Page 13 of When I Found You

“Your eyes.” He blinks twice before finishing his thought. “They’re two different colors.”

“Yeah,” I murmur. Heterochromia runs in the family, but I can’t tell him because I’m supposed to have amnesia. Shit.

His lips curl into a smile and my fucking heart stops beating. No man should look so delicious when he smiles. Arthur’s smile could tempt a woman to sin and then lure her to the end of the universe. As quickly as it appeared, it vanishes.

Oh, sweet baby Yoda. I can’t fantasize about my dad’s boss. I refuse to flirt with him, no matter how sexy and brooding he is. What the hell am I going to do?

Chapter Six

Arthur

What the hell has gotten into me? I take a step back and shake this unnerving attraction away before it can dig its talons into me.

This woman. Damn it. I’m no closer to knowing who she really is or where she came from, but I can’t deny the tension building between us. Watching her savor the dinner I made from scratch has me pinned between pride and lust. I can’t reveal how much she affects me. Mostly because I don’t understand how that’s even possible.

How the hell did I get to this point? As she washes the dishes, I war with the conflict tearing apart my conscience. I don’t need this complication, not now, not ever. The women in my life, my mother, grandmother, hell, even my sister, would never let me live a day longer if they discovered I turned this vulnerable woman out into the street without money or protection.

The vixen doesn’t even need protection. The fire in her eyes when I challenged her at dinner revealed a passion hidden deep within. She would put up a fight, and the thought intensifies this desire I never expected.

I shift my weight trying to hide the effect she has on my libido. I may be an asshole, but I’m not blind. She’s fucking gorgeous. My sister definitely knows her craft. She took what was already present and highlighted it with ease. The billowy silk shirt amplifies those curves I knew lay beneath her oversized sweater. I felt every one of them pressed against me earlier when I carried her.

“I’m going to take a shower,” I mutter before pushing past her. I’m halfway across the room when I hear her call out.

“Thank you for dinner.”

My heart softens a fraction, but I just wave in acknowledgement and keep walking. Once I’m safely locked in the bathroom, I lean against the door and take a few deep breaths. The sweet, floral scent of the soap she used lingers in the room. I pinch my eyes closed.

She’s marking everything, leaving reminders of herself across my apartment. After years of living alone, blissfully untethered by marriage or even a steady relationship, having someone living in such close quarters is more challenging than I remember. It’s only temporary. By mid-month, she’ll be out of my life permanently. Why does the thought of her leaving piss me off?

I tear open my shirt with more force than necessary and glare at my own reflection. A long, cold shower should help me refocus. I have a firm to run and projects to finish. This year I intend to land the contract which will set both my firm and myself up indefinitely. Early retirement is sounding pretty good. Maybe a new venture will come along and carry me into my golden years.

It sounds ridiculous. I’m barely forty. I have my whole life ahead of me.

The cool spray of the shower rinses away thoughts of Kate and the events of the day. After a long soak, I step from the shower and dry off, wrapping the towel around my hips. I crack the door open expecting to find Kate, but the room is empty.

I pull a pair of sleep pants from the dresser and slip them on. Normally, that’s all I wear, but I don a sweatshirt. The fabric rasps against my skin, but I shrug off the annoyance.

In the living room, Kate is bundled beneath a blanket on the couch where she’s made a bed of sorts from blankets I had in the closet. Make yourself at home why don’t you. I bite back the words when I notice her eyes are closed.

The thought of her rifling through my apartment should have irritated me more than it did. I cock my head and study her. The crochet afghan lay against her chin. All I can see is her face surrounded by a halo of dark curls. Innocent? Most assuredly not. This woman has burrowed beneath my skin, and the knowledge doesn’t sit well with me.

“Take the bed.” I tug on the blanket around her feet. “I’ll sleep out here.”

Her eyes fly open and fix on me with open suspicion. “No. I’m fine here.”

“After my actions today, it’s the least I can do. Take the bed. You need to recover.”

“I can recover on the couch as well as the bed.” She clutches the blanket tighter.

I grab a handful of the blanket and pull it off her.

“No!” She squeals when it slips from her hands and reveals her whole body. Her hands immediately grapple to cover her bare skin. The silk and lace camisole and shorts leave nothing to the imagination.

Sweet merciful God, what is she wearing? And why the hell would my sister give her sexy lingerie to sleep in rather than functional pajamas? I resist the urge to call my sister and instead toss the blanket back over Kate’s shivering form.

“What the hell is Marcy thinking?” I shake my head. “You’ll freeze in that getup.”

Without waiting for her response, I stalk back into my bedroom and pull out the smallest set of pajamas I have. I typically buy sets but only end up wearing the bottoms. They’re an unflattering plaid with red and blue stripes, but they’re warmer than what she’s wearing.

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