That was bullshit. At our joint dinner date, he’d gotten it lightly toasted. I’d watched as he had spread butter on it, noticing how he’d done it one-handed, the other arm hanging over Cat’s chair, his fingers gently rubbing along her bare shoulders.
“If you give me a minute, I can get dressed.” Cat looked down at her silk pajamas, the shorts and tank top set barely appropriate for this conversation, much less a jaunt across their property and over to ours. In contrast, I was dressed for a workout in skintight leggings that lifted my ass and a low-cut bra top that always attracted attention at the gym.
She’d probably just gotten up. Took her dear sweet time rolling around in bed before strolling downstairs and burning her hardworking husband’s toast.
“I’ve got that call, remember?” His hand ran down her side, and I watched as he gently slapped her butt, the connection of palm against flesh loud. I flushed.
She glanced at me, then smiled up at him. “Okay, but be quick. You’ve only got fifteen minutes.”
I fought the urge to loop my arm through William’s and pull him toward my house. “We will,” I promised.
I eased back through the bushes easily, William’s journey a little rougher, given his size. He batted away branches and came loose, brushing off his T-shirt and jeans. I waited for him, bouncing softly on the toes of my shoes.
“What kind of bird is it?” He strode toward the house, all business, but I could see his excitement in the hunch of his posture. I could have smashed the bird against the wall with a broom but had seized the opportunity to get William alone and boost his self-esteem.
It was a Bicknell’s thrush, but I shrugged, feigning ignorance. “I don’t know. Something small? A pointy beak. Beady eyes.”
He headed toward the side entrance, and I hoped he wouldn’t compare it to his own. “Where is it?”
I pulled him to the right. “In my bedroom. Let’s go in the front door.”
Inside, we climbed the curved staircase in silence. At the top, he glanced toward the wall of closed windows. “How’d he get in?”
“I had the balcony doors off the living room open. He must have flown in and found his way upstairs.”
I pulled the handles of the double doors, unveiling our master bedroom in its perfectly staged condition. Messy sheets. My perfume still in the air. A lacy bra hanging from the arm of the lounge. I reached for the bra and yanked it off as if I were embarrassed by it. “Sorry. I didn’t have a chance to straighten up.”
“It’s fine.” He closed the door behind him, and our eyes met. Time suspended. He cleared his throat and looked away, walking slowly around the room. His brows rose in surprise when he spotted the bird, perched on the top of a lamp. “Oh. He’s a little guy. Looks like a thrush.”
I shrugged in mock ignorance. “Is that what he is?”
He turned his back on the bird and worked the lock on the balcony doors, swinging them fully open. Ignoring the view, he used his foot to turn down the braces and locked the doors in place. “I’m surprised he flew all the way up here.”
I wasn’t. I’d spent twenty minutes chasing him up that staircase and into this room.
“Next time, just open these doors. If you had, he’d have flown away by now.”
I nodded somberly. “It’s just ... birds terrify me. I have visions of them pecking my eyes out.” I shuddered and moved to the farthest corner of the room, away from the bird. It twittered.
He chuckled and took a step toward it, raising his arms and creating enough motion to scare the thrush into flight. It immediately went up and out the door. Problem solved.
“Oh.” I snorted. “Well, that was easy.”
He stepped out on the balcony and loosened the first door, then the second, pulling them closed.
“Talk about embarrassing.” I pulled at the ends of my ponytail, tightening it. “I should have just done it myself. It’s just, he was way over there when I saw him, and ...” I pointed to the far end of the room, then covered my face with my palms, hoping he would come over and comfort me. “I’m sorry.”
Ned Plymouth would have had his pants unzipped by now. William Winthorpe only grunted. “It’s fine.” He touched my shoulder on the way to the bedroom door, which wasn’t the warm embrace I was hoping for but was apparently all I would get.
He opened the bedroom door and glanced at his watch. “I’ve got to get to that call.”
So much for my powers of seduction. Not a whiff of hesitation about heading back to Cat. I followed him as he jogged down the stairs. “Thanks for getting it out. I couldn’t leave to work out with it up there. I’m heading to that gym they opened on Alma Street. Have you been there?”
He paused. “Uh, no. We have one at the house. Cat has a trainer who meets me there.”
“Oh.” I frowned. Of course. A private trainer, and here I was, schlepping to the public gym like white trash. “Does Cat ever run? I used to have a jogging partner in Mountain View, but ever since we’ve been here ...” I shrugged.
“Cat?” He laughed. “Not unless she’s being chased by something.”