Scanning the room to make sure nothing personal is out, I decide it’s safe. “Yeah.”
Popping into the room, he holds out his hands, a tie in each. “I need a woman’s perspective. Which one of these is better?”
Squinting, I try to find a difference. Both ties are black, like his shirt, jacket, and pants. “They look the same.”
With a sigh, he steps closer. It’s only then I realize there’s a subtle light-black-on-darker-black pattern on both. Skeletons in the left hand, butterflies—or maybe moths?—in the right.
He fidgets, and I fight a smile. “The auction benefits dogs, and dogs like bones, so…”
“Skeletons it is.” Caine heads for the bathroom, adding, “You clean up good.”
Downstairs, the front door slams.
“Thanks,” I say, rising from the bed. A glance at the alarm clock on the nightstand shows Shane’s going to have to hustle to get ready.
Footsteps hurry up the stairs, and then Shane walks into the room, already undoing his shirt. Pausing, he takes in my dress and lets out a low whistle. Abandoning his buttons, he stalks across the bedroom toward me. Flames lick my cheeks.
“Oh, you’ve done it now,” he murmurs under his breath, eyes intense. “We’re not going anywhere tonight, and you have no one to blame but yourself.”
“We have to go. Think of the dogs.” I scuttle sideways as he lunges for me. Snagging my arm, he pulls my back to his chest, keeping me upright as my heels skitter across the floor.
He scoffs, his breath on my neck making me shiver. “Fuck the dogs. I’m going to—”
“Nope. That’s bestiality.” Caine’s voice rings out from the bathroom, his words echoing off the tiles.
Shane’s frustrated exhale sends another tingle streaking down my spine. Keeping an arm hooked above my breasts, his other hand gripping my waist, Shane turns us to face the bathroom doorway, and Caine. “What are you doing in here?”
“Tying my tie. Claire picked it.” He shakes his head at Shane, who’s, of course, still in his work clothes. “Don’t you know this is a classy event? Show some respect for the dogs you want to fuck.”
With a groan, Shane releases me, moving toward the closet. “Isn’t there something I can spray to get you to stop haunting our house?”
The “our house” makes me smile as I settle back onto the edge of the mattress.
“Nope, I’m only allergic to shellfish, remember?” He follows Shane into the large walk-in closet, his voice muffled by the wall. “So unless you want to fill a Super Soaker with clam juice, you are shit out of luck.”
I text Sydney while I listen to them bicker, only getting involved when Caine orders me to veto a dark brown suit Shane wants to wear. By the time we’re walking out the door, my cheeks ache from smiling. Tonight is going to be fun.
• • •
The event is held in a swanky hotel, the kind with a doorman and a chandelier in the lobby. Caine vanishes within moments of arrival to look for Margot. It’s not a black-tie affair, but Shane looks good enough to eat, his suit hugging his bulky body in all the right places. Getting to the ballroom where the auction is taking place is a process. For as reclusive as he is, Shane knows too many people.
Smile and nod, smile and nod.
Suffering through introduction after introduction, I give up trying to remember names. We’ve barely stepped inside the ballroom when Shane is cornered by yet another person wanting to talk shop. As soon as it’s acceptable, I excuse myself to peruse the auction. Local businesses have donated services and gift certificates, but their offerings don’t interest me as much as the easels throughout the room. Every easel holds a large plastic sign featuring photos of an adoptable dog and his or her story. Pausing to examine each one, I try to guess which will be the most likely to tug at Shane’s heartstrings. I could love a pit bull as easily as a Pomeranian, so it’s a matter of finding a dog he can’t resist. Parked in front of a picture of Ralph, a Rottweiler cross with a graying muzzle that gives him a distinguished appearance, I flinch when a voice jars me from my thoughts.
“You would be looking at the dogs instead of what’s up for auction.”
So much for never running into an ex when you look good.
Dread, resignation, and something akin to exhaustion overwhelm me. Against my better judgment, I turn to Keith. That twinge of pain is still there, but it’s fainter than the last time I saw him. It’s even duller than when my leg flares up. I look around the room for Naomi and can’t find her. The ballroom is massive and full of people. I picture Margot lurking with a drink, prepared to baptize Naomi again, and hold back a smile. “Is Naomi here?”
Keith shakes his head, green eyes trained on mine. His step closer makes me want to take a step back, but I hold my ground. “I’d like to talk to you. Maybe somewhere quieter?”
I go for neutral. “I’d prefer to stay here.”
“Right. Well, how are you, then?” Keith’s smiling, but it isn’t his real one. After eleven years of marriage, there’s no such thing as a poker face. The tightness around his eyes, the way he’s hooking a thumb into his pocket, and the fine line between his eyebrows are all tells. He’s angry, but hiding it.
It throws me off-balance. He wasn’t mad when I saw him at the Alley. I almost tumble into old habits, the urge to ask what’s wrong and then fix it so visceral that containing it feels like trying to hold back a sneeze. “Fine, thanks. How are you?”
“I’m all right. Be better if you hadn’t blocked me,” he says with a playful wince and a hand over his heart as if I’ve wounded him. “Will you at least tell me what I did so I can apologize? Or are you going to make me guess?” His inflection might make an eavesdropper think he’s teasing me, that this is all in good fun. Only I know there’s a blade under the sugary tone he’s keeping cotton candy light.
“There’s no reason we need to talk.” My smile is tense as I fight to keep from asking why he cares if he’s blocked, because I wasn’t responding anyway.
Don’t stir up trouble Shane will have to deal with at work.
“I know you and Underwood are dating. Did he tell you to block me?” Keith can’t quite hang on to his nonchalance.
“What?” My surprised laugh is genuine. “No, of course not. He doesn’t make me do anything.”
Except come so hard I forget my own name.
Keith shifts closer. “If he’s being controlling now, it’s only going to get worse.” His transition from barely concealed anger to whatever this faux concern is makes my head spin. “I’ve worked with him for years, Claire. Trust me, you two aren’t a match—he’s married to the firm.”
“Shane is not controlling.” I try to match Keith’s playful tone from earlier. “And thanks, but I’m not taking relationship advice from my ex-husband.”
“Understood.” Easing back, he turns both palms toward me as if fending off an attack. “Just trying to look out for you.” It’s all I can do not to roll my eyes.
Keith nods at someone over my shoulder, flashing a smile that probably only looks pissed off to me. Shane’s voice reaches me the same time the smell of his cologne does, the notes of cedarwood and bergamot almost as solid and comforting as the arm he slides around my waist. “Caught you.”
Clearly, I’m the only one worried about causing tension at the firm, because Shane presses a gentle kiss to my cheek as if we aren’t standing feet from my ex-husband. My ex-husband, who is looking angrier by the second.
Okay, then.
“Keith,” Shane says in greeting. There’s zero indication that he thinks this is uncomfortable, so I take my cue from him. “Tanner and I were just talking about the Nelson acquisition.”
That’s when I realize Tanner’s standing on Shane’s other side and give him a quick hello. As the conversation circles around work, Keith settles somewhat, still tense, but no longer radiating pure irritation. His eyes stay on me, though, making it hard to relax. Shane includes me in the conversation, dry as it is, tracing patterns on my hip with his fingertips the whole time. It’s impossible not to compare this moment to previous events with Keith, how I silently shadowed him or held up a wall. Being included, even if I don’t have much to contribute, feels good. It’s also nice not to have my sex life brought up as a topic of discussion.
