Looking Inside

His bedroom window? What the hell did that mean?

He glanced up in bemusement just in time to see the woman snatch the envelope that stored her personal technology from the female attendant. In the time it took him to grab his briefcase and coat off the back of the chair, she was out of the coffee shop.

He headed straight for the exit, telling himself he’d come back for his tablet and phone. He was cut off in his pursuit just outside the door when a youngish, black-haired bearded guy bumped into him roughly and jogged ahead of him without an apology.

“Take it easy,” Trey remonstrated, recognizing him as the coughing man who’d been salivating over Sexy Boots just minutes ago. The man continued on his mission unfazed, however, running through the museum’s circular lobby and making a beeline for a bank of glass doors leading to LaSalle Street. Trey glimpsed a long mane of brown hair and scissoring boots rushing out the doors just feet ahead of him.

Sure, he empathized with any guy’s enthusiasm to catch up to her. Who better? But he didn’t like the dude’s rabid, aggressive pursuit, especially when the woman didn’t look like she wanted to be caught.

“Hey. I’m talking to you,” Trey shouted. He sprinted and caught the guy’s arm just as he plowed through the glass doors after the female. The man whipped his head around, frowning furiously at being interrupted while on the hunt. His foot stuck at the bottom of the door, keeping it propped open. “Just let her go, man.”

“Let go, asshole,” the guy seethed. Trey held on to his flailing arm securely, however, glancing behind him onto the street. He saw a cab fly up to the curb. The woman flung open the back door.

Trey only let go of the man once she was in the cab and the door was shut. He transferred his hand to the handle on the door. The guy staggered a few steps toward the street, only to see the cab pull away from the curb. He turned to Trey, his mouth opening to spew accusations at him, no doubt.

“She didn’t want to be caught. That wasn’t part of her game,” Trey interrupted. He waited tensely while the guy’s gaze lowered over him, probably assessing his chances in a fight. Black Beard exhaled, wilting a little.

“How the hell do you know what she wanted?” the guy muttered resentfully under his breath before he reentered the door. He stalked away through the lobby. Trey gritted his teeth, tamping down his irritation. He stood there in the opened door for several seconds, letting the cold November air cool off both his lust and his stupid flash of aggression.

Maybe the guy had been right. Who knew what a woman like that wanted? She’d been teasing not just him, but the entire room, mercilessly. She was just another manipulative man-eater, exactly the type of woman he was trying to avoid at all costs.

He was sick of playing conniving females’ games. He was tired of letting his cock dictate his life. At eleven o’clock tonight, his curtains were going to be drawn tight. As penance for his idiocy, maybe he’d force himself to read Pride and Prejudice again.

The vision of the woman reading that racy book with that open, almost

innocent expression of curiosity crossed his brain, as did the potent recollection of her obvious mounting arousal as she flipped the pages. Christ, she’d been sexy.

She may have held all the cocks in that room at her mercy, but she gave the note to you.

His thought sobered him. It signified that he wasn’t entirely free of her hook.

Not by a long shot.

—

Eleanor paced back and forth while she bit at her thumbnail, the Rockerchick boots beating a path on the wood floor of her kitchen.

“Just because I felt like I was in over my head all of a sudden doesn’t mean Trey knew it. All he knows is that I walked out early from the event. But I left the note. Everyone always says I think too much. That’s all that’s happening, right?” she muttered under her breath and abruptly turned to retrace her path.

She scowled, because silence wasn’t much of an answer.

It was an uncomfortable recent realization that she’d started talking to herself more and more. That hadn’t stopped Eleanor from doing it regularly ever since she’d moved into Caddy’s place.

The big condominium often made her feel very alone.

“It doesn’t matter, does it?” she continued shakily. The fact of the matter was she knew next to nothing about Trey Riordan other than she lusted after him with an obsessive focus. Guessing his motivations was a pointless exercise. “Either he’ll look out his bedroom window at eleven o’clock because he’s interested, or he won’t. And I will have blown it from the first.”

She glanced at the kitchen clock and saw that it was ten forty-five. Anxiety boiled in her belly.

He’d definitely been interested. True, Eleanor had quite an imagination at times. It helped to have the ability to dream a little when she was down in the museum’s basement all alone in the cataloguing or storage rooms, her only company her beloved photographs, costumes, ephemera and books. But she hadn’t imagined Trey Riordan’s attention and arousal. Yes. Arousal. His stare on her had seemed to burn a hole straight down to her core.

She took a step back on the shining wood floor, glancing down the length of the glamorous condominium. Caddy had married young and been divorced by the time she was twenty-four. Her husband, Clarke Green, had been a good deal older than Caddy, not to mention a hell of a lot wealthier. He’d let go of his young bride with a sad sense of fatalism and provided well for her in the divorce. Caddy had gotten the condo in the agreement along with a healthy alimony.

Eleanor still couldn’t get over the fact that the posh playgirl condo was hers. Would she always feel like a guest here? Would it always seem like Caddy was just away on a business trip or luxurious vacation and would return any minute to entertain Eleanor with a story about someone famous she’d met or some new club or restaurant she’d tried?

Somehow, being the wallflower librarian little sister hadn’t been so bad when Caddy was alive. Sure, she’d envied her sister, but she’d been crazy proud of her too. They were very close. It was impossible not to love Caddy. Everyone said so. Even Clarke Green had seemed to come to the sad realization that his vibrant young wife shouldn’t be caged up like a rare, beautiful bird. Caddy was so full of warmth and sensuality, joy and fun. She was meant to fly free.

“What would you do if you were me, Caddy?” she whispered to the empty condominium.