Page 9 of Tender Offer

Page List

Font Size:

The doorbell chimes again.

“Coming!” I grab cash for a tip out of my purse and scurry to the door.

Polished Italian shoes catch my eye. Their brandy color complements the syrup-brown suit over toned thighs. I follow the herringbone pattern up pleated slacks to a matching vestover a taut chest—the gold chain of a pocket watch clings to a button above a noticeable bulge.

A navy tie hides behind a dome-covered plate in soft hands. No doubt it’s my food, but why is this three-piece suit hand-delivering my meal? Maybe Sundays are wash days for the traditional black-and-white uniforms? I know custom threads when I see them.

The familiar scent of musk with subtle notes of nutmeg reawakens the memory of French toast sizzling in a cast iron skillet. Me with my hair tossed up in a scrunchie, his cologne on the dress shirt that brushes against my thighs.

My heart hiccups to find its rhythm amid this déjà vu.

The broad chest.

The razor-sharp jaw decorated in five-o’clock shadow.

I’m too stunned to speak the words caught in my throat. He shouldn’t be here. He’s—

My breath is sharp. I crane my neck and scale up lips I’ve tasted to reach a cognac gaze that travels over my face with cautious examination. My feet sink further into the carpet.

Fifteen years, and he still takes my breath away.

The base of his throat works on a hard swallow. Sadness clouds his eyes in the aftermath of the last time we stood face-to-face. Words we can’t retract splinter our skin.

Instinct kicks in when he clears his throat. Standing in Preston’s presence is one thing; the sound of his voice will be my undoing.

My face burns in remembrance of how effortlessly he discarded me. I’ve allowed enough people to toss me aside. It stops today.

No dating or exes.

I snatch the domed plate from his hands and slam the door in his face. I don’t trust what I’ll do if he calls out to me. The temptation to slap him and the desire to crush my mouth to hisbattle it out as I run back to the bedroom. There’s nowhere to hide. The floor I’m on is too high up for me to go out the window. I’d sooner wear off-brand face cream before anyone would catch me scaling the side of the building.

What the hell is he doing here?

Who let him out of the house looking that fine?

Life isn’t just unfair, it’s playing in my face. It’s like God took every one of Preston’s features I fell in love with, made them finer with each year, and dropped him off in the hallway.

He’s seconds from glamouring away my dick drought. I’m searching for an exit strategy that doesn’t require me to go through the front door. If I wasn’t already contemplating therapy, seeing him would have me on the couch in no time.

Preston is here. In Vail.

Another knock rattles the wooden barrier between past and present.

“Can we talk?” His voice is a low, smooth timbre.

I tell myself it’s okay to ignore my desire to open the door and the echo of his longing. I can grab my things and walk out without a second look. I’m fifteen years late to repay him with the sting of rejection.

“Please, Puff.”

Every reason why I should pretend Preston isn’t standing in front of my hotel room dissolves at the pet name he called me during the months we shared in Paris.

Before everything fell apart.

Chapter 5

Preston

Pain dances across my nose from the door she slammed in my face. I inhale and straighten my suit jacket.