Reckless Abandon (November Blue, #2)(25)

’t know what happened between us. She’s just bitter because I’ve been ignoring her calls.”

“Don’t ignore her calls on my account.” I shrug, then instantly regret the words as I see him wince slightly.

The truth is, I don’t know how I’ll handle seeing Bo with someone else, because there will eventually be someone else. But, it

can’t be Ainsley.

Anyone but Ainsley.

“Sorry, that came out wrong,” I backpedal, still not wanting to hurt his feelings or sound presumptuous. “I just mean ...” I

don’t know what I mean.

“I don’t want her, November ...” His eyes beckon my heart, calling to me with their Siren’s song of promises eternal.

I stand, hoping a change in elevation will help me refocus. Crossing my arms over my stomach, I pace around the desk, leaning

against it in front of him. He sits back, crossing his arms in front of him as well.

“What she said...is that how you feel? Do you feel like I abandoned you?” I almost whisper.

Bo’s eyes start at my knees, bare from my skirt, and swim up the length of my body before he stands, regarding me with tenderness.

Our bodies are inches apart; the space between them filled with tension, anger, passion, and promises of forever. I relax my arms

and place my hands on the desk behind me. My pulse drums a familiar beat, allegro in his gaze.

His voice is husky and serious as he opens his beautiful mouth. “What I did to you, November, is inexcusable. I abandoned you by

not being honest with you. Ainsley assumed I’d come running to her, and I haven’t. She feels threatened that you work here and

will take every opportunity to try to mark what she thinks is her territory.”

Bo and I ignore the boundaries I clearly set last week, as our bodies buzz inches from one another in silence. We’re in a vacuum;

ignoring the past and disregarding the future. I feel his hot breath against my mouth and I close my eyes for a second, reviewing

my options for action, before turning my head to the side.

“Bo.”

Without further instruction, he heads for the door while I wait for feeling to return to my legs.

I clear my throat. “You’re still playing at Finnegan’s tomorrow, right?” He stops and turns slowly toward me as I continue.

“Josh said he’d text you. I appreciate your concern for me, but there’s no need to tiptoe. They love you there.”

He hesitates with an amused expression before he answers. “I’ll play if you’re going to be there.”

Um.

“What?”

He shrugs and rests against the doorframe. “I heard Monica tell Rae that she and Josh are out of town this weekend. I don’t want

to drive all the way down there and not have any friends to hang out with.”

He’s kidding. Right? I tilt my head back and furrow my brow.

He shrugs. “Friends, right?”

I don’t like that word coming from his mouth, directed toward me. I loved him. I wanted to be his.Just his. But friends? No, I don

’t want to befriends with Bo Cavanaugh.

I force the smallest smile I can pass off as genuine. “Friends.”

“So you’ll be there.” His sexy authority has returned, kicking the droopy-tailed puppy to the curb.

“Of course. See you Saturday.” I turn back to my desk as he smiles and turns for the hallway. “Oh, Bo?” I call after him.

He leans his head back into my doorway. “Yeah?”

“I’m not singing with you.”

He shakes his head, chuckles, and heads down the hall. I collapse into my chair; my head is tossing in a spin cycle of the lies and

mistruths I’ve spewed in the name of this weekend. I could have easily lied my way out of Finnegan’s for Saturday, but what the

hell…

*



The W in Boston. This is where Adrian Turner lives, naturally. It’s a world-class hotel that also plays house to over a hundred

people who demand luxury full time. As a rule, I don’t use the word swanky, but I make an exception as I stand in Boston’s

theater district staring up at Adrian’s “home.” He texted me to meet him at the private entrance. He’s the kind of guy who

would live in a place with a private entrance.

I text him when I’m downstairs. The valet has taken my car god-knows-where, but it’s hard to care while looking up at this

amazing building. I’m thoroughly grateful I had the good sense to pull over at the last available rest top to change into my green

shift dress. Cinched with a black-patent belt and matching black heels, I feel like a knockout. I’m sure The W doesn’t have an

undergarment dress code, but I slid on my red lace thong, just in case.

“There you are, Gorgeous. You found the place OK?”

Texts don’t do his cocoa butter voice justice. We’ve largely communicated through texts and email this week because I’ve been so

busy at work. As he graces each square of the sidewalk toward me in his black pants and tight black t-shirt, I can’t believe this

is happening.

Adrian. Me. Here.

I smirk. “It’s kind of hard to miss, hot shot.”