The night air is pleasantly cool against my overheated skin. I stand by the modern glass barrier with the lights and majesty of London spread out thirty-eight floors below. It’s so beautiful it makes my heart ache, and yet it’s not what I want to see. And it’s definitely not what I want to feel. I want to ache, yes, but not for the beauty or the lights or the majesty.
What I want is Ryan. I’ve been anticipating his touch since we stepped off the elevator, and now my skin is so primed that I’m certain I’ll explode from nothing more than the feel of his fingertip against my forearm.
And yet he’s not touching me at all. Damn the man.
Despite the raw, seductive words, he hasn’t even kissed me, much less stripped me. And though I can imagine the feel of his hands on my bare skin, imagination is all I’ve enjoyed. Well, since we left the elevator, anyway.
I tilt my head and pout. “You’re a tease, Hunter.”
“Maybe I am.” He moves toward me, then runs a strand of my hair through his fingers. He’s careful not to touch my skin, and yet I shiver simply from the promise of connection. “Or maybe I’m just waiting to hear the rest of it, Kitten.”
“The rest of—”
He stops me with a finger to my lips. “You’re here. And it doesn’t make sense.”
I take a step back. “You’re here. Of course it makes sense.”
The corner of his mouth curves up, and I put a ticky-mark in the Jamie column of my mental score card.
“I appreciate the loyalty,” he says. “And I definitely appreciated earlier. But that doesn’t answer my question.”
“Hunter, I—”
He shakes his head, silencing me. “Your work, Jamie. You expect me to believe that you dropped everything and raced to London just because you missed me? I’ve gone on business trips before.”
“Not this long.” I turn my back to him, then head toward the plush, outdoor sofa.
“True.” His voice follows me, but the man himself doesn’t move. “But I think we’ve been finding some creative ways to make up for the time and distance. Considering some of our Skype sessions, I think you could have had one hell of a career as a cam girl.”
I look back at him over my shoulder. “You were already more than familiar with my wide and varied skill sets.”
He chuckles. “True.”
“And it’s not the same.”
The levity fades. “No, it’s not,” he admits. “And baby, I hope you know that there will never be a time when I don’t prefer to have you in person. But maybe this wasn’t the right time.”
“Not the right time?” My mind immediately jumps to the mysterious Someone he bumped into, and I drop onto the corner of the couch, then pull a pillow to me and hug it close. “Because it’s not convenient for you? What with spending every waking minute working on all those detailey security issues.”
He settles into a metal and vinyl armchair that is clearly some sort of designer piece. He looks regal as fuck and totally in control. He also ignores my snide tone and not particularly subtle accusations. I’m not terribly surprised by that. I can be a real bitch sometimes. I know it. My friends know it. My husband definitely knows it. And he’s learned how to ignore it.
Sometimes I’m okay with that. Right now, it’s pissing me off.
He leans back. “Did you or did you not text me just the other day about how you couldn’t believe that Holt was actually bringing in consultants and test audiences to screen the special before final edits?”
“So?” The word comes out cavalier. A testament to my acting skill.
My blasé attitude doesn’t fool Ryan. “You gushed, Jamie. And you are not a woman from whom one expects gushing. You told me that you were giddy—and, yes, that was the word you used—about getting the chance to sit behind the one-way glass and watch the consultants interview the members of the test audience. Remember?”
“Maybe.”
“Mmm. I think your exact words were fucking amazing. And then you made some comment about how you never realized that being a producer was like being a badass detective secretly watching an interrogation.”
“Well, if I said it, I must have been drunk. The cop part. Not the fucking amazing part, because that’s true.”
“Giddy,” he repeats. “Gushing. Hell, I smiled for days just because you were so excited. And yet here you are.”
“Yeah. Here I am. With my husband. I’m sorry if that’s a problem for you.”
He doesn’t take the bait. Instead, he stretches out his legs, totally at ease. “Were they able to move the interviews earlier?” His voice is intentionally casual, and I wish there were an equally casual response I could rattle off.
Of course there’s not.
I clear my throat. “Not exactly.”
“Jamie. Just tell me.”
If we ever have kids, I’m pulling in Ryan and that tone whenever they get out of hand, because God knows it works. I draw a deep breath and hug my pillow closer. “I asked Matthew to have the team forward me the taped interviews. We’re going to have a conference call while I’m here.”
He runs his fingers through his hair, his expression perplexed. “Kitten, I don’t get it. You wanted to be there. Hell, you’ve wanted to be in the thick of it every step of the way. You’ve been on cloud nine since you landed this opportunity. A two-hour special that’s more than just fluff? And Matthew Holt in your corner…” He trails off, his hands rising as if he is trying to grasp the proper words.
He pushes up out of the chair, then closes the distance between us in two long strides. There’s a metal and glass coffee table in front of the couch, and he sits on it, directly across from me. Then he takes my hands. But it’s not a sensual touch. Instead, I see worry in his eyes. “You’ve been fighting to truly break in ever since you came to LA. Kitten, sweetheart, this is what you want.”
I blink, and a single tear leaks out, running down the side of my nose. “But I don’t want it as much as I want you.” I press my lips together and look at the floor, as if that will hold back the army of tears that want to follow their leader.
“Oh, Jamie.”
I hear regret and sorrow in his voice, and a cold wave of fear crashes over me. I yank my hands free, shaking my head.
“No.” This time, his voice is hard. Firm. He repeats it, now as soft and gentle as a kiss. “No. Oh, Kitten, Christ, I didn’t realize what that mind of yours was spinning. And I am so, so sorry you were afraid. But baby, don’t you know? You have me.” He takes my hands again. “You will always have me.”
Tears stream down my cheeks, and I suck in air, feeling both relieved and idiotic.
“Hey, hey.” He moves to the couch beside me, then pulls me close. I bury my face against his shoulder, the fear I’ve been holding in pouring out in tears and sobs.
“You’ve been distracted,” I say when my sobs have calmed to hiccups. “And it only got worse when you told me that you ran into someone you knew before, and my imagination started spinning, and, well, you know.”
“Apparently, you don’t know.” His voice is as gentle as his touch. He stands, then lifts my chin until I’m forced to look up at him. “Things have been crazy here. I’ve been tasked with overseeing the installation and debugging of one security system, and the complete redesign of another, which just happens to guard a significant amount of confidential information. You know all that, right?”