One Good Reason (Boston Love #3)(24)

“No more what?” His grin widens as I backpedal through the deserted atrium toward the doors to the street. “No more riding in elevators? That’s going to be inconvenient. My office is on the top floor.”

“No more trying to kiss me in elevators,” I correct, still backing away from him like he’s in possession of a deadly weapon.

Who am I kidding?

His lips are a deadly weapon.

To my great shock, he freezes, adopts a contemplative look, and gives a slow nod of agreement. “Fine. I won’t do it anymore.”

I’m so surprised he caved without a fight, I draw to a halt, leaving about ten feet of space between us. I pretend not to notice the faint flicker of disappointment in the pit of my stomach.

“Really?” My voice is skeptical.

“Sure.” He shrugs. “I’m not unreasonable.”

I stare at him warily for a long time and find no signs of insincerity in his expression.

“Okay,” I say finally, accepting the remote possibility that he’s being serious. “Can we go get this over with, then?”

“Of course,” he says, his tone totally professional as he walks to my side and falls into step beside me. I glance at him from the corner of my eye, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He’s strangely silent all the way to the doors.

Wow. Maybe he was actually being serious for once…

“Plus, it’s not some great sacrifice,” he adds, chuckling as he holds the glass door open for me to walk through. “I can live without elevators. You didn’t say I wasn’t allowed to try and kiss you anywhere else.”

There it is.

“Ugh!” An incredulous scream bursts from my mouth. “You are the most infuriating human I’ve ever met.”

“Ever?”

“Ever.”

“Thank you,” he says, his voice somber as he trails me out onto the street. “I take that as a high compliment.”

I groan.

He laughs and takes my hand again.

It’s going to be a long day.



* * *



“Where are we going?” I ask for the thirtieth time. We’re walking along the waterfront, still hand in hand — much to my annoyance. The winter wind whips at my face and I find myself wishing I’d brought a heavier jacket. My ankles have blisters from the shitty heels and my shoulder is aching from the weight of my laptop bag. I push the strap higher and sigh heavily as my feet wobble on the uneven cobblestone path.

Parker squeezes my hand. “I did offer to carry it for you,” he reminds me.

It’s true; he did offer. Twice.

I objected because I felt like being obstinate at the time. But that was ten blocks ago, when we were still in the Financial District and I was feeling high and mighty. Now, all I’m feeling is cold and I have the beginnings of a cramp in my side from lugging the heavy bag all this way.

I sigh again.

If I ask him to carry it, he will in a heartbeat.

I won’t though — I’d rather suffer in silence than give him the satisfaction of knowing he was right.

Ass face.

“Want a piggy back ride?” he offers, dropping my hand and doubling over like a parent offering their six-year-old a lift. His eyebrows waggle in an obnoxiously cute way.

I roll my eyes and brush past him.

His long-legged strides catch up to mine in seconds. “Not even a smile. Jeeze. This is my best material.”

“This is your best material?” I ask skeptically.

“I take it back — my best material involves a lot less talking and a lot fewer clothes.” He winks.

I make fake gagging noises.

He bumps his shoulder into mine in retaliation. “If I were a lesser man, I’d be offended that you don’t laugh at any of my jokes.”

“Playboy, you don’t seem to be offended by anything I say or do, so—”

My words are cut off by the sound of my phone buzzing noisily in the side pocket of my bag. I pull it out, glance at the screen, and frown when I see it’s Luca calling. I don’t want to ignore his call — he’s insufferably overprotective about my “safety” — but I also don’t want to talk to him while Parker West’s side is fused against mine like superglue.

Just putting Luke and Parker in the same sentence makes me uncomfortable. I can’t imagine what would happen if they were ever in the same room — the cage-fighting UFC-hopeful and the cavalier billionaire, breathing the same air.

Nothing good, probably.

“I’ll call him back later,” I mutter absentmindedly to myself, hitting a button to send the call to voicemail. Glancing up, I find Parker staring at me.

“Boyfriend?” His tone is light, but his eyes are sharp.

I shove the phone back into the side pocket. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Yes,” he says immediately. “That’s why I asked.”

I roll my eyes. “Can we focus? You were supposed to take me to your house. Not for a stroll along the marina. It’s pretty f*cking cold out here, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“Hey, anytime you want to come a little closer, just say the word. You won’t hear me objecting, darling.”

“How thoughtful,” I snap sarcastically.