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Just like she couldn’t force Ryder to forgive her.
Her shoulders stiffened. She wouldn’t cry in front of her new bodyguard.
Once the presentation to the military was complete, she needed to reassess her life. Since her brother’s death, her entire focus had been her father’s dream. Her brother was gone. Her father was gone. She’d done as he’d asked and hopefully, her adaptive AI software would protect future military pilots from the cascading series of technology failures and human error that had doomed Reese.
It was her turn to have a life.
She slowed her steps to the parking lot and let Caleb direct her to yet another black vehicle—this one a four-door sedan.
Maybe it was good Ryder wasn’t around. She needed room to breathe. To figure out her path forward.
With or without Ryder in it.
Dressed in faded blue jeans, white Nike high-tops, and a Hawaiian shirt, Danny looked like any other guy in his early thirties hanging out in his garage.
Minus a bottle of beer in his hand.
The weather was temperate this evening, so Nathalie didn’t feel bad about banishing him from her home.
Tonight was for her.
She changed out of her work clothes and into jeans and a red Stanford t-shirt, and plaited her hair into two braids before padding to the guest room where Ryder was staying. The minute she opened the door, his scent caressed her like a physical touch.
Bergamot, leather, and spice. Deeply layered, complex, and masculine.
Like him.
She took a moment simply to breathe him in.
The bed was made, its corners neatly tucked in, the bedspread smooth. He must have picked that habit up in the military because if his bed had been made in college, she’d been the one to make it.
The white chest of drawers she bought for the room was opposite the bed.
It wasn’t snooping if it was her house, and she didn’t go through his pockets or anything, right?
It was totally snooping.
She batted away the guilt and pulled open the drawers.
Ryder had folded his casual clothes, underwear and socks with military precision and organized them in the two top drawers. Her fingers drifted over the black boxer briefs. With the build he had now, they looked damn good on him.
Jesus, Nathalie. Get a grip.
Imagine what he’d think if he could see her ogling his underwear.
She moved to the closet. Ryder’s suits, dress shirts, and ties hung neatly in one corner.
In the other corner, on the upper shelf of the closet, an abandoned piece of her life waited. She snagged a finger on the clear plastic box and pulled it to the edge of the shelf to lift down from its hiding place. Dropping onto the carpet with her treasure, she held her breath and unlatched the lid. Tubes of watercolor paint nestled together in rows in the top two trays. Her brushes were packed at the bottom.
“Hello, old friends. It’s been a minute, hasn’t it?” Finally, something she could control. How had she let so many years pass without returning to her art?
She picked up one tube and gave it a light squeeze.
Hard.
Not a good sign.
Twisting off the cap, she peered inside. The gum arabic had separated from the pigment—not surprising after sitting unused for so many years. All the other tubes were in the same condition. She could cut open each tube and re-wet the paint, but it would take time to refresh each color.