Page 95 of The Puck Stops Here

He gave an abrupt laugh. ‘Do Ilooklike an angel?’

Her eyes dipped over him, their fire becoming a full-on blaze.Thatwas desire. He was convinced of it. So why in the hell had she rejected him? Why in the hell was she cosying up to his bro, fawning over him like a bear with honey – one sexy, curvy, smokin’ hot bear? And holy fuck, why had his head gone there? A bloody bear!

‘Behave, Blake, and get the woman a drink,’ his brother called from the kitchen. ‘And she’s right, you shouldn’t be drinking, not that you’ll be told.’

‘Where would the fun be in that?’ he muttered, heading to the bar. ‘What will it be? Wine, prosecco, champagne… a beer with me?’

She wet her lips.Jesus, don’t look. ‘I’ll have a white wine, please.’

He set about making the drinks while she wandered deeper into their domain, the masculine monochrome setting off her feminine appeal… and those come-fuck-me boots. Brutal.

‘Shit.’ Chilled wine spilled over the glass as he overfilled it.

‘All okay over there?’

‘Absolutely,’ he said, flicking the droplets off his hand behind his back.Nothing to see here.Hell,his brother was right, he did have it bad. All for the good in her.

Those caring eyes jazzed up to the nines, the compassion mixed up in the seductive sizzle… Maybe she meant it. Maybe she truly did care. And it was the possibility of her caring that was steadily undoing him. That and the green-eyed monster.

Not the boots.

Though he liked them. A lot.

* * *

So this was the lion’s den?

She set her bag down on the luxurious leather sofa and drifted up to the panoramic glass. Astrid thought her uncle’s place was impressive, but this… her gut took a wobble, and she palmed the glass, not trusting her toes in these heels when her knees were knocking.

From here, even Central Park looked small. A tiny rectangle bordered by the bustling city all around. The Hudson River on one side, Harlem on the other. People impossible to make out this high up but their mark in every structure, every flickering light… and how inconsequential it made her feel. A tiny fleck in the world’s canvas.

‘Impressive, isn’t it?’

She jumped as he came up beside her.

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.’ He handed over her wine and she took it, careful to keep her fingers to herself. And careful not to look too closely at him either. She’d already seen enough. Black was definitely Blake’s colour. Even if it was no colour at all.

‘I was thinking how small it makes you feel, how insignificant…’

He gave a bemused laugh. ‘We chose it for the total opposite.’

‘How so?’

He pocketed his free hand, rolling his shoulders back as he turned to face the glass with her. ‘The second we stepped into this living space our eyes were drawn to Manhattan sprawling out beneath us. It was like that moment inTitanic, when DiCaprio?—’

‘Wait! You’ve watchedTitanic?’

‘We’ve watched a lot of movies with our mother over the years, don’t judge me.’

Oh my God, the idea of it. Blake with his mum. Popcorn. Tears.Stop the imagery, stop the feelings, just stop, Astrid.

But how could she when everything this man did had her going all gooey on the inside? And he kept surprising her, again and again.

‘I’m not. Or I am. But it’s all good. Believe me.’

He huffed into his beer. ‘If I showed you a photo of our home back in Ashbury, you’d understand. To have come from that to this… we signed the lease that very first visit and have lived here ever since. Three years and counting…’

His voice trailed away. He wasn’t boasting, he was comparing his old life to his new one. But there was something in his tone… A bittersweet twang, a dissatisfaction, a want?

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