Appetite satiated, Simone pushed her plate back and leaned her forearms on the table as she looked past Mitch toward the view of the lake. It was just as beautiful downstairs as it had been from her room. The house was situated in such a way that all you could see were the trees and beach and lake… Not another house or person unless you specifically looked.
“Have you heard anything from Ryan?” she asked.
“No. He said it would be a few days.”
Simone knew that, but part of her had been hoping for news already. She felt helpless sitting here, doing nothing.
“I talked to Shannon this morning.”
Simone’s gaze snapped to Mitch. “You did?”
“Yeah.” He leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. “Does that bother you?”
“No.” Did it? Yeah, okay, it did. A little.
“She called my cell around eight. You didn’t answer yours.”
Simone closed her eyes briefly. No, at eight a.m. she’d been sound asleep because she’d been awake the whole night thinking about the man next to her. “Is she okay?”
Mitch reached for his coffee. “She’s fine. They were getting ready to head to the boat. Said she’d call later.”
Simone nodded. Ryan’s parents had taken the kids to Hawaii, and they’d rented a boat, which they were going to sail around the islands until it was time to come home or until Simone went to get her. Simone had been against the plan until she’d found out what a seasoned captain Ryan’s father was—he owned his own marina up in Puget Sound—but she still worried. It was her job as a mother to worry.
“So I have a proposal,” Mitch said, his strong, familiar voice cutting through her crazy thoughts.
Cautiously, she looked his way. She couldn’t read his expression. He didn’t look especially happy, but he didn’t look pissed either, as he had the night his house had been shot up. “What kind of proposal?”
Thoughts of Ford’s comment from last night flashed through her mind, warming her skin in a way she didn’t expect.
He set his mug down and leaned his forearms on the scuffed wood table. “We’re stuck here together for a few days. The way I see it, we have two options. We can go on ignoring each other and both be miserable the entire time, or we can make the best of it.”
She wasn’t sure where he was going with this. “What do you mean by ‘make the best of it’?”
“I mean…I think we should forget about everything that happened before this morning and start over.”
Start over? Was he serious? Simone’s brow dropped even lower. How could they possibly start over after everything that had happened between them? Why would he even want to? Conflicting thoughts flashed in her brain, followed by a warmth in her stomach she didn’t want to feel.
Mitch frowned. “I’ve obviously confused you. I meant start over as friends. And if not that…then at least not enemies. I don’t want to spend the next few days fighting with you or ignoring you. We got along once without the romantic stuff. I think we could do it again. At least for a couple of days, if we tried. What do you think?”
That warmth went ice cold, and her stomach rolled all over again, but this time not from hunger. This time the pain was from knowing everything between them was truly over for good.
Which was the best thing all around, she reminded herself. The sooner he got away from her, the better off he’d be.
She lifted her shoulders and straightened her spine, telling herself this was the only way it could be. Even if they could somehow fix things between them—and that was a big if, considering everything that had happened—honestly, she wasn’t sure her heart could take another blow like the last.
“Yeah,” she managed. “I think we could do that.”
His smile widened. Not a heated smile. Not a come-get-me smile like she’d seen on his lips so many times before. But a friendly, I’m-making-the-best-of-it smile. One that made her feel even worse than before.
He pushed his chair back and reached for the plates. “Good. Why don’t you go get dressed, and I’ll clean up the kitchen. Then we can decide what we’re going to do with the rest of the day.”
Simone nodded and rose from the table. But as she made her way for the stairs, she couldn’t help but feel as if something inside had died. Something that had come to life the day Mitch Mathews had barreled into her life. Something she was sure she’d never find again.
Mitch watched Simone head for the stairs and clenched his jaw to keep from calling her back.
When he heard her bedroom door open and close upstairs, he set the plates on the counter in the kitchen, braced his hands against the cool granite, and drew in two deep breaths.
This was going to be harder than he’d thought. Act like nothing had happened? Yeah, he could do that. Act like he didn’t still want her, mind, body, and soul? No way. He was already aching with the need to touch her, and they’d only been here one night.
God, he was fucking pathetic.
The new cell phone he’d picked up on the drive to Tahoe buzzed, and he grasped it from the counter, anxious for word from Ryan. But when he saw the number on the screen, everything inside him stilled.
Chris Murdoch. His boss. His Cypher contact within the company.
His pulse picked up speed, and sweat gathered against his palms. It could just be about work. Chris was probably wondering why he hadn’t shown at the job site in British Columbia. But something in Mitch’s gut said this call had nothing to do with work. It had to do with what had happened at his house. And why the hell Mitch wasn’t already dead.
Mitch hit Decline, then chewed on the inside of his lip and debated his options. At some point he had to call Chris, but he wasn’t ready yet. Not until he had more info and knew how to play it.
He cleaned up the kitchen, loaded the dishwasher, and poured himself another cup of coffee. By the time he was done, Simone was just coming back down the stairs.
He looked up when she stepped into the room, then nearly swallowed his tongue. She was wearing slim-fitting jeans, a loose white sweater with a ballet collar that showcased her toned shoulders, hung to her hips, and covered all but the tips of her fingers. Her hair was loose around her face, hanging in a fall of chocolate to her shoulders, and her face was clean of makeup except for a little mascara.
He’d seen her dolled up in expensive gowns for several charity events. He’d seen her in her lawyerly business suit, the picture of confidence. And he’d seen her first thing in the morning, when she’d roll over, all rumpled hair and smelling like him and the night before. And each of those times he’d thought she’d been at her most beautiful. But he’d been wrong. Walking into the room with the sunlight streaming over her, wearing that simple white sweater that shouldn’t be sexy but made him ache to touch her, he was pretty sure she’d never been more beautiful than she was right now.
“I heard your phone ring,” she said. “Was it Ryan?”
“No.” He fought back the need to reach out for her and tossed the dishtowel on the counter. “Someone from work.”
“You didn’t answer it, did you?”
“No. And I don’t plan to.”
Her shoulders relaxed. “Good.” She dropped onto the couch, rested her elbow on the armrest, and rubbed her forehead. “I don’t mean good. It’s not good that you’re having to interrupt your life for all this.” She dropped her hand. “What I meant is—”
Mitch moved into the living area. “What you meant was…not to say anything. We’re starting over, remember? This is what it is. We’re both dealing with it. So no more apologizing, okay?”