“Then why are you being a dick? You were in my room. In my shower. Using my towel that I brought here.” I point to the one he holds over his dick.

  “Fine. Here’s your towel back,” he says, holding it out to me without flinching. My eyes meet his, hold, and as much as the woman in me wants to look, I refuse to back down from the dare sparking in his eyes. I meet him gaze for gaze and in a sudden moment of bravado, not to be upstaged by him—my partner—I drop my own towel.

  He emits a hiss in restraint, a smile toying with the corner of his mouth as his eyes widen.

  “What?” I ask innocently. It takes everything I have to stand there. I’m not modest by any means, but willingly standing in front of a man as gorgeous as him is a feat in and of itself. Talk about feeling insecure. “It’s only fair since everything between us from here on out will be fifty-fifty.”

  “Even-steven.” His ghost of a smile turns into a full-blown grin.

  It’s a game of chicken. Who will look first? Whose curiosity will make them break? Which one of us will swerve first?

  “Good.” I return the grin and the dare that paints its edges. “Now that that’s settled, you can see your way out. I’m going to take my shower now.”

  “Don’t forget your towels. I wouldn’t want you to not have anything to dry off with,” he says as he takes a step back, his eyes dipping down briefly.

  He swerved.

  And I promptly follow suit and do the same. Yep. Still gorgeous. Still hung. Still the definition of perfection.

  Our eyes meet again. Jesus. The aloofness he just had? Completely gone. The man knows how to look at a woman and make her feel like she’s the only one in the room.

  Granted I am, but I’m talking figuratively.

  There’s an intensity in them. A desire that shouldn’t be there but that I feel equally as strong.

  He’s off limits.

  Every incredible inch of him.

  “Thank you for your concern, but I can handle myself.”

  “Noted, but I already knew that.” He takes a step back, his eyes dipping again, and his nostrils flaring in reaction. “Good night, Ellery.”

  “You’re naked,” I shout after him in warning as he opens the door. And I realize my stupidity only seconds after I say it. The hotel is empty. There’s no one else out there. He’s not walking into a crowded hallway.

  When he turns around, all I see is the smirk on his face and the amusement in his eyes. “So are you.”

  Ford

  The whole thing lasted seconds. Running into Ellery. Landing on top of her. Having proof of how goddamn perfectly our bodies fit together.

  I groan.

  It may have only been seconds, but it’s all that’s needed for a match to strike and flames to ignite.

  And fuck did they ignite.

  Desire. Need. Want. Greed. The four battled within me in those split seconds. Fuck decorum. Screw our partnership. The things that were going through my head were anything but partnership-amiable.

  What I would have given to lean in and kiss her lips. To thread my fingers through her hair and knock her thighs apart with my knee and taste her there.

  And I bet that taste would be as addictive as the feeling of sinking into her. Of hearing her moans as I did. As reveling in her slick heat as we drove each other to the brink.

  Ellery naked.

  Christ. I can’t get the image of her out of my head. The peaches and cream of her skin only accentuated the pink of her nipples and the gorgeous curve of her hips.

  Curves are my kryptonite and damn, does she have them.

  I shift again, the sheets falling off me as my dick hardens and thoughts run crazy.

  She’s all I can think about.

  A wall between us.

  A bed away.

  A closed door apart.

  And I was tempted. God, how I was tempted with her body beneath mine—soft and warm and inviting—until I looked to the wrist my hand was pinning and was snapped back to reality.

  To the tan line on her finger.

  To the Daily Transcript article I read this morning and the picture accompanying it. One about Chandler Holcomb and his fiancée Ellery Sinclair as he accepted his award for Architect of the Year.

  And that reminder was like a shock of cold water despite the heat between us.

  Ford

  Twelve Years Ago

  I know he’s standing there. Even if I hadn’t heard the click of the front door or his even breathing, I would know he was there. My dad most definitely has a presence about him that owns any room he walks into.

  Even my apartment.

  “Who let you in?” I groan as I roll onto my back on the couch and cover my eyes with my arm.

  “I own the building. Last thing I need to do is ask for access from anyone.”

  The thought has never bugged me until right now. Until this moment when I simply want to wallow in my own sorrow and drink myself into oblivion without him being him.

  “Invading my privacy doesn’t come with the landlord duties.”

  “Then answer your phone, and I won’t have to show up here.”

  I hear the motorized blinds moving open and already hate him for doing that. Besides the extended hangover I’ve been wallowing in, I don’t think I’ve seen sunlight for a few days.

  “You can spare me the lecture. I already know what you’re going to say.” Get up. Don’t let a woman steal your worth. Fuck her if she doesn’t see your value.

  Blah.

  Blah.

  Blah.

  “I’m not here to give you a lecture, son.”

  “Ha. That’s funny. Isn’t lecture your middle name?”

  “That’s not exactly fair.” I hear him move about the room. I feel the dip of the couch’s cushion beneath his weight. “I like to think I offer more than that.”

  Huh. There is a tinge of something in his voice. Did I just insult the great Maxton Sharpe and it affected him?

  His sigh hangs in the stagnant air of my place. “It’s inevitable, you know.”

  “What is?”

  “Heartbreak.”

  “Thanks for the brilliant observation. Can we skip to the good part where you leave?”

  “Don’t be disrespectful.”

  “Don’t enter a man’s apartment unannounced.”

  “Ford.” He reaches his hand out to my shin and squeezes. “I’m sorry about Jennifer.”

  “Yeah, well, you just said heartbreak is inevitable so—”

  “Son.” He pauses for a beat. “You have this incredible ability to put yourself out there. For being you without holding back and not caring what anyone thinks. That’s admirable.”

  What does that have to do with getting my heart broken? Is this another case of him just wanting to hear himself talk?

  “It doesn’t feel very admirable,” I say and pull the pillow over my head.

  Admirable is the last thing I feel. Hurt is first and foremost. Then disbelief followed by anger before returning right back to hurt again.

  He’s silent, but his hand remains.

  “She cheated on me. Cheated. After two years together . . .” The images are burned in my brain. Opening the front door to hear the unmistakable sound of moans. Following said sounds to find Jennifer straddling one of my fellow MBA classmates. Fuck.

  “So your brothers told me.”

  “With a classmate no less.”

  “And how does that make you feel?” I cock an eyebrow at him. How does he think it made me feel? I don’t think I’ve ever heard those words come out of his mouth before. Since when is he a therapist? “I asked a question, Ford, and I expect an answer.”

  “Pissed. Angry. Wanting to fuck someone random to get back at her.”

  But there’s no way in hell I’d do that. Even after that. I’m not that guy. I’m far too loyal to purposely have a revenge fuck. All she had to do was break up with me for fuck’s sake. How hard would that have been?

  Then again, she’s a cheater, so she’s probably too chickenshit to end things before moving on.

  He purses his lips and nods. “Go ahead, but it’s not going to make you feel any better.”

  “Then what will? Because it’s been days and it still fucking hurts as much now as it did when I saw it for my own eyes.”

  “She doesn’t deserve you.”

  “That’s supposed to help?”

  “No. But it’s a fact.”

  “More brilliant wisdom from the one and only.” I groan as I sit up, my head pounding and my eyes squinting. “Tell me something oh-knower-of-all-things. How exactly do you know this?”

  “First, this will be the one and only time you will ever get away with speaking to me with such utter disrespect. Hurting, heartbroken, I don’t care. I taught you better than this so watch how far you push, Fordham.”

  Then leave me to my own fucking peace. I fist my hands and fight back the need to be more of an asshole and take my frustration out on him.

  “Two, she wasn’t the one. I could have told you that since day one.”

  I snort. “Lay it on me, Dad. How exactly did you know this?”

  “Because she was a matter of convenience. She looked at you as a meal ticket, and you looked at her as someone who fit the role.”

  “That’s bullshit.” I say the words with more conviction than I feel.

  “Is it? Because I never saw her as being the one you’d walk through fire for just to see for a minute.”

  I’m about to laugh but when I glance his way, amber eyes that match mine are looking back at me with an unrivaled intensity. “Are you missing Mom?” I ask him, suddenly feeling like an ass for not looking closer sooner.

  A soft smile breaks on his lips. “I will always miss your mother. That’s a given. But no, this isn’t about Mom. This is about you.”

  “Would you have walked through fire for her?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper.

  “Yes.” His voice breaks on that single syllable.

  With every passing day, passing year, her memory grows fainter and fainter regardless of how hard I try to hold tighter to it. The sound of her laugh. The scent of her perfume. The way she’d hug us as if her life depended on it. The love she gave. God, she knew how to make you feel loved.

  “Yes, I would have.” I wonder if they were just an anomaly—the love they shared and he seemingly still feels. “I did. I still do. I’d go to hell and back for her. Some days I feel like I have after living all this time without her. Seeing you guys grow up, enjoying every minute of it, and knowing she’s missed every part of it.”

  “I’m sorry for what you’ve missed,” I murmur.

  “Don’t be. At least I had the chance to have that kind of love.” He clears his throat, making it clear the kumbaya session is now over. “And I want that for you. For your brothers.”

  “You actually think Callahan will settle down?” I snort.

  “He’ll find someone to tame that fire of his, whereas you need someone to help stoke yours.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  His half-hearted smile doesn’t tell me much. “When you find her, you’ll know.”

  “I’ll know what?” Now he’s just making shit up to feel fatherly when he’s currently in over his head. “If you know the answer, please impart your wisdom.”

  “Son, when a woman’s temper makes you love her even more, when her defiance makes you want to challenge her, and when her smile makes you want to earn each and every one, then you know she’s worth the goddamn fire.”

  His words make me uncomfortable because I sure as hell didn’t feel that way about Jennifer.

  “Got it.”

  “At some point, you will get it. And when you do, I just hope I’m around to see it.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” I wave a hand at him.

  Can he just go and leave me in my wallowing?

  “Hint taken. I’ll be going now.” Thank God. But as he reaches the door, he turns back to look at me. “Promise me something, Ford.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Don’t ever stoop to that level. Stealing another man’s woman shows who a man really is . . . or rather isn’t. And any woman willing to do the same isn’t worth the fire anyway.”

  Ellery

  The property is abuzz.

  Contractors and laborers are everywhere. In the halls. In the rooms. Outside. Freaking everywhere.

  Noise fills the air from the demolition of interior walls of the suites, the backup alarms of the trucks hauling out the debris, and the jackhammers chipping up concrete to make way for the café.

  It’s complete and utter chaos, and I welcome every second of it.

  Especially because it keeps both Ford and me busy—in different parts of the property—at almost all times.

  Every time I walk into a room, it seems like he walks out of it.

  And that’s probably for the better seeing as every time I catch a glimpse of him, I’m brought back to a few nights ago. To the sight of him naked, to the arrogance in his smirk, and the taunt in his eyes.

  Partners are off limits.

  Isn’t that the motto I settled on last night as I laid in bed fantasizing about my absurdly attractive partner?

  Then why do I so desperately want to shove that motto where the sun doesn’t shine?

  But now that I need to talk to him, he’s nowhere to be found. I walk through hallways lined with floor liners and past furniture being moved out to be resold. “Do you know where Ford is?” I ask several people along the way only to get random gestures in the direction of where the rooftop bar will be.

  “There you are,” I say when I see him. He has drywall dust in his hair, his shirt has a ring of sweat around the neck, and his jeans have a tear in the knee.

  And my ovaries were just put on standby to explode.

  Dress shirt and tie-Ford is handsome.

  Wharton sweatshirt over soaking wet skin is tempting.

  And yes, naked Ford is more than mouthwatering.

  But contractor, average-joe-looking Ford is a whole other level of deliciousness.

  Partners are off limits.

  “I’ve been looking all over for you.” I hold up my clipboard and the ever-growing list clipped to it. “I need to ask you a few—”

  “No, you don’t.” He flashes a smile and averts his eyes. “Make the decision, Sinclair. I have complete confidence in any and all decisions you make.” He looks around as if he’s looking for someone. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m needed downstairs.”

  “Wait.” I reach out and grab his arm as he starts to walk away from me. “What’s going on? It’s day one and you’re already avoiding me. I thought we had a good week or two at least before you got sick of me.”

  I don’t get the laugh I was going for. Instead, I get a shrug of his arm from my grip while the muscle in his jaw pulses as he clenches and unclenches his teeth. I hate that he won’t look at me. “More like trying to do the right thing.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He lifts his gaze to meet mine, and I wish I knew what that look in his eyes means. Confusion? Discomfort? Why would either of those be there?

  “Look. It’s a busy day. I have a lot on my mind. And I truly do trust you to make the decisions that need to be made.”

  “Then why do I feel like I’m being avoided and blown off?”

  He drops his head and sighs before looking back up to meet my eyes. “You know how you had stuff? Well, I have stuff too, and rather than take my frustration out on you, it’s best if I just avoid you for the time being for your own sake.” The smile he offers doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “Yes, Grumpy Ford is back.”

  I narrow my brows, wanting to ask more, needing to understand, but force myself to bite my tongue. In my thirty years, I can count on one hand the times a man has verbally expressed to me that he needs space. The norm has been lashing out and irrational behavior to push me away.

  So as much as it kills me, as much as I wonder if I’m at fault for whatever is bugging him, I simply nod and give him what he asked for. “Okay.”

  I watch as he walks away, my mind still curious, and my common sense telling me how arrogant I am assuming his problem was with me instead of stuff.

  So we work as a team but apart, each of us tackling different facets of day one. Ford works with coordination and flow, while I do what I know best—dealing with the individual trades, one-on-one.

  But even with the accelerated schedule and the agreed-upon extended work hours, at some point, the noise starts to abate. The crews start to stack their equipment in corners for the night. The rumble of engines can be heard in the parking lot as they start their cars and head home.

  And we’re left with a gutted hotel and a whole lot of silence.

  I move through the first floor and the lounge Ford and I met in two months ago. It’s the only place that hasn’t been touched yet with a sledgehammer or a Sawzall. Its burgundy chairs are stacked in one corner waiting for the consignment shop to pick them up tomorrow, and the bar remains still partially stocked with half-empty bottles lining the dark wooden shelves.

  It looks exactly like it did the night of the storm.

  Exhausted but still wired from the high of the day, I prop open the door to the boardwalk, unstack one of the chairs, and awkwardly move it out onto what’s left of the old patio. Night has fallen, and the moonlight brightens the white of the sand and sparkles off the water on the horizon.

  When I slink down into the seat, I wonder if I’ll ever be getting up. I’m that exhausted. The hiss and crash of the waves hitting the shore is a lullaby all in itself.

  “Here.”

  I jump at the sound of Ford’s voice. I must have been so lost in thought and exhaustion that I didn’t hear him walk up behind me.

  When I turn, I find him holding out a glass of red wine to me while he carries a tumbler of something else in his other hand.

  “Thank you,” I murmur, taking the glass from him, uncertain where we stand at this point of the night.

  He disappears momentarily and returns, setting a chair next to mine. His groan sounds exactly how I felt when I sat down minutes ago.