Recluse (Wolfes of Manhattan 2)

He cleared his throat. “Would you mind sharing that information?”

“Not at all. With whom?”

Once more, he cleared his throat. “With me.”32RoyGuts.

And strength.

I’d used all my guts and strength to ask Charlie for that information. I sat, waiting for her to interrogate me about why I wanted it.

Seconds—that seemed like hours—passed before she said, “Of course I will.”

I lifted my brow. Anything else? Wasn’t she going to ask why I wanted it? Didn’t she care?

“Thanks,” I finally said. “Just email me what you emailed to Lacey.” I bent back over my menu.

Nothing looked good. My appetite had waned.

Charlie sat across from me like a cross between an innocent angel and a naughty vixen. She was amazing.

She’d understood my painting in the lobby of the Wolfe building.

She might have understood it even better than I did.

She said the painting was hiding something, and she kept looking for a key.

I’d told her there was no key, but was I right?

Why would she be looking if I hadn’t left clues for a key?

Maybe a key did exist.

Maybe I just needed some help to find it.

Help from guided hypnosis?

Probably couldn’t hurt.

But maybe help from the woman in front of me. The woman who’d helped me reach a new plateau of pleasure. A new plateau of…

The word hovered just above my consciousness, and I captured it.

Love.

I could hardly be in love with a woman I’d only just met.

Though I’d watched my brother fall hard and fast for Lacey.

I wasn’t my brother.

Still…I was feeling something, and “love” was the word that had slipped into my consciousness from beyond.

I’d scare her if I confessed that I loved her.

But as I sat, watching her take dainty sips of her water, watching her silver eyes sparkle when the calamari came, watching her wriggle uncomfortably in that damned navy-blue suit…I knew.

I loved her.

I loved Charlie Waters.

Damn.

I’d never allowed those blurred images to surface in my mind. Instead, they lay dormant, their only purpose the mindfuck I’d lived with for so long.

How long?

How old had I been?

Rock had already left. I’d graduated from high school.

Right.

It was that summer. That last summer before college.

That last summer of what costumed as my youth.The Wolfe building.

I hated this place. Had no interest in the family real estate empire. Still, I’d agreed to intern the summer before I left for college. I’d wanted to go straight to art school, but the great Derek Wolfe insisted on a liberal arts degree. Like that would help me ever in my life.

I never actually saw my father, of course. I was the property of one of his many assistants, doing grunt work.

Not that I minded the grunt work. It was easy, and it kept me out of my father’s scope. I didn’t want to be around him anyway.

Today’s grunt task was to move some old records to the lower level.

I loaded the cardboard boxes on the dolly, got into the elevator, and pushed LL, the lowest floor in the building, two floors below the lobby.

The elevator descended, and—

I fell against the wall as the small room dropped rapidly. My stomach lodged in my throat as my flesh prickled. The boxes tumbled off the dolly, banging to the floor.

The red button.

Push the red button.

The lights flickered as I smashed my hand against the crimson disk.“Here you are, sir.” The server set a basket of warm bread on the table.

I inhaled, letting the yeasty scent warm me, take away the thoughts that wanted to permeate my brain.

Why? Why would they come now, while I was with the woman I loved?

Yes. Loved.

I couldn’t tell her. Couldn’t even think about telling her this soon. She’d freak out, and rightly so.

I reached toward the basket, ready to grab a piece of kalamata olive bread, one of my favorites, and then picked up the basket instead and handed it to Charlie.

She smiled, taking it and helping herself to the kalamata bread.

Only one piece, and she took it.

Not that I got stingy with food, but normally I’d be disappointed that I didn’t get the bread I wanted.

But I wasn’t. If she wanted it, I wanted her to have it.

Must be love.

“You like that olive bread?” I said. “It’s my favorite.”

“Oh! I’m sorry. Do you want to split it?”

I shook my head. “No. Enjoy it.” I reached into the basket and chose a pretzel roll. It was no kalamata olive bread, but a decent substitute.

The server appeared at the side of the table and nodded to Charlie.

“Are you ready to order?”

“Yeah, thank you. I’ll start with the house salad with the herb vinaigrette, and then I’ll have the trout, please.”

“Very good. And you, Mr. Wolfe?”

“House salad, same dressing, and the filet, very rare, with a baked potato.”

“Butter or sour cream?”

“Both.”

“Excellent. Will you be having wine with dinner?”

“Charlie?” I said.

“Yeah, that would be nice. Something red, but light.”

“I have a Beaujolais-Villages that would complement both your meals nicely,” he said.