Love on Lexington Avenue - Lauren Layne Page 0,77

the bathroom, since she’d already violated his no peeking rule.

“Another day or two. Then it’s just getting the fridge into the kitchen, a day of cleaning up all the construction mess, and you’ve got yourself a brand-new house.”

Claire was checking out the bathroom, her back to him as he spoke, and she was glad for it. Another day or two. Plus one for cleanup.

And then . . . done.

He was done with her house. And done with her?

When she turned back around, he didn’t quite meet her eyes, and she knew he was thinking the same thing. Thinking that for all their talk about figuring it out later, later was just about here. But they weren’t ready. Or at least she wasn’t.

“Does that mean I finally get to see my kitchen?” she asked, fighting for levity.

His smile, too, was a little forced. “Thursday. Let’s make it a date.”

“Thursday,” she agreed with a nod.

Their eyes locked, and without saying a word, they came together, his mouth crashing over hers, her lips hungry under his.

Later, the kiss said. We’ll figure it out later.

Even as Claire knew they were running out of laters. And she suspected Scott knew it, too. It was evident in the searing nature of the kiss, the greediness of his hands. Claire’s hands fumbled with his buckle, and his fingers trembled a little as they found the hook of her bra. “Other bedroom has the bed,” he murmured against her lips.

Claire shook her head, winding her arms around his neck as she kissed him with everything she had. Here. She wanted him here in her bedroom, just once. She wanted the most recent man in her bedroom not to be a ghost from her past life, but the memory of a man from this life. Not just a man. This man.

He backed her up against the wall, and she knew he understood.

It was enough, Claire told herself, as their clothes fell to the floor. Enough, she thought, when he slid into her with a groan. Enough, she thought, as they coaxed each other over the edge with practiced touches and heated words.

But after, when he held her as their heart rates slowed, she knew there was no more running from the truth, no more pretending she could let him go easily. She knew that whenever later came, she’d be left wanting so much more.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 18

Scott opened the door, a little surprised to find an irritated-looking Oliver standing there. “Hey, man. Come in.”

Oliver hesitated. “Claire here?”

“No, one of her college friends is in town; they went out to dinner. What’s up?”

Oliver stepped inside, giving an absent pet to Bob. “Thought I’d stop by, see if perchance you wanted to run by the Apple Store, since apparently you’ve lost your phone.”

Scott winced with guilt at the sarcasm, knowing he deserved his friend’s ire. “I should have texted back.”

“Or called. Emailed. Sent a telegram. I’d have taken any of the above,” Oliver said, shrugging out of his suit jacket and helping himself to a beer from the fridge. That his usually polite friend didn’t offer one to Scott spoke volumes about Oliver’s mood. Pissed.

“It’s been busy,” Scott said truthfully. He’d been hauling ass on Claire’s house, wanting to see her face when it was done, wanting to give her the perfect canvas for her fresh start.

He realized yesterday, when he’d all but devoured her against the wall of her bedroom, that it had been a shortsighted plan. Because finishing her house meant he’d be out of a reason to see her every day.

And finishing her house left him without a reason why he couldn’t start on any of the other projects waiting in the wings, and there were several.

He knew that was why Oliver was here. For the first time in their friendship, Scott hated that their careers were so closely aligned, that Oliver, having an architecture firm that was in-demand in its own right, would know exactly just how in-demand Scott was.

“Ellis called you,” Scott said. Not a question.

Oliver nodded.

Ellis Burke was one of the top real estate investors in the country—in the world. Every architect took his or her project to Burke first, because he had the biggest budget, the biggest vision. And every contractor hoped he or she was on Burke’s short list. Not only because of the money, but because of the sheer challenge of the projects he took on.

“The project’s not one of yours.”

“Nope.” Oliver took a sip of beer. “It’s Marshall Briggs’s out of