Page 25 of Revelation (The Josh & Kat Trilogy #2)

JOSH

D essert and coffee are done. And for the past thirty minutes, Uncle William’s been telling Sarah stories I’ve never heard before about his late wife, Sadie, (a raven-haired beauty who died in a car accident about a year before Jonas and I were born).

“Do you have any photos of her?” Sarah asks.

“Of course,” he says. “I’ve got our entire wedding album upstairs.”

“Oh my gosh,” Sarah breathes, her cheeks flushing. “May I see it?”

“Of course. And I’ve got a whole bunch of pictures of Jonas and Joshua from when they were little I’ll show you, too. You’ll get a kick out of those.”

Sarah squeals. “And do you have photos of yourself as a little boy, too, Uncle William?”

“Sure, I might be able to dig up one or two,” Uncle William says, standing up from the table with Sarah. “Boys? Care to join?”

“Come with us, baby,” Sarah says, holding out her hand to Jonas.

“Sure,” Jonas says smoothly—shocking me for the billionth time today. He takes her hand.

I never would have predicted Jonas would say yes to voluntarily going down memory lane.

As Jonas well knows, almost all of Uncle William’s photos of Jonas and me as happy little kids include Dad—and normally, like me, Jonas bends over backwards to avoid seeing a photo of that bastard every bit as much as I do.

But, damn, I guess up is down and right is left when my brother’s in the presence of little Miss Sarah Cruz .

Uncle William looks pointedly at me and I shake my head.

“I think I’ll sit on the veranda and look at the Hudson for a bit,” I say.

My reply can’t possibly surprise Uncle William. As far as I’m concerned, if I never see Dad’s face again, it’ll be too soon for me—and Uncle William knows it.

“Okay, son,” Uncle William says softly. “Katya’s got the blue room in the back all ready for you. Just make yourself at home, as usual.”

“Thanks,” I say. “I appreciate it.”

The trio walks toward the far hallway, Sarah’s arm threaded into Uncle William’s.

“I bet Jonas and Josh were the cutest little things,” Sarah says happily.

“Oh, they were adorable little buggers,” Uncle William says, just before they exit the room. “Oh my, did those boys climb every rock and tree and chair and piano. I remember this one time, I found Jonas and Joshua...”

They’re gone.

I smile to myself. I so rarely see Uncle William outside of a business context.

I’m not used to seeing him acting like this—so relaxed and nostalgic.

I can only assume he’s acting this way thanks to Sarah.

Our crew’s fearless leader puts everyone at ease, doesn’t she?

Especially my high-strung brother. She’s like aloe vera on a sunburn for Jonas—a soothing balm for his soul.

And anyone can see it. Uncle William obviously has.

I didn’t detect even a hint of skepticism about Sarah from Uncle William, not even a whiff he thinks Sarah’s a gold digger.

His demeanor toward her has been one-hundred-eighty degrees from the cold way he reacted to Amanda when Jonas brought her here that one and only time—and Jonas had been with Amanda almost a year by then, I’m pretty sure.

And now he brings Sarah here after a fraction of that time, and Uncle William falls all over himself to make her feel like part of the family? Wonders never cease.

I get up slowly and stretch, groaning, and then amble toward the French doors leading out to the veranda overlooking the river from on top of the world, patting my stomach as I walk.

Damn, I’ve got to start hitting the gym like a madman when I get home.

I’ve been a glutton this whole week in Vegas.

Shit, especially now that fitness is gonna be my business, I’ve got to kick it up a notch, take a page out of Jonas’ book.

I certainly can’t let my stupid brother show me up in the gym.

Ha! Oh, fuck, I’m excited. I’m so fucking excited, I feel like a kid on Christmas Eve.

My awesome life’s about to get a whole lot more awesome.

Sayonara, Faraday same quirky-hipster-cool dorkiness; and, oh my God, what a comedy duo on the dance floor those two turned out to be.

Yet another photo lands on my screen. This time it’s Kat and Hannah sitting at a table in what appears to be a high-end restaurant, holding up wine goblets and a napkin that says, “To Josh Faraday, our generous benefactor!”

I can’t help smiling. I can’t believe this is the same girl who didn’t chase me even once during my last trip to Manhattan a couple weeks ago.

She played it so fucking cool that whole week, didn’t she?

Doing nothing but replying to my few, brief douchebag-texts to her, always making sure not to say a damned thing to reveal her interest in me.

I knew her game, of course—since it was the same game I was playing with her—but, still, it surprised the hell out of me she could hold out so long without revealing a single crack in her hard-to-get armor.

This time, though, the woman’s got no game whatsoever.

And I love it. She’s been peppering my inbox with adorable and affectionate texts almost nonstop since even before I boarded my flight for NYC.

And I’ve been doing the same to her, pretty much nonstop.

I can’t help myself—I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Kat since I kissed her goodbye early this morning and headed to the airport.

Man, that was one bed I was sorry to leave.

Another photo lands on my screen. This time, the photo is Kat all by herself, alone in the same bed I left her in this morning.

She’s wearing her barely there white tank top and G-string—the same clothes she was wearing this morning when I kissed her goodbye.

Her hair’s tousled. Her eyes are half-mast and full of arousal.

Man, that’s the look that makes my cock tingle—the same look she gets right after she comes.

I’d bet anything she took this photo right after getting herself off—and, hopefully, thinking of me while she did it.

But that’s not even the best part of the photo. The best part, the thing that’s making my heart pound painfully in my chest, is what Kat’s napkin says this time: “Wish you were here.”

“Me, too,” I say aloud into the darkness of the night. In fact, there’s no place I’d rather be than in bed next to Katherine Ulla Morgan. I take a deep breath, my mind smelling her phantom scent all around me. Damn. I miss her.

I touch the button on my phone to call her, my skin buzzing, my heart panging—but before the call connects, the French door behind me opens and Jonas walks onto the veranda. I quickly disconnect the call.