Maid for Each Other(62)

That made me grin. “I wanted to ‘stay in there and keep going,’ too, for the record.”

“Listen, Mariano. Is there a reason why you’re bringing this up while we’re here in the bedroom?” He crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow. “Does this seem like a good idea to you?”

“Well, no,” I said. “But if I was trying to seduce you, for the record, I’d want to do it in your big, fancy bedroom.”

“Oh, do you have complaints about the guest room?” he teased, his eyes twinkling with boyish mischief. “Is it not big enough for you?”

“I’m just saying that your room is fantastic.”

“You know you’re welcome to it,” he said, but not in a creepy way. He was literally talking about trading rooms. “I’m happy to swap and let you have it.”

But it’s like the mention of the kiss, sprinkled around the idea of his bedroom, instantly charged the air. The space between us suddenly felt like it was crackling with electricity.

I looked at his mouth, thinking a million inappropriate things, before forcing my eyes up to his.

I cleared my throat and said, “Thanks, but I have a wicked case of the night stabs and you don’t want to get in the way of that.”

“I definitely do not,” he said, swallowing. “Night stabbings are overrated.”

There was something about the way he was standing over the bed, smiling down at me, that amped the intensity.

I cleared my throat again and said, “Right. I always say that.”

“You do?” he asked, his eyes all over me. “You always say that?”

“At least ten times a day,” I managed, wondering if it was possible to spontaneously combust from the heat of a gaze.

“Yeah, same,” he said, dropping his arms to his sides. “Well, good night, then.”

“Good night, then.”

I let out my breath when the door closed behind him, because I was having trouble breathing and it had nothing to do with my asthma.

I wanted him.

Holy, holy shit, I wanted him but not just for a good time in that wall-of-windows bedroom of his. No, I wanted him…around. Like, for an extended period of time, in my life and in my bed and on my phone when he was traveling.

I was head over heels in something with Declan Powell, damn it.

So what the hell was I supposed to do about it?

28

Goodbyes

Declan

Everything was different in the morning.

Her flight was early, so we walked down to the coffee shop at the end of the block at 6 a.m. to have an espresso before she had to leave for the airport. We sat on the terrace, drinking coffee as she rambled incessantly—like she always did, like I loved—but something had changed.

There was an awareness between us of something more.

And I couldn’t gauge how she felt about it.

She was quick with the sarcasm and teasing, which was her way, but it felt like she was trying to avoid anything that could potentially become a serious conversation. Her gaze darted all over the place instead of just settling into normal eye contact.

Evasive.

I would’ve addressed it straight-out, because I didn’t enjoy games, but there was a slight chance that she was completely normal and I was overthinking like a fucking teenager because I was way too into her, so I held off.

I had zero perspective when it came to us anymore.

So I was going to focus on the friendship. Until she brought it up, we were just pals with zero romantic interest. Because the longer I could keep her feeling relaxed by my side, the more time I had to show her she could trust me.

That what we had was genuine.

And worth exploring.

I couldn’t take her to the airport because I had a meeting I couldn’t reschedule, but it almost felt like she was relieved by that. She gave me a big friendly hug as she stood beside the car, and I didn’t like the way it felt.

“Thanks for coming, Mariano,” I said into her hair, wishing I could read her mind. “I had the best day with you, too.”

A tiny crinkle formed between her eyebrows as she nodded and said, “Same, Powell.”

And as she climbed inside the car and shut the door, I said, “Text me when you land.”

“I will.”

I didn’t like watching the car disappear out of sight, and I didn’t like the way I instantly felt emptier without her there.

As if watching from a window and knowing what was going on in my life, my phone rang. It was Roman. I answered, “Hey, what’s up?”

“I was just curious how this morning went,” he said.

When I’d told him Abi was coming, he said he was equal parts glad because he liked her and thought she was good for me, and nervous because he thought it was way too soon for us to be flying to see each other.

He was right on both counts.

And last night, when I couldn’t sleep so I spent a good hour going over potential investments with him on the phone, I let him believe that we were only interested in friendship. What was the point in talking through possibilities with anyone other than Abi?

If things changed between us, I’d let him know then.

For now, it was none of his business.

“Good,” I said, going back into the building and getting into the elevator. “She’s headed home, and I’m heading into the office. Things are back to normal.”