I’m just praying that you don’t mess it up by pushing her away.
Mess it up? Push her away?
He’d have to let her in first.
And that wasn’t happening. Ever.
Eight
What the hell am I doing here?
The question ricocheted off Joshua’s skull as he sat in the back seat of his Lincoln town car outside Sophie’s apartment building. Showing up here after the photo of them on the gossip site didn’t rank among his smartest decisions. If anyone saw him here, it would only feed the fires of speculation. But he’d tried to call her to see if she’d seen it and give her a heads-up if she hadn’t. Either she hadn’t seen his phone call or she’d refused to answer, because he hadn’t been able to reach her.
Logic argued that he leave it alone—leave her alone. But the thought of her being blindsided... Well, here he was sitting outside her home like some kind of goddamn stalker. Growling a curse, he shoved open the back door.
“John, I’ll give you a call when I’m finished here,” he instructed his driver.
The younger man behind the wheel nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Closing the door shut, he stalked across the street and up to the two-story brick building with its neat side lawns and sidewalk bordered by honeysuckle. Just as he approached the door, a couple with a small child pushed through the entrance.
“Oops, sorry ’bout that,” the man apologized with a grin. “This one’s a little anxious to hit the park.”
“No, no, it’s fine,” Joshua said, stepping out of the way and catching the door before it could close.
But his gaze remained ensnared by the little girl who couldn’t have been older than four years old. The same age the child Sophie accused him of having was supposed to be. A sudden longing jerked hard in his chest, catching him by surprise. Years ago, when the world had been his to conquer, he’d wanted what this husband and father had—family.
Now? Now, a wife, a child... They just meant a person had more to lose.
Shaking his head, he moved into the large lobby, letting the door close behind him. An elevator ride later, he stood in front of Sophie’s apartment. Before he could again question the wisdom of being here, he knocked. And waited. And knocked again.
Hell. He glanced down at his watch: 6:48 p.m. She should’ve been home by now, but then again, Sophie had the same work ethic as he did. It was one of the things he admired about her despite her choice of career. So she very well could still be at the office.
He had turned and taken a step away from her door when it opened.
“Sophie,” he greeted, running his gaze from the brown-and-gold wavy strands that fell over the shoulders of a purple slouchy T-shirt that hung off one shoulder, down the black leggings to her bare feet with pink-painted toes. Dragging his perusal back up, he couldn’t look at her—not those slender, toned thighs, high, firm breasts or lovely dove-gray eyes—without thinking of how she’d looked, naked and damp from sweat, under him.
“Joshua, what are you doing here?” Joshua, not Josh, as she’d called him for most of those hot, dark hours they’d spent together.
Part of him wanted to demand she call him the shortened version again. And in that sex-drenched, husky voice. Instead, he slid his hands in his pants pockets and kept a careful distance between them.
“I needed to talk with you about something. I’m sorry for dropping by unannounced, but you weren’t answering your phone today.”
“Yes.” She thrust a hand through her hair, drawing the strands away from her face. “I saw the missed calls. I intended to call you back but just got really busy.”
He cocked his head. “You make a shitty liar, Sophie.”
She dropped her arm, heaving a sigh. “What are you doing here, Joshua?” she repeated.
“I need to talk to you. And not out here in the hallway.”
“I—” Indecision flicked in her eyes, her full lips flattening. Finally, after a brief hesitation, she nodded and stepped back. “Fine. Only for a minute, though. I’m working.”
Suspicion flared quick and hot in his chest. Was she writing the follow-up article on him? On what he’d revealed to her? He hadn’t stipulated that Saturday night had been off the record. Would she...?
He snuffed the thoughts out as he entered her apartment and closed the door behind him. But the embers of doubt... He couldn’t extinguish them. How messed up was it that he harbored reservations about her trustworthiness, but he still wanted her with a hunger that gave him stomach pains?
“Can I get you something? I was about to fix a cup of coffee. But I have wine or a bottle of water,” Sophie said.
The reluctance in her offer had a corner of his mouth quirking into a humorless half smile. Good manners probably had her extending the courtesy instead of truly wanting him to stick around and enjoy a drink.
So he accepted.
“Coffee is fine.”
Again, her lips tightened, but she headed to the kitchen that was separated from the living room by a breakfast bar. Taking the opportunity, he surveyed the apartment. Though on the small side, the living room with its overstuffed couches, wood coffee and end tables and big arched windows appeared cozy rather than cramped. Lived in. Compared with his condo, her place was a home, not a place to just crash instead of the office sofa.
The room flowed into a space that could’ve been a dining area but Sophie had jammed with filled-to-overflowing bookcases, a tiny love seat and lamps. A reading nook. Easily he could imagine her curled up on those cushions, book in hand.
He tore his gaze away, returning it to her as she finished up the second coffee in the one-cup brewer. Though irritation practically vibrated off her petite frame, her movements were fluid, graceful.
“What are you working on?” he asked, needing to remind himself of who she was. What she did. What
