The Architect (Nashville Neighborhood 3)

Goodbye, he seemed to say.

“Goodbye,” I echoed back, only mine had been out loud.

He froze.

Was he wondering if I were talking to him, or the man he could no longer see? My phone was turned so the screen was facing me. Or was he nervous because I had spoken directly to him, which was against the rules?

Static swirled around us, creating heat and electricity. It increased exponentially when he pushed the door shut, and remained inside, putting his hands squarely on his hips as he challenged me.

Oh, my God.

My heart thumped so loudly, I worried Clay would hear it and I’d give away what E had done. My gaze dropped to the screen in my hand and I tried to block everything else out. I would pretend E had walked out the door and shut it behind him, because Clay believed he had.

“Is he gone?” he asked.

Blood rushed through my head like a freight train, drowning out all other sound. I didn’t stop to consider my answer. The lie simply burst from my lips. “Yes.”

FIFTEEN

On some level, I was aware of my guilt over lying to Clay, but I refused to think about it. I was too curious, and honestly, it was a miracle I’d made it this long without breaking any of the rules.

I was just too weak.

“I know tonight was a little . . . off,” Clay said. “In my head, it played out differently.” He made a face, displeased with himself. “I’m sorry. When it comes to you, I need to learn to expect the unexpected.”

I stared at my phone, trying to focus on what he was saying. He’d changed the design on himself—something he never did—and had inferred I was the cause. If I weren’t so distracted by the man who lingered silently by the door, I might have realized what a big deal this was. Instead, I held breath tightly in my lungs and forced myself to act natural.

“It’s okay.” I added a shrug and a smile for additional effect.

“Good.” Although he sounded slightly less than convinced. “Well, I should probably let you go, unless you want—”

“Yeah, I’m kind of tired.” Maybe he wanted to talk about the scene, and I could be missing an opportunity for him to open up, but I felt E’s gaze on me like a giant magnifying glass. “Think I’m going to say goodbye to Noir and then head out.”

He nodded in understanding. “Have a good night.” His lips curled into a smile. “But, you know, not too good.”

My nervous laugh was overly loud, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Right. Talk to you tomorrow.”

“Bye.”

As soon as I pushed the ‘end call’ button and the screen went black, chaotic energy hummed through my veins. I took my time setting my phone down on the side table, right beside the stack of mail I brought in nightly for Clay, because I wanted to pause in this moment before I crossed the point of no return.

Betrayal was something that couldn’t be undone. And even as I knew that—I also knew I was going to do it regardless.

He’d set his bag down beside him and his hands had returned to rest on his hips, but his posture wasn’t confrontational. It seemed anxious.

I’m nervous, his expression said.

Me too, I answered back.

I breathed the word. “Hi.”

His lips parted. His hands moved to hang at his sides, and his greeting was as tentative as mine had been. “Hi.”

The room felt uneven, as if there were only pockets of air to breathe here and there, and they shifted and swirled unexpectedly around us.

It’d been nearly two months since our first night together at the club, and I’d wondered about him relentlessly since, but as I peered at him now, my mind faltered. I’d wanted so badly to talk to him, and yet I wasn’t able. Perhaps all the questions I wanted to ask had jammed together in the rush to get out, and shut me down completely.

Was it the same for him? It looked like the tension-filled silence threatened to consume him.

“There are so many things I want to ask you,” I whispered, “I don’t know where to start.”

Suddenly, he was moving. He charged forward so abruptly, I took a half-step back, but it wasn’t enough to outrun him. Not that I wanted to anyway. His arms caged around me, locking me in his embrace.

“There are things I want to ask you too,” his voice was as strong and sure as his hold on me, “but there’s something I want more.”

He leaned closer so his mouth was only a breath away from mine. My heart skittered around inside my chest. I had a good idea what he meant, but I asked anyway. “What is it?”

He closed the space between us, not just with our mouths, but with our bodies. I was pressed to the length of him from our lips, to our chests, and down to our knees. His kiss smoldered and then burned through my body in the most amazing way. It was so strange it was the first time, after everything else we’d done together, we’d connected this way. Unscripted and more intimate than the marks he’d put on me or how I’d welcomed him inside my body.