CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 20

NEENA

“You’re going on a run?” Cat stared at me as if I’d just announced my plans to join the circus. Behind her, the warmth of the house curled out of the large front doors, tickling along my skin.

I offered her my best smile. “William offered to show me the neighborhood trails. I tried to find them on my own but couldn’t.”

“Really? The signs are pretty obvious.” She knotted her arms over her chest.

“Are you feeling better? I was thinking, you know, that it could have been that July Fourth potato salad that made you sick. You didn’t throw up, did you?”

Cat’s face got that annoyed look, the one that twisted her beautiful features into a haglike pinch. “I don’t think it was the potato salad.”

William appeared beside her, a long-sleeve shirt snug on his strong chest, a baseball cap hiding his dark hair. In workout pants and Nikes, he looked good enough to eat. “Ready?”

“Ready.” I gave her a cheery wave. “We’ll be back in an hour.”

“I—” She searched for an objection. “Will, do you need a water bottle or—”

“I’ll be fine.” He planted a quick kiss on her mouth, then moved out the door, lifting his chin in my direction. “Good morning.”

“Morning.” I turned my back to her and jogged down the steps. I reached the wide drive and bounced up and down in place, warming my muscles. “You want to lead the way?”

He nodded toward the main road. “Sure. We’ll pick up the trail off Britnon. It’s a four-mile loop, if that’s okay with you.”

I scoffed and flashed a cocky grin. “Just try and keep up.”

I started down the long drive, and William ran easily beside me, his strides almost twice as long as mine. It didn’t matter. My closet had a stack of marathon T-shirts in a dozen different colors. When I’d noticed him leaving on early-morning runs, I’d started pounding out miles on my treadmill, increasing the speed and distance until I was back in race mode. And . . . just like that, another check in the Neena Is Better Than Cat column.

I let out a huff of air, reminding myself to be patient with William. While our progress had been slow, it was beginning to ramp up. Our contact had transitioned from business to personal, my text messages answered with increasing speed, our inside-joke collection growing, my suggestions of lunch no longer met with stiff reluctance but quick agreement. He didn’t recoil from my casual touch and had lost the stiff air and foreboding manner he typically carried with Winthorpe Tech employees.

We rounded the bend, almost to his gate, and I looked up into the ceiling of tree limbs and inhaled the crisp morning air, giving myself a mental pat on the back. This run was already a victory. I had been careful with Cat so far, but that flash of insecurity on her face as he’d joined me on the run . . . it had been unexpectedly enjoyable. Had she started to nag him about me yet?

All I had to do was remain innocent in his eyes. The sane to her crazy. The calm fun to her neurotic paranoia. A safe haven for his thoughts and fears. A support system who made him feel valued and protected. I’d be a better version of her, doused in the tempting light of the forbidden.

“What are you smiling about?” His arm brushed mine as we turned left out of the open gates and onto the street.

“Nothing.” I looked down at the ground, suddenly aware of how my cheeks were split with the grin. “I was just thinking about the team members. I’ve had a bit of a breakthrough with them recently.”

“Really?”

His focus was one of the things I was starting to love about him. It was as if he stopped everything in his life and turned his full attention to me. I felt it in my initial interview, and I savored it now as the pebbles crunched under our running shoes, his head turned to me.

“Yes.” I continued my fictional story and hoped he’d see the parallels. “We’ve always had a distance, but recently they’ve begun to let me in.” We moved up the hill, hugging the edge of the road, protected from the wind by an estate’s stone wall. As we rounded the curve, the view of Palo Alto appeared through the morning fog.

We stopped at the park and stretched, my muscles now warm and pliable. I propped one shoe on the top of a bench and hopped back on the other foot, getting a deep stretch that he couldn’t help but notice. I turned to him quickly and caught the moment before his eyes darted away. Was he imagining what else my limber legs could do?

I stretched my hamstrings and thighs, then nodded to the small grassy area underneath the trees. “Stretch my back?”

I lay back on the manicured grass and lifted one leg. He settled above me, his knees on the ground, his shoulder flush against my ankle. As he leaned forward, my leg moved effortlessly, my teenage years of dance still blessing me with the ability to do a split or straddle. His brows lifted in what I took to be appreciation, and he pushed farther, his body moving in tighter to mine. This close, I could feel the heat of his body, loved the grip of his hand on my thigh, the burn of every finger.

The risk of it hit me with delicious intensity. I pictured Cat’s convertible curving along the road, the brake lights glowing when she saw her husband on top of me, his eyes on mine, pelvis pressed against my thigh. I looked up at him, and that handsome smile broke across his face, his eyes crinkling at the edges, his—

“Ready for the next leg?”

I nodded, and he settled back on his heels, placing one leg down and lifting the other. He returned to the position, and I tried to sort my way through his head. Was he on guard? He didn’t seem to be. But skittish . . . yes. Still a little skittish. Wary on the edges of his appreciation. I thought of his finger brushing against my knee in the Ferrari. That beautiful moment of contact that had never been re-created. This, at least, was a move in the right direction. Touching. Proximity. It had to be pushing at the binds of his self-control.

He’d been harder to crack than I had expected, but that loyalty was one of the most attractive things about him. Every time he reestablished boundaries or held himself in check, I wanted him more. I appreciated him more. Cat griped at him when she should be thanking him. She would start needling him over our growing friendship when the smart woman would play the supportive and loving wife.

But that was what made this game so fun to play. I had the cards. I knew the hands. And she . . . she didn’t even know the game.

He grunted a little, applying more pressure, my foot passing over my head, and I closed my eyes in bliss at the sound.