Enamor (Hearts of Stone #3)

by Veronica Larsen

  Giles's voice comes over me again, this time his speaking voice, also deep and smooth. "Julia Castillo, I need you to listen closely because this is important." He points up at me and even from all the way up here, I can see his lips twist into a smile. "I want to be with you. You and me? We're an 'us.' We're a couple. We're a thing, an item, a solid pair. Just you and me and none of the static in between. Because, just in case you haven't figured it out yet, I'm in love with you." He pauses as excited noises rise from the crowd. "You got that?"

  Luke nudges me with one giant elbow of his costume. And I nod in disbelief.

  "Stay right there," Giles says into the microphone. "Don't move."

  I can't move, anyway. My knees have turned to jelly. Giles hands the microphone to someone nearby and runs off the field, into the stadium. The announcer comes back on, saying things that don't matter. Things I can't even begin to decipher, because my heart is thumping in my ears as I stand, motionless, waiting, only vaguely aware of everyone else taking their seats, talking amongst themselves, and staring at me.

  "You look like you're going to faint," Luke says, patting the top of my head in what I'm sure he thinks is a reassuring gesture.

  I'm not sure how many minutes pass before Giles is rushing toward me, breathing hard, cheeks flushed.

  "Hey," he says, smiling wide as he catches his breath. I just stare at him. Somewhere overhead, someone shouts something at us. A few people laugh and someone else responds with a suggestive whistle. Giles doesn't bother to look at them, just keeps his eyes on me. "Can we talk? Inside?"

  A hand on the small of my back, he guides me away from the seats and into the relative privacy of the inner halls, where people are too busy ordering food to be interested in us.

  "I've got a lot to say to you," Giles warns. His mouth closes and opens again.

  "Giles, I—"

  "Let me go first, please?" he says and I fall silent. Really, I'm not prepared to speak. My heart's still beating so fast I think I really might faint. I'm not even sure I can string words together at the moment.

  "I've never been good at relationships," he says. "I've never been good with words or opening up to people. I've never been good about facing the things that scare me. I've never been good at being a friend. But somehow, with you, none of these things have been an issue. With you, these things come easy." He pauses, bringing a hand to the side of my face. "It's because you make me a better man, Julia."

  I try to let his words sink in and, though they caress my insides, guilt still surges to the surface.

  "I'm sorry," I blurt out. "I'm sorry I wasn't there for you today. I didn't know."

  "I know you didn't know. But you were there."

  It's my turn to look confused. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a photograph. I take it, and my mouth gapes in surprise. I've never seen this before, but I recognize the night it was taken.

  It's a picture of me, lit up in laughter, face glowing from the surrounding lights of the fair games. That night, I thought he was taking pictures of himself and his prizes. But he's barely visible in the corner of the photo. He was taking a picture of me.

  "You looked so happy," he explains. "I loved that I was part of that. You asked me what I wanted. This is what I want. Everyday."

  I stare down at the picture in my hand, running a finger over the glossy surface. "When did you get it printed?"

  "Last night. You were gone and I needed you to feel real, so I printed it out on Ava's printer and then I stared at it for hours."

  I continue to stare at the picture now, not really seeing myself. What I see is the shift that happened between us, the first crack that brought down the wall keeping us apart. The first night we stayed up talking. All the nights we found comfort in each other's stories, in each other's voices. In each other's bodies. All the nights we came together in ways that words can't describe.

  Giles pulls my chin up to bring my eyes to his. "I stayed up all night trying to figure out the exact moment I fell for you. Then I realized that I didn't fall for you. You grew into me, tangled yourself up in me, and now…" He pauses, but his eyes burn with the promise of more so I remain silent, counting the milliseconds before his voice rolls over me again. "…I can't tell where I end and you begin. And I don't want to. You showed up and settled into a gap I thought was a permanent part of me. And…I'm in love with you, Julia. I'm so fucking in love with you."

  My mouth opens wider. I take a second to breathe in his words. The air around us smells just like him, blanketing me, making it impossible for me to find my way back out.

  "You said love makes people stupid," I remind him, an involuntary smile splitting my face.

  "Love does make you stupid, I still stand by that statement," he lays his hands on my waist, "but it's the good kind of stupid. It's the 'I can do anything' stupid. It's naive and a little crazy. But it feels so damn good. So really, when you think about it, where's the harm in that?"

  "None at all."

  "I'm glad we're on the same page on that."

  "I think you're forgetting something."

  His eyebrows furrow, despite his smile.

  "You haven't asked me if I love you back," I point out.

  "Well, then? Do you?"

  I tilt my head back and let a few seconds drag by, as though I'm thinking about it.

  "Damn it, woman. Quit playing with me," he says, tugging at my hips until my body is pressed tight to his.

  "Of course I love you, stupid."

  He grabs my face and kisses me. I suddenly don't know where I am, because his lips on mine make the whole damn world flicker away to nothing.

  I should've known it would always come down to this moment. Whether we admitted it or not, we fell for each other a long time ago. The only choices left were to give into it or run from it. We resisted, but we couldn't run.

  Some things in life are inescapable. Me and Giles, together? There's no way to describe it other than a ridiculously innocent optimism that there's perfection in a tiny corner of the world. A tiny corner that belongs to just him and I. Nothing else can reach us. Because, together, we're bulletproof.

  <>

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  Entangle

  A Hearts of Stone Novel

  By

  Veronica Larsen

  CHAPTER ONE

  Alexis

  THIS IS MY MOMENT to prove the past is in the past. To prove I've moved on with my life and haven't even bothered to look back.

  There's just one problem. Instead of the aloof smirk I want to wear, my lips are pressed into a thin line.

  I should be happy for him. Hell, I want to be happy for him. But I'm not. I can't bring myself to be. I can't seem to pull the maturity it takes to even pretend.

  I'm staring at the picture on the screen, my eyes tracing over the details with a razor-sharp scrutiny. I forgot how handsome he is. His exotic features lay against lightly tanned skin, perfect eyebrows frame light-brown eyes. The woman resembles me at first glance. Ivory skin, golden-brown hair, green eyes, and a pointed nose. Except, her teeth are sort of large for her smile and her chin juts out in an asymmetrical way.

  My eardrums are still vibrating from the ridiculous ballad that split through my speakers when I first opened the invitation. The sound is off now a
nd the silence in my office feels jarring.

  I manage to tear my eyes from the faces to examine the rest of the page. White and teal lace etches the corners of the white background. Off to the right of the picture, royal-blue lettering curves into a nearly illegible cursive.

  Mr. & Mrs. Williams

  Request the honor of your presence

  at

  The marriage of their son

  Jeremy Williams

  To

  Sophia Bell

  I can't help it, I look back to the picture and stare at it. For way longer than I want to admit, as though the answers to all the questions I can't bring myself to ask are between the pixels.

  The more I contemplate it, the more I notice something strained about the way the lovely couple looks at each other. They are in mid-laughter, her hand slapping his arm playfully. Her profile is in full view of the camera and his is turned a few degrees toward her. Something is missing, even in photograph, about their chemistry. It's as though the photographer repeatedly ordered them to laugh in pretend joy. For the Williams family, capturing a real moment isn't as important as faking the perfect one. Sophia will need all the practice she can get in the art of faking it.

  Under the invitation is the option to RSVP. I click the box marked 'decline' and a text box pops up.

  Would you like to include a message with your RSVP?

  A few colorful words come to mind, but I'm a grown woman of thirty-two years old and I type what I know I should:

  I regret I will not be able to attend.

  Best wishes to the bride and groom.

  PS, I add in my head, whose sadistic idea was it to invite me?

  The question stirs in my mind and, seeking an answer, my gaze sweeps over the first line of the invitation again:

  Mr. & Mrs. Williams

  Of course.

  My ex-mother-in-law would think it a good idea to invite me to the wedding. She's fucking clueless. And in denial. Even beyond the grave of my marriage she tries to reach out and grab the reigns. Dolores operates under the belief that if she pushes enough, she can shape her son's life to be what she dreams it can be. The same way she thought I would cave under her relentless nagging and become the wife she wanted for her son.

  Clearly, she never knew me.

  It wasn't that I didn't want children. Back then I did. It just wasn't the right time. Starting a company from the ground up sucked up all my time and resources. I promised Jeremy that once things slowed down, I would be ready for children. It was something I looked forward to. I was going to have it all: the career, the family life. But it wasn't the promise of children he wanted. It was the promise of my submission to him, my absolute yielding to his idea of a wife, of a woman and her inferior place in the world.

  Obviously, he never knew me either. As far as Jeremy was concerned, my ambitions made him out to be half a man, when really, it was all the man he could ever be. He was gone before my company could get off the ground. It took me some time before I could realize what a blessing this was.

  Dolores isn't inviting me to be cruel. I know this. She may be short-sighted and petty but she's not mean-spirited. But I don't delude myself into thinking she's inviting me out of the kindness of her heart, either.

  No. I've always known Dolores to care about one thing above all else: appearances. Her son may have failed at his first marriage, but she is intent on making it appear the most successful misstep in history.

  I hover over the confirmation button before pressing it. It may be an oversight on Dolores' part, but I can't help but feel it's an omen the invitations are going out on Halloween day.

  I submit my response and the website page animates, folding up into a small square that slides back into the virtual envelope.

  If I was having a hard time focusing on work before, it's impossible now. I close the email and grab the empty cup on my desk. I still have a few things I need to wrap up before I leave for the day. I'm going to need another cup of coffee if I'm going to make it.

  The office is a graveyard of empty halls and abandoned chairs. It's after 5 PM and, being a Friday, nearly everyone is gone for the day. Anyone who remains must be making themselves scarce because everything feels eerily quiet.

  When I get to the break room, I hover by the doorway. Standing in front of the coffee machine is our new Director of Engineering, Leo Conrad.

  He and I haven't seen many opportunities to speak one on one. The only interactions I've had with him have been in meetings. He seems sharp. Quick to point out flaws in our strategies, which annoys some of the other directors, but he impresses me and that's what's important. This is exactly why a fresh pair of eyes stirs up a company; he brings perspective we desperately need.

  Right now he looks lost for the first time since he started. He is trying to figure out how the machine works.

  It's an espresso machine. Or, to me, an oversized chunk of stainless steel that brews a heavenly concoction. I forget who talked me into buying it, but we did get a good deal on it. The fact that it has a built-in coffee grinder and can froth milk for my lattes was enough to warrant its purchase in my eyes. Once we installed it, we quickly realized the machine is a huge pain in the ass. Turns out, no one was in the mood for a learning curve to get a cup of coffee in the morning. But my office staff is smart. A quarter of them are engineers. They figured it out fairly quickly. But every time a new person comes in, watching them struggle to make a cup of coffee is almost an office joke.

  Watching Leo in an unscripted moment of frustration is amusing to me. I like seeing him shed the enigmatic veil he typically wears. He's hard to read; I thought so the moment I met him. Reserved, but not quiet. Polite, but short of friendly. While he's noticeably confident and sometimes abrasive in the way he states his opinions, he doesn't strike me as egotistical.

  I can't decide if I like him or not, but I guess an opinion would be premature at this point.

  My eyes sweep over the back of his white button-down shirt and gray slacks. Both of which fit him impeccably. His physique can't hide under layers of clothes. I can almost hear the sound my gaze makes as it rakes against his hard body.

  "Come on. You piece of shit," he says under his breath as he bangs the side of the machine with an open palm. He is slapping it into submission.

  Suddenly he stops and glances back, his blue-gray eyes narrowing as he notices me for the first time.

  "How long have you been standing there?"

  I hesitate for a moment because I'm not sure how long I've been watching him.

  "Long enough to witness you harass the machine. And call it a piece of shit."

  I'm sure my tone is matter-of-fact, but the corners of his lips twitch. He finds me to be playful.

  "Heard that part, huh?"

  "I did. That piece of shit costs an arm and a leg."

  "My apologies." He doesn't seem embarrassed; he looks amused and puts up his hands in surrender. Despite his gesture, there is nothing yielding about him. His gaze is tenacious in a way that makes me feel alert. "I know what that must of looked like—I assure you, I don't typically hit things when I'm frustrated. Only coffee machines. And sometimes computers."

  I smile because I can't help it. I have to remind myself to keep my tone professional, which is strange for me. I typically don't need reminding.

  "Noted. Do you need help?"

  "No, thanks, I almost have it."

  In the second or two he considers me before turning around again, his eyes glint with words he must decide at the last minute not to speak. I walk farther into the room as he figures out how to navigate the various options of the machine.

  I'm watching him keenly again, which is easy to do when he's right in front of me looking the way he does. At any rate, I'm not being a creep for the sake of it. I do need coffee.

  The space separating us feels pulled taut, way too tight. It threatens to snap at any moment and yet the prospect of this feels more enticing than concerning.

  I can't deny he
's attractive. His smoky-blue eyes lower my guard a notch, tricking my subconscious into remembering him as someone I used to know, a long time ago. His dark-blond hair is cut under his ears and lays in a natural pattern atop his head. He's a masculine sort of handsome, not a pretty-boy by any stretch of the imagination. No. Leo is all rugged good looks and, if I'm honest, pure sex appeal.

  He reaches out his hand toward me before he looks back around. I feel myself tense up, unsure of what he is trying to touch. His eyes meet mine and seem to catch my reaction.

  "Let me have your cup," he says.

  Of course. I'm clutching my cup in front of me. The machine can brew two cups at once. I hand it to him and our fingers brush.

  Jesus, I'm enjoying this more than I should.

  I know it's sexist, but it is nice to have something appealing to look at around the office for a change. Being around him feels exciting, in a completely juvenile way.

  Maybe the feeling is mutual because I've caught him checking me out during meetings. He is subtle—or thinks he is, anyway. His gaze slipped past my neckline one day, lingering over places they have no business lingering over. When his sights rose again they met my pointed look, but Leo stared back with an almost quiet determination. His unwavering gaze caused me to break eye contact first. He made me nervous. And I don't let people make me nervous.

  The guy has balls, I'll give him that.

  A part of me wants to feel annoyed, but honestly, it's hard to be indignant when I secretly enjoy it. The unwavering gaze part, not the nervous part. I hate the nervous part.

  Regardless, the scenarios my male colleagues entertain in their heads are none of my business. As long as they keep their interactions with me respectful and, above all else, keep their hands to themselves.

  The machine makes a beeping sound, churns to life, and starts brewing. Leo turns to survey me again, leaning back against the countertop, his hands in his pockets. I suddenly feel a spotlight on me. I wait for him to speak, but he doesn't. Not for a second, maybe even ten. All I know is, he's looking at me and I'm resisting the urge to shift my footing.