Page 51 of Storm Warning
He sat up straight, and the loss of his weight hit like a physical thing. “Nicholas Ivory.” He answered, voice crisp andprofessional. As he listened, his muscles slowly tensed beneath his shirt, and he gradually transformed. The man of leisure disappeared behind a businessman’s mask. “A minute, please. I need to get to my computer.”
He put the call on hold, and when he looked at her, conflict flickered in his eyes. “I really don’t want to leave you, but I have to handle this. We’ll talk later?”
Disappointment crashed through her, sharp and unexpected in its intensity. Kate wanted nothing more than to be with Nick, to feel his hands on her body again, his lips on hers, to lose herself in the heat they generated together. But she, of all people, understood life couldn’t always be about pleasure, sometimes duty called—even if the timing sucked.
She stroked a hand down his arm, enjoying the warmth of his skin, trying to memorize the sensation. “Of course.”
Nick pressed a quick kiss to her forehead before walking away after a last lingering look, the sound of his footsteps echoing on the stone before fading into silence, and Kate sat frozen, cold rising in the space left behind. The courtyard loomed larger, emptier, and she wrapped her arms around herself as unease crept in like fog.
What if this were all a mistake? What if she was reading too much into heated glances and stolen kisses? After all, they still barely knew each other and lived in different states—she in her middle-class Colorado life, he in his glamorous tropical world. She was here on vacation, a temporary escape from reality, and he traveled most of the time, his life a constant motion she couldn’t imagine keeping up with.
But as doubt whispered its poison, she couldn’t deny the truth humming through her veins. Deep down, Kate knew it was more than physical attraction. The way her breath caught when he smiled, the way her thoughts drifted to him in quietmoments, the way terror and exhilaration fought for supremacy in his presence—this was more than desire.
She just hoped it was more for Nick too.
With her heart tangled in confusion, threads of hope and fear wound impossibly tight, Kate forced herself to stand and wandered across the lawn to her own suite.
The grounds stretched before her, dimly lit and too quiet, her footsteps absorbed by the thick grass: each step hesitant, her body heavy, weighed down by the phantom memories of Nick’s touch—his fingers trailing fire across her skin, the possessive grip of his hands, the intoxicating pressure of his lips. The sound of his voice still lingered in her mind, his low rumble that made her shiver.
Kate replayed the evening again and again, unable to stop herself. The warmth of their closeness, the way he’d gazed at her like she was the only person in the world, the delicious heat that burned between them—all of it mingled with the sudden cold of his absence, the business call that stole him away. Happiness fluttered in her chest like a caged bird, fragile and tentative, yet doubt crept in alongside it, darker and heavier—an uneasy cocktail leaving her both longing for more and questioning whether she hoped for too much, too fast, for something that might never be.
The night air pressed in around her as she stepped into her suite, thick with the briny scent of the sea and the rhythmic hush of distant waves. The sound should have been soothing, but instead echoed the restless churning inside her, her emotions swirling like a riptide she couldn’t escape.
She would see Nick again—he’d promised they’d talk later—but she couldn’t help the worry gnawing at her, the fear their encounter might not lead to anything more, that this magical night might dissolve like morning mist when reality intruded.
As she fell into bed, she let out a deep sigh from the verycenter of her being. The sheets brushed against her flushed skin, too smooth, too empty. She closed her eyes and wished the doubts would fade away, that sleep would bring clarity or at least peace.
But as exhaustion pulled at her, she couldn’t shake the fear things might not work out the way she hoped they would. The thought settled over her like a weight, and she curled onto her side, hugging a pillow to her chest, trying to hold in the warmth of Nick’s touch as she slipped away to the arms of Morpheus.
Chapter 25
Unraveling
Kate layawake in the dark, the ceiling fan turning lazy circles above her, its faint rhythmic creak the only sound in the stillness. She’d only slept about an hour before waking, her mind too restless to surrender. The sheets were cool against her overheated skin, the cotton soft but somehow wrong, unable to soothe the restlessness thrumming beneath her ribs. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the look on Nick’s face as he drifted to sleep beside her that first day—unguarded, almost gentle, the hard lines of his jaw softened in a way that made her chest ache.
It did something to her, that glimpse of softness. Made her want things she had no business wanting. Made her want to reach out and trace the curve of his mouth, to smooth the furrow between his brows.
Then the heat in his eyes tonight…
She shifted restlessly, pressing her palm over her heart, feeling the wild flutter of a trapped bird beating against her sternum. It thumped louder in the quiet, each pulse a reminder of how alive he made her feel.
This trip was about finishing her book, about provingshe could still build something meaningful on her own. She hadn’t planned for Nick Ivory to make everything so… complicated. Hadn’t planned for the way her breath would catch when he walked into a room, or how the scent of his cologne—something fresh and clean—would linger in her senses long after he’d gone.
He appeared effortless in his certainty. Someone who commanded a room with no need to raise his voice, who could tilt his head and listen in a way that said, in that moment, you were the only person in the world. Even exhausted, he carried himself with a quiet confidence that made her feel transparent, like he could see all the places she didn’t measure up—all the cracks in her armor she’d spent years trying to hide.
A flush of self-consciousness prickled across her skin, heat blooming from her chest to her cheeks despite the cool air. Kate remembered the photos she’d seen of him online—at charity galas and business conferences, always in a tailored suit which probably cost more than her monthly rent, always looking like he not only belonged, but owned that world.
He’d been born into that world. Old money, private schools, a last name that carried weight and opened doors before he even knocked.
She tried to picture him in her childhood kitchen, with its peeling linoleum and the dented kettle her mother refused to replace, the faint odor of mildew which never quite went away no matter how much they scrubbed. The image didn’t fit. Neither did she. Though she had come a long way from that kitchen, her career, her life, didn’t measure up to Nick’s. He’d built an empire. She supported herself comfortably—barely. Some months were feast, others were famine, and the constant uncertainty gnawed at her confidence.
A sigh escaped her, trembling slightly at the edges.You’re being ridiculous. Nick had never treated her as less. If anything,he’d been unfailingly respectful, almost protective—holding doors, pulling out chairs, his hand at the small of her back with a warmth that seeped through fabric and into skin. But it only made the ache worse, a hollow throb beneath her breastbone, because it reminded her how easy it would be to let herself want more. How dangerously close she was to falling.
She wanted more. God, how she wanted. That was the problem.
She traced a fingertip over the curve of her wrist, barely touching, the phantom weight of her ex’s judgment heavy, like manacles she couldn’t quite shake off.‘Writing isn’t real work, Kate. If it were, you wouldn’t have time to nap in the middle of the day.’Even after all this time, she still heard the scorn in his voice, the dismissive curl of his lip. She’d had other dates, other men, say basically the same thing, their eyes glazing over when she mentioned her job, their interest evaporating like morning mist.
Her throat tightened, a painful constriction which made swallowing difficult. No matter how many contracts she signed or books she sold, part of her—a small, wounded part still living in that cramped kitchen—was convinced he’d been right. Her life wasn’t substantial enough to stand beside someone like Nick. She played pretend with imaginary friends while he built empires, changing the world in tangible, measurable ways.