“For the first time in a lot of years, I feel like I’m not.”
We stand like that—nose to nose, the backs of Rogan’s fingers against my cheek—staring at each other for who knows how long before I see a familiar smiling face peek over his shoulder. Only Mona, Amazon that she is, with the added help of her stilettos, could accomplish such a feat.
Her appearance and my subsequent blush break the spell. I glance back to Rogan, who is still watching me, paying Mona no attention whatsoever. “I guess I’d better drink some of this coffee before my client gets here. He’s always late. Unruly. Mean as anything. Just an impossible bear of a guy,” I tease lightly, anything to diffuse the tension that’s suddenly vibrating between us.
“Maybe I could give you a few tips on how to turn him into a pussy cat.”
“Oh, I don’t think he has any problems with pussy,” Mona murmurs snidely from behind Rogan.
My mouth drops open and it takes all my effort not to laugh, but when Rogan’s emerald eyes crinkle at the corners and his smile returns, full blast, I can’t seem to help myself.
“Mona!” I chastise around my chuckle and burning cheeks.
“What?” she asks. Her face is the picture of innocence as she rounds Rogan and stands beside us. “It’s the truth.”
Rogan clears his throat. “On that note, I think I’ll go have a seat and wait for my makeup artist. This conversation isn’t gonna do me any favors.”
As he walks back to the chair in front of the mirrors, Mona and I have an entire conversation in absolute silence.
I widen my eyes at her. Mona! She raises her brows at me. What? I shake my head once. Don’t do that! She gives me a little nod and a roll of her eyes. Fine. I take a deep breath. Calm, calm, calm. She reaches out and squeezes my hand. You’ve got this.
“Well, I guess I need to take myself upstairs and let you get to work. White won’t know how to act when I walk in this early. I usually bring my best friend some coffee, but since someone else has taken over my duties . . .”
She grins again and I peek around her to the broad-shouldered god sitting in my makeup chair. He doesn’t appear to be paying us any attention, but I know better than to assume that’s the case. He’s obviously much more observant than what I’ve given him credit for.
“Lunch?” I ask before Mona leaves.
“Lunch,” she replies, giving my hand a final squeeze before she dances out of the room, calling over her shoulder, “See ya later, Rogue.”
I grin when Rogan’s head whips around toward the door. “Did she just call me ‘Rogue’?”
“She did. She must’ve decided she likes you. She only gives nicknames to people she likes.”
I take a sip of my coffee, letting it warm what little bit of my insides aren’t already toasty, as I make my way to my station.
“And what do you do once you decide you like somebody?”
I turn to look at Rogan over my shoulder. He raises guilty eyes to mine, eyes that I caught staring at my butt. My prim reply dies on my lips and another bubbles up in response, a response that’s reminiscent of the old me. Because, for some reason, for just a heartbeat, I feel like my old self again. The self who had confidence and hope for a bright future. The self who was able to hold her own with guys no matter what they looked like. The self who was worth so much more than what I’ve become.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” I taunt pluckily, letting a touch of a grin play with the corners of my mouth. It’s both liberating and terrifying to get a glimpse of Kat, the old me, rising through the ash that people know as Katie.
“Hell yeah, I would,” Rogan returns with unadulterated enthusiasm.
I turn away with my grin, but just as soon as my attention is back on my wide array of cosmetics, Kat disappears, leaving only Katie behind.
I feel the pinch of sadness grip my heart. My smile suffers a slow death when I realize that little glimpses are all I’ll ever get of the old me. Kat is dead. She died in a fire a long time ago and she’s never coming back.
TEN
Rogan
This woman . . . Holy shit!
What was that? I don’t know how the hell I got lucky enough to see her drop her carefully maintained exterior for a few seconds, but I’m damn sure glad that I did! Seeing her come out of her shell for that one comment, for that one quick flash of flirtatious fun was so unexpected it was like hearing a wildcat roar come from a fluffy little kitten.
Katie . . . Jesus, she’s fascinating! Even though I’ve only spent what amounts to probably a couple of hours with her, I’m dying to know everything there is to know about her, about why she hides such a wild and sexy woman behind that shy smile and those haunted eyes.
On the outside, she’s like many of the other women I’ve dated—beautiful face, great body—only she doesn’t have to try like they do. Not at all. She just is beautiful. But on the inside, I can already tell that she’s more. She’s obviously not superficial or stupid or easy, all of which are so common in this business. I’m getting all the opposite vibes from her. Just interacting with her the little that I have makes me think that I’ve never met anyone like her. I kinda like that she’s a little shy and a little hot. It’s a great mixture. It implies depth, and depth has been in short supply in my life. But now that I see it, that I sense it, I want it. I want it all. It’s like seeing the ocean after only playing in puddles, or tasting rich cream after only ever having candy.
“What’s your favorite kind of candy?” I ask out of the blue just as Katie starts to swirl a brush over my cheekbone. Her hand stills and her deep blue eyes fly to mine.
“Pardon?”
“Candy. What’s your favorite kind?”
“Why?”
“I was just thinking about it and wondered.”
“You were just thinking about candy?” she questions dubiously.
“Yep,” I reply with a grin. She shakes her head and resumes her swirling. When she doesn’t answer, I prompt, “Well?”
“Snickers,” she admits after a long pause. “My favorite candy is Snickers.”
“Snickers satisfies,” I mutter, loving how blood pours into her cheeks, turning the porcelain of her skin to a pale pink. “But it’s not candy.”
She slides her gaze to mine again, her finely arched brows tucking together. “Of course it is.”
“No, it’s chocolate.”
“Chocolate is candy.”
“Chocolate is not candy.”
“Then why is chocolate in the candy aisle at the store?”
“Because the world is deluded. I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you that, but it’s true.”
She drops her hand and tips her head to the side, giving me a withering look that makes her even more adorable. I’ve never wanted to kiss someone so much in my whole damn life. “You are right and the rest of the whole world is wrong?”
“Precisely. You’re one smart cookie, Beautiful Katie,” I declare, adding, “Also not a candy, by the way.”
Her lips twitch, but she refuses to smile. I have no idea why. Five minutes ago, she was playful, and now she’s . . . guarded. Maybe that’s what makes her so intriguing to me—the inconsistencies, the contrasts. They fill me with the desire to see how deep the ocean really goes, to taste how rich the cream actually is. I want to know what makes this woman tick and then I want to touch every cog, stroke every wheel. I want to be inside her head when I’m inside her body.
Christ Almighty! I really am starting to sound like a woman!