Fall from India Place (On Dublin Street 4)

You’ve never been more irresponsible and foolish in your life.

Nor have you ever been more dishonest.

Didn’t Kam deserve to know about her secret infatuation for his brother for the past eleven years of her life?

But when she and Kam were together, like they’d been last night, the only man in the room was Kam . . . the only man in her mind . . . her world. Just because she had some past unresolved—and unresolvable feelings for Ian—didn’t mean she should go around making dramatic confessions about it to Kam. That was ridiculous. Besides, maybe Richard had been right when she’d said her unrequited feelings for Ian had kept her safe from commitment. Safe from hurt. Safe from rejection. Between Ian and her work, Lin was lucky she wasn’t still an untouched virgin. Even so, dipping her toe in the water now and then hardly equated to swimming.

If Richard’s analysis was right, what was she doing with Kam? He was no stellar specimen when it came to being an ideal mate, was he? Quirky, commitment-phobic geniuses who also just happened to be drop-dead sexy and could get almost any woman to fall into bed with them were hardly the hallmarks of a perfect partner. Kam had told her point-blank yesterday that his relationship with Phoebe Cane was agreeable to him because it was just about sex, no strings attached. Yes, he’d insinuated that he didn’t plan to hurt her and hinted that he had a deeper interest in her than casual sex. Hadn’t he?

Why did it feel in retrospect that he hadn’t really said anything all that substantial last night? She closed her eyes, trying to re-create the intensity of emotion she’d experienced. It’d felt overwhelmingly intimate and beautiful and special while she’d been under his influence. In the morning light, her logical brain tried to re-create the magic of letting go, of trusting . . . but it eluded her.

No, she hardly felt safe carrying on this way with Kam.

Yet here she was.

What Kam did make her feel, she realized as she opened her eyes and stared at herself honestly in the mirror, was good, and more alive than she remembered feeling in her entire life.

Maybe this wasn’t wise and maybe it wasn’t safe, Lin acknowledged as she opened up a drawer and found a comb. But it was wonderful.

Didn’t she deserve the spotlight for a precious moment, no matter how short that time was? Didn’t she deserve to bask in the euphoria of great sex, risk, and romance instead of always being the efficient, careful, reliable understudy hovering in the wings?

•   •   •

Kam’s eyes grew warm when he entered the apartment a little less than an hour later and saw her on the floor next to Angus, a computer in her lap and a cup of coffee steaming on the table not far away. Sunlight flooded through the floor-to-ceiling windows and turned Lake Michigan a sparkling teal in the distance. Angus had succumbed to the warm sedative of the sun a few minutes before, when Lin had scratched her behind the ears.

She smiled as he stalked toward her, his gaze lowering over her appreciatively and lingering on her bare, outstretched legs. “You look a hell of a lot better in that shirt than I do,” he said, referring to his gray button-down, which fell on her at midthigh.

“I disagree. I happen to like this shirt on you a lot,” she said, taking a sip of coffee.

He tossed a shopping bag on the couch behind her. “You should, since you’re the one who picked it out.” Lin’s hand jerked, splashing some coffee on her upper lip. “Now we’re trading off. I’m the one buying clothes for you.”

“What . . . do you mean?” she said looking up at him.

He smirked. “You didn’t really believe that I thought Ian picked out all those clothes for me, did you? Or chose the new curtains for Aurore, or all that bedding and linens and the new dishes for the kitchen? Give me some credit for reading him. Everyone knows he relies on you for stuff like that. Everyone knows you have impeccable taste.”

She blushed. “I hadn’t realized you knew.”

“Your mark was all over that stuff. Your reputation precedes you. Ian, Francesca, Lucien, and Elise talk about you as if you could do no wrong. You transformed Aurore. Only you could make that ancient pile start to look not only elegant, but also comfortable,” he said matter-of-factly, kneeling on the carpet and sitting next to her, his back leaning against the couch, one long, jean-covered leg bent, the other one sprawled out in front of him, his hip pressed against hers.

“I’m glad you liked the things. It was hard to choose, never having been to Aurore. Never having met you,” she admitted.

For a few seconds, they didn’t speak. The sunlight brought out the russet highlights in his dark hair. Before she could second-guess herself, she touched the thick waves. He smelled good, like soap and the outdoor air. “Ian described your character a little to me. It guided what I bought for clothing. Rugged. Independent. Nonconformist.” She met his sun-gleaming eyes. “Utterly male.”

His eyebrows went up. “Ian described me that way?”

She smiled as she reflected. “No. But somehow, I got that impression.”

He caught her stroking hand and pressed his mouth to her palm. Warmth spread in places far away from his lips.

“I like your glasses,” he said when he lifted his head slightly, his breath brushing against her skin.

“Thanks. I wear them for reading.”

She felt him studying her intently.

“What?” she asked, grinning, sensing he was analyzing her component parts again like he did a machine’s.

“This is how you should be all the time,” he murmured gruffly. “You can’t take the love of work out of the girl, but you should do it more like this. With your hair down. Sitting on the floor in the sunlight. Wearing one of my shirts . . .”