The Architect (Nashville Neighborhood 3)

Sympathy painted his expression, but he stayed silent as he listened.

I put my hand on my hip and lifted my chest, standing tall. “I’m not going to fall in love with you, Clay. The arrangement we have works just fine for me.” I made a face. “Well, except I’m here and you’re down in Florida.”

“I agree, but at least it’s temporary,” he said. “In the meantime, I have an idea.”

My interest piqued. “Oh?”

“How would you feel about trying some long-distance play?”

I didn’t know what exactly that entailed. “Like, web cam sex?”

His smile was sly. “Something like that, yeah.”

I grinned. He liked watching and I had no problem being watched. “I’d be into that.”

“Good,” he said. “Maybe we can try that next time.”

I acted like it was an innocent question. “How about now?”

He laughed and shook his head. “No. I want to plan it first.”

Shit, the idea of that turned me on so much.

Somehow, I survived the weekend without burning out the motor in my vibrator. Every quiet moment alone, my thoughts would drift back to my night with Clay and the stranger, and then I had no choice but to seek relief from my battery-operated friend.

I’d just finished sorting Clay’s mail with him when his expression turned serious. “Do you have plans tonight?”

My pulse jumped. Had he finished planning it out? Were we going to play? “It’s just a regular ol’ Tuesday for me. Why?”

“It’s unfair,” Clay said.

“What’s that?”

“That it took a year for me to discover you, and now that I have, I’m stuck five hundred miles away.”

Whoa.

For a guy who wasn’t interested in feelings, that had sounded awfully romantic. It sent tingles up my spine, and the sensation was alarming. He wasn’t supposed to say stuff like that.

And I wasn’t supposed to like it, either.

“But I thought,” he continued, “we could try something to tide us over until I’m back. Are you up for that?”

I shot him a sexy smile. “What’d you have in mind?”

Tonight, he’d FaceTimed me through his laptop, so it was strange when he picked up his phone and thumbed something out on it. Message sent, he set down his phone and turned his attention back to me.

Mischief lurked in his eyes, but he hadn’t answered my question. When I tilted my head expectantly, he lifted a finger, signaling me to wait, to give him a minute—

The doorbell chimed, and its loud two-toned gong startled me.

He wasn’t surprised. Instead, he smiled like the Cheshire Cat and used that same finger to point to the door. “Answer it.”

What on earth?

I picked up my phone, carrying it with me as I left the living room and strode into the entryway. It was after eight p.m. and the evening sunlight was fading fast, plus the side windows surrounding Clay’s front door were beveled. It obscured the large figure on the porch.

I suspected—or hoped—who I’d find waiting for me, and when I pulled open the door, I wasn’t disappointed.

The stranger from the club lifted his gaze to meet mine and flashed his dazzling smile.

TEN

Breath hung awkwardly in my lungs at the sight of this sexy stranger, while the rest of my body lit up. He wore dark jeans and a stone-gray button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled back to his elbows, which gave me all the forearm porn I could ask for.

“Hi,” he said in his deep voice before his gaze shifted to the phone in my hand. His posture stiffened like a person interviewing for a job and wanting to make a good impression.

It came from me breathlessly. “Hi.”

“I thought the three of us,” Clay said on screen, “could have a conversation. Do you want to invite him in?”

It was at that moment I realized I’d been gripping the door handle so hard, my hand ached. I stepped back, making room. “Come in.”

The man crossed the threshold, keeping a polite, cordial distance. While his gaze remained on me, I sensed he was completely aware of the other man, even if Clay wasn’t physically in the room. I closed the door behind the man, then looked at Clay for what was going to happen next.

“This is Mr. E,” he said.

Seriously? I grimaced at the fake name. “Mystery?”

“No.” Clay’s eyebrow shot up, and he weighted each syllable. “Mister. E. I’ve already told him to call you L.”

Had Mr. E not understood like I had? Did he think my name was Elle? Either way, it didn’t matter. I was pleased to have at least a sliver of information about him, even if it was only an initial.

Clay’s tone was friendly and not bossy. “Go sit together on the couch, and I can explain what Mr. E is doing here.”

Breath was held tightly in my lungs as I walked toward the living room and E trailed behind me. Had he been in Clay’s house before? It didn’t seem like it. When I sat down and rested the phone in my lap, he surveyed the room like everything was unfamiliar.