“I… I thank you for your hospitality,” I say. “But I really need to be going.”
His frown deepens. “You can't go anywhere. Haven't you looked outside?”
My fingers tighten on the doorframe. I throw a glance over my shoulder, back toward the long windows on the far side of the room. One of the curtains is slightly ajar, and through that sliver I can see that the sky is still gray and rainy. I hadn't even considered the possibility that the storm might still be raging outside. How long am I going to be trapped here?
Calder is studying me.
“There's no need to look so upset. There's breakfast waiting downstairs. You haven't lived until you've tried Martin's French toast.”
I'm still a little shaken by the thought that I'm going to be stuck here another day. I can't look him in the face. I can hardly speak to him. I just keep seeing him naked, keep hearing the moans from the women on the television. Even now, my body has started to react once more. I want to slam the door in Calder's face. I want to run back to the bed, throw the covers over my head, and hide until I forget what I've done. Until the heat leaves my skin and I feel like a normal person again.
But no—freaking out won't solve anything. I force myself to take a deep breath. Calder's given no sign that he knows I watched him last night, and my weirdness will only tip him off. I have to be calm. Pretend it never happened. Put on a smile and act like I don't feel more awkward than I've ever felt in my entire life.
“Let—let me change,” I say. “I'll be right down.”
“I'll wait. I don't expect you to find your way there by yourself.”
I can't argue with that, so I give him a nod and retreat to the closet. I let myself browse through my clothing options for longer than I should, but it gives me a minute to settle down.
You can do this, I tell myself. Forget about last night. He'll never know what happened. Remember what he's doing to the Center. Remember how much you hate him.
It helps, somewhat, to embrace the anger. That I can deal with. I select a casual day dress from the rack and quickly change. I've got to face him sooner or later, and putting it off isn't going to make it any easier.
Calder flashes one of his charming smiles when he sees me.
“Another fine choice,” he says, giving me an appreciative once-over. I ignore the flutters in my stomach.
“Thank you,” I reply. I force myself to take the arm he offers, but when he closes his hand over mine, all I can think about it how I watched that same hand move up and down himself last night. My skin burns under his fingers, but I can't pull away without looking rude or suspicious.
We walk in silence. His thumb brushes against the back of my palm, and I can't tell if it's an intentional caress or an accident.
The Center might close because of him, I remind myself over and over and over again.
“I trust you slept well?” he says, his fingers tightening on mine.
“Fine, thank you,” I squeak out.
“Good.” I sense him watching me out of the corner of my eye. “If there’s anything I can do to make your stay here more enjoyable, please let me know. The satisfaction of my guests is very important to me.”
The way he says satisfaction sends a shiver through me. I pray he doesn’t feel it through our interlinked hands.
Breakfast is even worse. I can't even appreciate the amazing French toast because I'm so aware of Calder's every movement. I'm afraid he'll touch me again, accidentally or otherwise, and every time his skin brushes against mine, I remember the way I longed for that very contact last night, how I imagined his hands on me instead of my own. My knuckles are white around my fork. I'm going to go insane unless I can trick myself into thinking about something else.
Think about the Arts & Hearts dinner, I tell myself. Remember how aloof and disinterested he was? He never cared about your work. He didn’t even bother to pretend.
The rage gets me through a few more bites of food, and when that memory starts to fade, I think about my dad—about the sadness and the fatigue that seem a permanent part of him now. His whole life is in the Center. He's sacrificed so much over the years—the great salary, the cushy lifestyle, even his marriage to my mom—all so he could bring arts and hope to a struggling community. And now it's all about to slip away from him. Because of Calder.
“You seem a little preoccupied this morning,” Calder says. “Aren't you enjoying your food?”
“No, it's great,” I say quickly. “Martin outdid himself.” I push at a piece of syrup-drenched crust with my fork. “I'm just not a morning person, that's all.”
He seems to accept the explanation.
“Are you certain you slept well?” he says, looking at me a little too intently.
I squirm in my seat. Does he know?
Please, dear God, no.
“I was going to suggest that since we're stuck here together, I might give you that tour after all. We'll have to skip the maze in this weather, but if you like, I can show you a couple of those secret passages.”
I nearly choke.
“I don't want to trouble you,” I say, coughing. “I'm sure you have work to do. You don't have to entertain me just because I'm stuck here.”
“It's no trouble at all. I've got some things to take care of later, but there's plenty of time for me to show you around before then. At the very least, I'll point out a few places you might entertain yourself while you’re here. The house has a number of surprises.”
There's no graceful way out of this. The last thing I want is to end up in one of those dark, hidden corridors again, especially with Calder, but I'm still too flustered to come up with a good excuse on the fly.
“I need to make a few calls myself,” I say.
“A short tour, then. And it's still early. You'll have plenty of time to make your calls first.”
I have no other arguments, so I just nod. “A short tour.”
He smiles at me, but it’s not one of his usual disarming, charming smiles. This one is wicked, hungry. There’s a dark gleam in his eye.
“Trust me,” he says, his gaze never leaving mine. “I'll make sure you enjoy it.”
That's exactly what I'm afraid of.
CHAPTER SIX
When I get back to my room, I pull out my phone. The calls were an excuse, but it's probably still a good idea to let my dad know I'll be delayed longer than I expected. I hate leaving him alone back at the Center, but there’s nothing I can do. I'm stuck here, whether I like it or not.
Dad's flustered when I get him on the line. He sounds even worse than he did last night.
“What's going on?” I say.
He sighs. “Ella quit this morning. She felt really bad about it, you could see, but she found a position at an office downtown. Not that I blame her. Her last paycheck bounced. We were going to have to let her go soon anyway, and she was smart enough to see that.”
I don't blame her either. Ella's stuck with us through a lot, but she has to make a living, just like everyone else. Still, now there's even more work on my dad's shoulders.
“I hate to leave you swamped,” I say. “I promise I'll be home as soon as I can. As soon as the road's clear, I'll be back. I'll stay at the Center all night if I have to.”
“Don't stress about it. I can handle it for now. You just worry about winning over those prospects. That's more important right now anyway.”
Guilt twists my stomach. “I'll do what I can.”
“Good. Love you, honey.”
“Love you.”
I hang up, feeling like the worst daughter in history. I don't know how I'm ever going to confess the truth of my trip out here, or my spectacular failure. It's my own fault for being so impulsive—and for ignoring Dad's wishes in the first place.
I put my face in my hand. The guilt of this situation is going to eat me alive. I just wish there was something I could say, something I could do to fix this whole mess. Instead, I’m running into one dead end after another and lying to my dad
in the meantime. It’s like I’m just waiting for everything to explode in my face.
My fingers skim over the keys of my phone. There's still one option open to me. Like it or not, Garrett might be our only chance. At least if I secure his help, I won't have to face my dad completely empty-handed when I return tomorrow.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I scroll through my phone and click on Dipshit's number. I hold the cell up to my ear and wait, breathless, as the line rings once, twice, three times.
Voicemail picks up, and I almost cry in relief. I can deal with leaving a message.
“Garrett, it's me. Lily,” I say. “I know this is out of the blue—I hope you're doing okay. I know we haven't talked in a while.” I don't admit it's because I've refused to return his calls all these months. “It's just I—well, you see the Center's in a little trouble. We lost our largest pledge, the one we were counting on to pay off those renovations from last year, and we've had to divert program funds, and—and I guess you don't need to know all the details. It's just that things are looking bad for us, and you were always so good at finding donors. Dad and I have been doing everything we can, but if there's any way you could help—I mean, I know it's a lot to ask, and I understand completely if you say no. I just wanted to… ask.”
I sit there in awkward silence for a moment, and then I remember that it's still recording.
“That's it, then,” I say quickly. “You have my number. Please think about it.” And then I hang up before I can make an even bigger ass of myself.
Ugh. I flop down face-first on the bed. I try to convince myself that I did the right thing, but I feel like I'm going to vomit. Garrett was the first great love of my adult life—or so I thought. There was a time I believed he was the perfect man: successful, intelligent, attractive, charming. I was so head-over-heels for him that I didn’t notice when he started to take little digs at me. Well—I did notice, but I assumed all of his little comments and critiques were true. I changed my hair because he told me he thought long hair made my cheeks look too round. I changed the way I dressed because he told me my favorite sundresses were too sexy and invited too much attention.
It took me way too long to realize how emotionally manipulative he was.
This isn’t about you, I try to remind myself. This is about the Center. You can handle this.
Right now a tour of this place with Calder actually sounds like a nice distraction. I roll over and resist the urge to laugh. Has it really come to this? Is being around that sexy asshole of a billionaire really the lesser of two awkward situations?
I close my eyes and wait for Calder to return, wondering how I managed to get myself into such a mess.
* * *
“Did you finish your calls?” he asks when he arrives at my door.
I nod, pretending that I'm not stressing over the fact that Garrett has yet to respond to my message. I'm not even sure I want him to. The thought of talking to him again makes my stomach turn, but the thought of losing the Center isn't any better.
“I thought we'd start at the top,” he says, his eyes drifting across my body. “Then work our way down from there.”
My stomach twists. “What?”
“The top of the house,” he clarifies, flashing an amused smile.
I look away. He’s doing that on purpose, trying to make me blush, but I won’t let him think he’s unsettled me. He can’t know I’m attracted to him—and he definitely can’t get any hint that anything might have happened last night.
“That sounds good,” I tell him evenly.
I study my host out of the corner of my eye. Today he's wearing a gray T-shirt and dark jeans. He looks so normal. If I passed him on the street I'd never guess he came from all this. My eyes linger on the way his sleeves stretch over his shoulders, the way his hair curls down around the collar. He still hasn't shaved, but he doesn't look sloppy. Just deliciously sexy.
I glance away before I get worked up again. I'm not here to ogle Calder. I'm not some sort of animal or sex fiend. I'm a professional woman who came here to save her dad's life’s work.
Calder leads me up a flight of stairs. My bedroom was already on the second floor—where the heck is he taking me? My question is answered when we reach the top and he throws open a door. Cold air rushes in around us. He's brought me up to the roof.
“I hope you’re not afraid of getting a little wet,” he says, his eyebrow quirking.
I try to ignore the sexual implication of his words.
His hand grazes my lower back as he ushers me outside. A tingle races across my skin. I step away from him, but the heat from his touch lingers on my spine.
The roof is, no surprise, spectacularly beautiful. This section is covered by a high pavilion ceiling, and globe lanterns dangle from the beams. There's an entire freaking kitchen up here—complete with a large stone oven—a full bar, and of course the sort of furniture that puts the grungy couch in my apartment to shame. Beyond the pavilion, a pool stretches across the roof, its silvery surface dappled by rain. The surrounding patio is done in gorgeous red-brown stone. The whole scene looks like something I've only ever seen on one of those fancy television design shows.
“What do you think?” Calder says. “Want to go for a swim?”
I must show my shock on my face because he lets out a laugh.
“Haven’t you ever been for a swim in the rain?” he asks. “You get damp either way.”
I’m not sure if he’s being serious or not.
“I don’t have a swimsuit,” I remind him.
The corner of his mouth curls up. “Not a problem.”
Before I can utter another word, he pulls his t-shirt over his head, exposing his perfectly chiseled chest.
My mouth falls open, but I snap it quickly shut again.
“What are you doing?” I say.
He grins. “Swimming.”
His hands move to the button of his jeans.
“Are you stripping?” I’m unable to keep the shock out of my voice.
“I’m not going to swim in my jeans,” he says matter-of-factly. His fingers pause on the zipper. “You’re welcome to join me, of course.”
“I—” My entire face is on fire. “I’m not going to take off my clothes.”
He shrugs. “Suit yourself. You’re missing out, though.” He unzips his jeans and slides them down in one movement, revealing a pair of dark boxer-briefs.
Once more I’m bombarded with memories of last night, of his naked body reclining on the bed. Of the way I touched myself at the sight of him.
My body responds in turn now. I clench my hands and unclench them again, trying to gain control of myself.
Calder hooks his thumbs in the waistband, and my heartbeat quickens. Is he going to pull those off, too?
“For someone who’s shy about skinny-dipping, you certainly have no qualms about watching,” he says.
I almost fall over.
“I—I’m not watching,” I say, quickly turning away. “You’re the one who tore off your pants without warning.” I imagine I’m the color of a ripe tomato right about now.
He chuckles. “Come, Ms. Frazer. It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”
My blood runs cold. Oh my God. He knows about last night.
“What—what’s that supposed to mean?” I demand, still refusing to turn and look at him. “What are you implying?”
“Forgive me,” he says, his voice thick with amusement. “I didn’t mean to give offense. I was only suggesting that by this point in your life you’ve probably seen a naked man or two—unless I’m mistaken?”
“I’m not a virgin,” I say, rolling my eyes. “But that doesn’t mean I’m okay with men just stripping off their clothes in front of me.” No, but I’m all right with spying on those same men while they pleasure themselves in their bedroom.
Forget the ripe tomato—I’m probably as red as a fire truck right now.
“Well,” says Calder behind me, “if you’re not comfortable with
complete nudity, then maybe we can keep our undergarments on.”
“I’m not swimming.”
“Where’s your sense of adventure?” he says. “May I remind you that you broke onto my property? That I had to wrestle you down in the mud? Certainly you can’t be afraid of taking a little dip in the rain.”
“I’m not afraid,” I say, spinning on him angrily. He’s closer than I thought—just in front of me now. There’s still a bit of amusement around the corners of his mouth, but his dark eyes bore into me. Butterflies dance in my stomach.
“If you’re not afraid,” he says, his voice breathy and low, “then why are you resisting?”
He’s so close that I can feel the heat radiating off his skin, so close that I can smell the musky scent of his soap—or is that only him? All it would take is the smallest of movements and I could brush my fingers against his bare stomach, learn if his skin is as soft and smooth and hot as I imagined last night.
“I…” I don’t know what to say. I don’t have an excuse, not really, except for the general sense that this is a bad, bad idea.
Oh, I’m in trouble.
Calder must sense my indecision, because his eyes suddenly darken. Before I can react, he grabs me around the waist, just as he did on the lawn yesterday.
“What the—” I cry as he hoists me off my feet. “What are you doing?”
He doesn’t answer. Instead he turns and starts carrying me to the pool.
“Put me down!” I cry, pissed that I fell for his trick a second time. “I swear, if you throw me—”
Suddenly I’m flying through the air, Calder’s arms still around me. We crash into the pool, and water rushes all around us.
He releases me when I start to struggle. I kick my way back up to the surface, gasping and coughing as I come up for air.
“What the hell?” Louisa’s dress is tangled around my knees and my hair is clinging to my face. I flip the wet strands away from my eyes.
Calder, meanwhile, is laughing his ass off.
“Come on. It’s just a little water.”
“I’m wearing your sister’s clothes,” I remind him. I felt bad enough about borrowing them in the first place.
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