, for lack of a better word.

I long ago accepted that fact because it suited me. No, itsuitsme. I want to be overlooked because disappearing into the background means surviving another day. My life in New York has been focused on raising my daughter, then when she reached adulthood, my attention shifted somewhat accidentally to building my business. Turn the Paige was never part of my plan, but is now thriving, and I’ve managed to remain under theradar on a personal level even as my company rises to the top among some of the best.

But I’ve been careful. I’ve had to be.

I’ve never owned a home—lease agreements are far less traceable. And my business is under an LLC that, unless you know where and how to look, is not easily linked to me.

Sure, I am the name and face of the company, but even those things can be altered if you know the right steps to take.

Or have the right people in your corner.

I’ve been so damn careful that I even made the decision years ago to stay away from men; I’m where I am today because of that choice.

And men like Travis Wilder? The young and disgustingly wealthy? Not only are they at the top of my list of things to avoid, but they’re alsoeasyto avoid because they rarely step out of their circle and seldom—if ever—acknowledge women who haven’t been bred with them in mind, and that certainly is not me anymore. And while I don’t have any desire to be on the radar of any of the playboy nepo babies of Manhattan’s elite, one of them has surprised me today.

Travis has been so hyper-focused on me all afternoon that I barely engaged with the other party guests.

His attention is at once thrilling and terrifying.

Looking up at him now, those pale green eyes fixed on me as his mouth works around that ice cube, I can almost imagine we’re the only two people here. And, in a different world, a different life, I might even like that idea.

Which is dangerous, indeed, so I force myself to look away.

But his eyes are magnetic, and before long, mine have drifted back up to them and I’m locked in his gaze once more. My heartbeat is erratic, a rhythmless thumping against my ribs that echoes in my ears.

Travis sweeps his tongue slowly across his bottom lip, and heat blooms in my cheeks, moving downward to settle deep in my core.

Noticing the flush of my cheeks and assuming he’s the cause, this mansmirks.

But it’s when that smirk morphs into a satisfied smile, releasing his lone dimple, that my world tilts. Just slightly, but enough to leave me a little flushed anda lotoff kilter.

And then, because he plays games with atake no prisonersattitude, this man reaches across the table and—oh my god, am I drooling?—swipes his thumb across my bottom lip.

Time stands still.

He moves his thumb so slowly I can feel the touch clear down in my toes.

Then, almost as quickly as he leaned in, he leans back, and I’m frozen.

His green eyes sparkle with arrogance and I realize what he’s done. The second he came toward me, everything stopped.

My lungs stopped. My brain stopped. And my mouth stopped moving the ice around.

He stunned me, the jerk.

So I do what any self-respecting woman would do in this situation:

I cheat.

Biting down on the ice cube, I chew until I can retrieve the small plastic baby, then pull it from my mouth and set it on the table. I can’t possibly stand here another moment with that man looking at me with so much heat in his gaze that my skin responds as though each glance is a physical touch. He’s so intense, I canfeelevery motion of his tongue and lick of his lips. It’s a wonder my ice cube had to be chewed at all with how damn overheated I am.

Travis raises his eyebrows in challenge so I shrug, then announce, “My water broke!” as I turn away from the game—and the man. Behind me, someone whines that I cheated, and I catch Travis’ hearty laughter as he says, “She certainly did.”

I don’t have time to analyze that pride in his voice, so I stride quickly toward the house, trying to find some much needed distance without outright running away like a maniac.

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