Every Last Secret(24)

“Neena?” Cat opened the door. “Is everything okay?”

“Sort of.” I wrung my hands together. “Can I borrow William really quickly? There’s a bird in the house.”

“A bird?” Cat gave me a blank look. “Can’t you just shoo him out?”

William appeared in the doorway behind Cat. “Morning.”

Damn, he sounded good. Husky. The kind of voice that could be on whiskey ads or staff a 900 number. I smiled at him, then quickly pinched my features into a worried frown. “Can you come over real quick? There’s this bird—it’s terrifying.”

“Of course.” He turned away. “Come on in. I’ll put some shoes on.”

Cat stepped back, opening the door. “William,” she protested, “send over one of the staff. You’ve got that call.”

I peeked past her, surprised to see their kitchen empty, no staff in sight. Maybe they let everyone off on the weekends. So kind of Queen Cat.

“I can be quick.” William pulled on a sneaker and yanked at the laces, quickly tying a knot. “Where’s Matt?”

“At a job site.” I sniffed the air. “Is something burning?”

“No,” Cat snipped, at the same time as William said, “It’s toast.”

“He likes it well done,” she explained, then shot William a look that dared him to argue.

“I do.” He grinned and bent over, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. “The crispier, the better.”

That was bullshit. At our joint dinner date, he’d gotten it lightly toasted. I’d watched as he had spread butter on it, noticing how he’d done it one-handed, the other arm hanging over Cat’s chair, his fingers gently rubbing along her bare shoulders.

“If you give me a minute, I can get dressed.” Cat looked down at her silk pajamas, the shorts and tank top set barely appropriate for this conversation, much less a jaunt across their property and over to ours. In contrast, I was dressed for a workout in skintight leggings that lifted my ass and a low-cut bra top that always attracted attention at the gym.

She’d probably just gotten up. Took her dear sweet time rolling around in bed before strolling downstairs and burning her hardworking husband’s toast.

“I’ve got that call, remember?” His hand ran down her side, and I watched as he gently slapped her butt, the connection of palm against flesh loud. I flushed.

She glanced at me, then smiled up at him. “Okay, but be quick. You’ve only got fifteen minutes.”

I fought the urge to loop my arm through William’s and pull him toward my house. “We will,” I promised.



I eased back through the bushes easily, William’s journey a little rougher, given his size. He batted away branches and came loose, brushing off his T-shirt and jeans. I waited for him, bouncing softly on the toes of my shoes.

“What kind of bird is it?” He strode toward the house, all business, but I could see his excitement in the hunch of his posture. I could have smashed the bird against the wall with a broom but had seized the opportunity to get William alone and boost his self-esteem.

It was a Bicknell’s thrush, but I shrugged, feigning ignorance. “I don’t know. Something small? A pointy beak. Beady eyes.”

He headed toward the side entrance, and I hoped he wouldn’t compare it to his own. “Where is it?”

I pulled him to the right. “In my bedroom. Let’s go in the front door.”

Inside, we climbed the curved staircase in silence. At the top, he glanced toward the wall of closed windows. “How’d he get in?”

“I had the balcony doors off the living room open. He must have flown in and found his way upstairs.”

I pulled the handles of the double doors, unveiling our master bedroom in its perfectly staged condition. Messy sheets. My perfume still in the air. A lacy bra hanging from the arm of the lounge. I reached for the bra and yanked it off as if I were embarrassed by it. “Sorry. I didn’t have a chance to straighten up.”

“It’s fine.” He closed the door behind him, and our eyes met. Time suspended. He cleared his throat and looked away, walking slowly around the room. His brows rose in surprise when he spotted the bird, perched on the top of a lamp. “Oh. He’s a little guy. Looks like a thrush.”

I shrugged in mock ignorance. “Is that what he is?”

He turned his back on the bird and worked the lock on the balcony doors, swinging them fully open. Ignoring the view, he used his foot to turn down the braces and locked the doors in place. “I’m surprised he flew all the way up here.”

I wasn’t. I’d spent twenty minutes chasing him up that staircase and into this room.

“Next time, just open these doors. If you had, he’d have flown away by now.”

I nodded somberly. “It’s just . . . birds terrify me. I have visions of them pecking my eyes out.” I shuddered and moved to the farthest corner of the room, away from the bird. It twittered.

He chuckled and took a step toward it, raising his arms and creating enough motion to scare the thrush into flight. It immediately went up and out the door. Problem solved.

“Oh.” I snorted. “Well, that was easy.”

He stepped out on the balcony and loosened the first door, then the second, pulling them closed.