His hands closed over my shoulders. “Look at me,” he said.
I hesitated, then slowly opened my eyes. I saw warmth in his face. Warmth and desire and what looked remarkably like happiness. I think I may have even seen love.
And then, without warning or pretense, he leaned in and kissed me so gently it almost made me cry again.
“Come on,” he said after he pulled away. He twined his fingers in mine and started to walk toward his car.
“Where are we going?”
“I have a few things to tell you,” he said. “I think we’ll start with Ivy.”
The car ride was quiet, primarily because Evan wasn’t saying a damn thing and neither was I. He seemed content to wait. I was afraid to break the silence in case I was wrong and it hadn’t been happiness I’d seen in his eyes. And if he was taking me to meet the girlfriend he had secreted away in a tower, then I didn’t want to know about it until the last possible second.
Mostly, though, I was willing to just surrender. I’d worked myself into a frenzy over something I was beginning to believe was a misunderstanding. And I’d twisted my own life and future around because of guilt and fear. I needed to learn to step back—and Evan was the only one I trusted.
I hoped like hell I wasn’t wrong.
But when we reached Evanston, I couldn’t stand it any longer. “How much farther?”
“Five minutes.”
I swallowed, then nodded. “Okay,” I said, and was irritated by the way my voice broke. I glanced sideways at him. “Don’t break my heart.”
“Never,” he said, with such firm certainty that an errant tear escaped down my cheek.
I brushed it away, annoyed at myself for being an emotional mess.
We were in a neighborhood near Northwestern now, and he pulled onto a side street and then up to the gate of a stunning mansion with a beautiful manicured lawn. “We’re here,” he said, as he keyed in a gate code. The gate swung open and he pulled up toward the house, and as the driveway angled around, I caught sight of a pool, a tennis court, and a guesthouse on the property.
“Where are we?” I asked.
“My house,” he said, and then killed the engine.
“Yours?” I wasn’t expecting that. “But the houseboat …?”
“I prefer to stay there.” He opened his door and got out of the car. “Come on.”
I took a deep breath and followed him, not at all sure what to expect but certain of only one thing. If I tried to guess, I would undoubtedly be wrong.
The front door had a keypad lock and he punched in the code and then stepped inside. I followed, then looked around in silent awe at the beautiful interior. I’d grown up in a fabulous home, and the condo I now lived in was stunning. But the interior of Evan’s home was an absolutely perfect mix of beauty and comfort. It reflected money and taste along with an ultimate sense of home. It felt cozy and inviting. And that just made it more odd to me that he didn’t want to actually live there full-time.
“It’s me,” he called, his volume surprising me. “Who’s home?”
A moment later, a large woman in black drawstring pants and a scrub-style top came in from an adjoining room with a dishtowel in her hands. “Mr. Evan! Why didn’t you call? I would have held dinner for you.”
“Don’t worry, Ava. I’ll fix us something later.” He indicated me. “This is Angelina Raine. She’ll be staying the night.”
Before I could react to that news, Ava took my hand and was clutching it warmly. “How wonderful! We’ve heard so much about you.”
I glanced at Evan in surprise. “Thank you. I appreciate you putting up with us on such short notice.”
She waved the words away, and I thought she was going to say something else, but the pounding of feet on the floor above us caught all of our attention. The pounding was followed by a woman’s voice calling, “Evan! Evan!”