Page 80 of The Tryst

Then I got to know him. And the desire to touch him turned into the desire to know him. And for him to know me.

So I stop before I reveal too much. But then, screw it. Tonight is for revelation. “I’ve already met the only man who interests me, but I can’t be with him,” I say, laying out my heart. “You, Nick.”

His expression darkens with dashed hope. “Same here,” he says, regretfully.

“So I don’t want you to think of me like those jerks in your past. Okay? I just don’t. I’m not like that.”

With surprising tenderness, he leans in and presses his forehead to mine, in spite of the risks. “I know, beautiful. I know who you are,” he adds softly, and I’m dying to rope my hands around his neck and kiss him passionately right here.

Instead, I grab the railing behind me, like he did before.

He must sense the tension in me, and how hard this is, since he backs away, resignation in those haunting hazel eyes. “If I stay here any longer, I won’t leave. I’ll toss you over my shoulder and kick down the door, then spend the night showing you exactly what I think of you,” he says with both heat and affection.

I manage a smile, a small thanks for that sexy and warm sentiment. “I wish you could.”

“I wish I could too,” he says, in a sad whisper. Then he shakes his head, huffs out a breath. “I should get going.” He drags a hand through his hair. “I’ll see you…around.”

I swipe a hand across my cheek, then nod as resolute as I can. “See you—”

But I swallow the word when I hear a familiar voice call out: “Layla!”

I snap to attention at the sound of Raven. Her voice is coming from behind me but crawling up my spine.

This is not how I should feel about a friend.

Putting on a false face, I turn around to see my business school colleague staring curiously at me, then at Nick.

Did she see Nick’s forehead touching mine?

Did she hear his sweet nothings?

Or my confessions?

My stomach twists. “Hi, Raven,” I say brightly, way more cheerfully than I normally would. “What are you up to?”

She swings a purple boho purse over her shoulder. “Just finished a date. It wasn’t too bad. And you?”

She looks at Nick, and my neck goes hot.

The implication. Dear god, the implication.

But I’ll have to squash it with a lie.

“We were just picking some things up for the auction,” I say, trying but likely failing to mask how uncomfortable I feel.

I’m a liar.

I can hear my father’s murderer saying those words to him the week before his death. The accusation so loud, so vitriolic, it seeped through the phone call in my father’s home office. Then, I recall the worry I felt when I asked Dad after he hung up, “Is everything okay with Joe?”

“Just a disagreement,” my father had said. “It happens in business.”

I try to shake off the terrible memory of a week later when I opened the door to my home.

Clearing away the past, I gesture awkwardly to the handsome man by my side. “This is,” I begin, pausing to collect my thoughts better.

But Raven’s eyes shine with recognition. “You’re the guy from the conference!”

Great. Nick must think I blabbed to Raven about banging him. “Nick Adams,” he says, with a professional grin as he extends a hand. “Strong Ventures now. Nice to meet you.”

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