Page 31 of Penthouse Prince
I’m so laser focused on listening for that distant sound that I hardly catch the words coming from the man right beside me. Something about dinner? That can’t be right. We already ate.
I turn his way, refocusing my attention. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that.”
There are those warm, hopeful eyes again. They’re an even brighter blue in this light. And they cut right through me as Lex repeats the words I swore I misheard.
“You and I should get dinner sometime. Just the two of us.”
I blink a few times to be sure I’m not imagining things. Is the wine going to my head, or is he asking what I think he’s asking?
“Are you . . . asking me out?”
“As long as you want me to be.” He shifts in his seat, leaning in a bit closer to me, close enough that I catch a whiff of his woodsy cologne. It’s earthy and sweet, with notes of honey and leather.
But beneath that is a more familiar smell, a clean, masculine scent that’s pure Lexington. Because after all, beneath the grown, handsome man in front of me is the same Lexington from high school. The same boy who took my heart and cracked it wide open. And I just can’t go down that road again.
“Well, I don’t.” I sigh, which makes Lexington’s blue eyes widen.
“Oh. I . . . I’m sorry, I must’ve been reading this wrong. I thought . . .” He pauses, gathering his thoughts. “Do you not feel the connection between us?”
“Of course I do.” I sigh again, my voice dripping with exasperation. “But I’m here to watch Grier. That’s all. I’ve been down that road with you before. And if you remember, it was a dead end for me.”
“I already apologized for that,” he says, his voice husky and sterner now that he’s on the defense. “We were young and dumb. And I’m sorry.”
“You were young and dumb,” I say firmly, correcting him. “I was young and heartbroken because you disappeared on me and gave up on what we had. You gave up on me. I’m the one who was left in the dust.”
His thick, dark brows draw together. “I thought . . . we talked that out. I was hoping you forgave me.”
“Forgiving and forgetting are two different things, Lexington. And I can’t just forget ten years of complete silence from you.”
I set my glassdown on the table before pushing to my feet, which carry me straight back inside without missing a step. If he has anything else to add, I don’t hear it over the blood pounding in my ears.
I’m going home. And this time, I’m the one leaving without saying good-bye.12* * *LEXINGTONI flip through the massive stack of papers. “Can you go into a little more detail about this part?” I ask the representative, pointing to a firmly worded clause. “I’m not yet as familiar as I’d like to be with this state’s laws.”
I’m currently in a title company office, closing on the first piece of real estate I’ve bought in North Carolina—a beachfront investment property I hope to rent out to tourists. Grier sits on the floor near my feet, munching animal crackers and mashing her fingers against the screen of her tablet. After Corrigan shot me down so thoroughly last week, I wasn’t exactly in a hurry to call her, and besides, this bit of business is easy and fast enough to permit splitting my attention.
“Of course,” the closing agent replies. “It just means that you—”
“Look.” Grier tugs at my sleeve. “Daddy, look-it.”
“Hang on, baby girl, Daddy’s working. I’ll only be another ten minutes.” I switch my attention back. “Please continue.”
“Daaaddyyyyy!” Grier hollers.
I shoot an apologetic glance at the closing agent, who smiles and looks down at Grier. “What is it?”
She points proudly at her tablet screen, which displays an array of bouncing shapes in various colors. “Square is red.”
“That’s right! Very good job. But next time, unless it’s an emergency, wait until Daddy says we can talk.” I turn back again. “Sorry.”
The guy chuckles. “I completely understand. I have a nephew about her age. Now, as I was saying . . .”
After I’ve finished signing paperwork and shaken all the congratulatory hands, I load Grier and her stuff back into the car. It’s been a couple of days since we visited Mom, and we make our way there now.
A new, short-haired nurse in blue scrubs opens Mom’s door, one of the three extras I’ve hired since Mom’s accident. “Lexington, right? I’m Dawn. Listen . . .” She lowers her voice to a murmur. “I’m afraid your mom isn’t doing well today. She’ll need to rest soon.”
I nod calmly like the words don’t send a little chill squirming around my gut. “Thanks for the heads-up. We’ll try to keep things short.”
Dawn heads to the corner with a book, and I appreciate the illusion of privacy. As we come in and sit down, Mom does indeed look exhausted and sick.
