Hero
Page 72
“Stop it,” he breathed, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. He choked on his mirth, taking a step toward me. “Keep saying that and I won’t be able to stop laughing.”
“It’s not funny.” I wrinkled my nose. “It’s vile.”
He smiled, his gaze going to the mess. “You were just so serious and then …”
“Bird poop,” I finished. He choked again and I held up my hand in warning. “Don’t even. I have to go back to the office. I can’t go with—” I cut myself off, not wanting to set his hilarity off again by using the phrase bird shit.
Suddenly the humor of it hit me.
Caine Carraway laughed like a schoolboy over bird poop.
Who knew?
As he watched my lips twitch, Caine’s demeanor warmed with tenderness. “We’ll head up to my apartment …” He looked around, his gaze arrested on something. “For now …”
Confused, I watched him stride back over the path and stop at a bench where two college-age kids were sitting. He said something to them and then pulled out his wallet. I watched as he handed them money and in return they handed him their water bottles.
Warmth flooded my chest as Caine came back to me. “How much did those cost?” I eyed the bottles.
“Ten bucks.” He shrugged. “But they’ll wash it out so you don’t have to walk to my apartment with bird shit in your hair.”
“My hero.”
He threw me a warning look that did nothing to dispel my secret giddiness. “Just lower your head.”
I did as he said, smiling all the while as he very carefully poured the water into my hair and gently worked the bird poop out. A few minutes later, he squeezed the excess water out of my hair and eased my head back. My gaze appreciative, I dug in my purse and pulled out the mini hand gel I kept in there.
“Thanks.” He took it, slathering the stuff over his hands.
“No, thank you.” I gazed upward to his apartment building, visible on Arlington. “Do we have time for me to shampoo?”
“We’ll make time. It’s not every day my PA gets crapped on.”
Our eyes met and that warmth flooded through my whole body now as we grinned at each other.
Just like that … all my earlier worries were crushed by the return of my hope.
Usually when I stepped foot onto the redbrick-paved, tree-lined sidewalk of Charles Street, I was in my element. It was my favorite street in Boston with its quaint gas lamps, antique stores, restaurants, and boutiques. There was something fresh in the air there, and much like the gardens, it was like wandering into a little oasis from city life.
Yet the content calm I usually felt walking down Charles Street was gone.
Two weeks had passed since the weekend I’d spent with Caine, and although he seemed done with throwing up walls between us, he also seemed done with keeping us a secret. Something I hadn’t agreed on.
I glanced around the street, busy because our gorgeous summer was still going strong and it was a Saturday. This was also Caine’s neighborhood, which meant we were more likely to run into someone we knew here. Someone who would wonder what Caine was doing dressed in jeans and a T-shirt wandering down the street with his PA by his side. I, also, was not dressed for work, having reverted to my shorts, tank top, and flip-flops.
It was Caine’s idea to spend the day shopping. It was Henry’s mother’s birthday next week and he needed to buy her something. It was not my idea to accompany him, but when Caine wanted something he could be pretty persuasive … with his mouth. And okay, his tongue.
I squirmed, remembering his method of persuasion in the bed this morning.
I really needed some willpower.
I wondered if it was for sale on Charles Street.
“If someone sees us, they see us.” Caine sighed, obviously annoyed.
Clearly my anxiety had not gone unnoticed. “We’re playing a dangerous game here,” I argued.
“Really?” He stopped to peer down into the basement store window where ladies’ clothing was displayed. “I thought we were walking down a fucking street.”
Oh, he was cursing. He was pissed.
“Caine—”
“That would look good on you.” He changed the subject, jerking his chin down toward the teal dress. It had a conservative cut, but the material was extremely clingy. Classy but sexy.
“However, it would not look good on my credit card statement.”
In answer, Caine slipped his hand into mine, causing me to look around quickly to see if anyone was watching. He didn’t seem to notice my wariness because he was too busy leading me down the stairs into the boutique.
“What are you doing?” I said.
“You’re trying the dress on.”
I frowned, confused by his actions. Was he just trying to ignore the argument that had been about to brew between us? “No, I’m not.”
The willowy saleswoman approached us with a gleam in her dark eyes as she took in the sight of Caine. A few weeks ago the modellike young thing with her sculpted cheekbones, perfect Afro, and silky coffee skin would have caused a sharp streak of possessiveness to bolt through me. Not now. Sure, I still felt a thrill go through me that I was the one who’d just rolled out of bed with him, but the jealousy that had come from a lack of reassurance was muted now. It was manageable. And I realized that Caine hadn’t gone at all caveman on me these last few weeks either.
Progress.
So when he pointed to the dress and said, “Size six,” I humored him.
“It’s not funny.” I wrinkled my nose. “It’s vile.”
He smiled, his gaze going to the mess. “You were just so serious and then …”
“Bird poop,” I finished. He choked again and I held up my hand in warning. “Don’t even. I have to go back to the office. I can’t go with—” I cut myself off, not wanting to set his hilarity off again by using the phrase bird shit.
Suddenly the humor of it hit me.
Caine Carraway laughed like a schoolboy over bird poop.
Who knew?
As he watched my lips twitch, Caine’s demeanor warmed with tenderness. “We’ll head up to my apartment …” He looked around, his gaze arrested on something. “For now …”
Confused, I watched him stride back over the path and stop at a bench where two college-age kids were sitting. He said something to them and then pulled out his wallet. I watched as he handed them money and in return they handed him their water bottles.
Warmth flooded my chest as Caine came back to me. “How much did those cost?” I eyed the bottles.
“Ten bucks.” He shrugged. “But they’ll wash it out so you don’t have to walk to my apartment with bird shit in your hair.”
“My hero.”
He threw me a warning look that did nothing to dispel my secret giddiness. “Just lower your head.”
I did as he said, smiling all the while as he very carefully poured the water into my hair and gently worked the bird poop out. A few minutes later, he squeezed the excess water out of my hair and eased my head back. My gaze appreciative, I dug in my purse and pulled out the mini hand gel I kept in there.
“Thanks.” He took it, slathering the stuff over his hands.
“No, thank you.” I gazed upward to his apartment building, visible on Arlington. “Do we have time for me to shampoo?”
“We’ll make time. It’s not every day my PA gets crapped on.”
Our eyes met and that warmth flooded through my whole body now as we grinned at each other.
Just like that … all my earlier worries were crushed by the return of my hope.
Usually when I stepped foot onto the redbrick-paved, tree-lined sidewalk of Charles Street, I was in my element. It was my favorite street in Boston with its quaint gas lamps, antique stores, restaurants, and boutiques. There was something fresh in the air there, and much like the gardens, it was like wandering into a little oasis from city life.
Yet the content calm I usually felt walking down Charles Street was gone.
Two weeks had passed since the weekend I’d spent with Caine, and although he seemed done with throwing up walls between us, he also seemed done with keeping us a secret. Something I hadn’t agreed on.
I glanced around the street, busy because our gorgeous summer was still going strong and it was a Saturday. This was also Caine’s neighborhood, which meant we were more likely to run into someone we knew here. Someone who would wonder what Caine was doing dressed in jeans and a T-shirt wandering down the street with his PA by his side. I, also, was not dressed for work, having reverted to my shorts, tank top, and flip-flops.
It was Caine’s idea to spend the day shopping. It was Henry’s mother’s birthday next week and he needed to buy her something. It was not my idea to accompany him, but when Caine wanted something he could be pretty persuasive … with his mouth. And okay, his tongue.
I squirmed, remembering his method of persuasion in the bed this morning.
I really needed some willpower.
I wondered if it was for sale on Charles Street.
“If someone sees us, they see us.” Caine sighed, obviously annoyed.
Clearly my anxiety had not gone unnoticed. “We’re playing a dangerous game here,” I argued.
“Really?” He stopped to peer down into the basement store window where ladies’ clothing was displayed. “I thought we were walking down a fucking street.”
Oh, he was cursing. He was pissed.
“Caine—”
“That would look good on you.” He changed the subject, jerking his chin down toward the teal dress. It had a conservative cut, but the material was extremely clingy. Classy but sexy.
“However, it would not look good on my credit card statement.”
In answer, Caine slipped his hand into mine, causing me to look around quickly to see if anyone was watching. He didn’t seem to notice my wariness because he was too busy leading me down the stairs into the boutique.
“What are you doing?” I said.
“You’re trying the dress on.”
I frowned, confused by his actions. Was he just trying to ignore the argument that had been about to brew between us? “No, I’m not.”
The willowy saleswoman approached us with a gleam in her dark eyes as she took in the sight of Caine. A few weeks ago the modellike young thing with her sculpted cheekbones, perfect Afro, and silky coffee skin would have caused a sharp streak of possessiveness to bolt through me. Not now. Sure, I still felt a thrill go through me that I was the one who’d just rolled out of bed with him, but the jealousy that had come from a lack of reassurance was muted now. It was manageable. And I realized that Caine hadn’t gone at all caveman on me these last few weeks either.
Progress.
So when he pointed to the dress and said, “Size six,” I humored him.
