“Hope she doesn’t give Rogers a heart attack.” Henry added in a low tone of appreciation, “That dress.”
He didn’t have to tell Shane twice. Crickitt was wearing the same dress she wore for her second interview, the night he asked her to Triangle. It was hard to keep his thoughts clean and hands to himself then, let alone now that he knew what treasures she kept hidden beneath the swinging material. His hands choked his glass. He’d wanted to touch her all day, but how could he after what he’d put her through? What he was still putting her through.
She’s better off without me.
That hurt, as truth was wont to do.
“You’re good together,” Henry said.
Shane snapped his head around to protest.
Henry didn’t let him. “Oh, please,” he said. “My wife used to be my assistant, too.” He clapped Shane’s shoulder. “Married thirty years.” With that said, Henry excused himself.
Shane finished his wine, shaking his head at the man. Boy, did ole Henry have it wrong. He and Crickitt may have had a chance before Shane left without a word as to where he was going. They may even be able to work together amiably in the future, but he doubted they’d get back to the way they once were.
After the first restful night’s sleep in over a week, he awoke this morning certain of one thing. He didn’t have any right to expect more from her. Amicable working relationship, maybe. Her in his arms, in his bed? Absolutely not. Even if she knew how much he loved her—
Shane’s steps slowed as if he were slogging through wet cement, every muscle in his body growing as heavy as lead.
I love her.
The glass started to slip from his hand, and he tightened his fist before he dropped it and it shattered into a thousand pieces at his feet.
Like his heart.
No, no. No, no, no.
He wasn’t good for her. He’d only cause her pain. And…and…there was probably another reason. Probably a hundred of them why he was bad for her. But he was having trouble arranging his thoughts, which jumbled in his brain in a confused mess.
“Having fun?” Crickitt asked.
Shane jumped. He didn’t notice she’d sidled up next to him until she spoke.
“Randall Rogers is interesting. Not.” She rolled her eyes. “Sparkling wine, please,” she said to the bartender.
Tell her.
But he couldn’t. His mouth was as dry as if he’d eaten a handful of saltines and then washed them down with a glass of sand. One thought had solidified in his brain, rendering him speechless.
He loved her with everything he had. And it still wasn’t enough.
Crickitt accepted her fresh wine, watching him warily.
“Sir?” the bartender prompted.
Shane released his stranglehold on his empty stemware. “Water,” he croaked.
“You okay?” Crickitt reached out and touched his bare arm, causing Shane’s stomach to flip.
No, I just realized I’m in love with you. God help me.
Shane twisted the cap off the water bottle and guzzled down half its contents. Taking a few breaths, he swallowed one final gulp before giving her an exaggerated nod. “Fine.”
Crickitt lifted an eyebrow at him before scanning the crowd. “How much longer would you like to stay?”
Until I get a hold of myself.
He massaged his temple. “I, um, don’t want to be rude and leave too soon.”
“Okay.” He worried Crickitt might say more, but she didn’t, thankfully.
His heart squeezed. Good God, he loved her. What was he supposed to do with that?
Henry’s wife approached, looping an arm into Crickitt’s. “I promised you a tour,” she said into her ear. “Let’s get away from these stiffs.” She smiled over at Shane. “Present party excluded, of course.”
Then she towed the woman he loved toward the house.
* * *
Hildy Townsend pointed out fine works of art including a van Gogh original and a vase from the Ming dynasty. Crickitt oohed and ahhed where appropriate, but inside, she was far too depressed to care about the twelve thousand square feet of luxury the Townsends called home.
She was worried about Shane, despite the fact he was a grown man and she had no claim to him. She’d kept an eye on him from afar today, watching him prowl the sidelines of the party, mostly keeping to himself.
When her champagne glass ran empty, she’d taken the excuse to check on him. He’d stepped off his first flight hours ago, and the takeoff and landing had both been a bit rocky. He didn’t seem to be over it, his movements jerky as he tugged his collar and flitted his eyes around the patio.