Only for You Read Free Page B

was the amber flecks amid the golden brown of his irises that were sending electrical impulses to her nerves, making her skin feel tingly and sensitive, her lungs and throat tight and uncooperative in their usual tasks. The light touch of his forearm on her neck earlier, as they’d stood so close at the door, had garnered almost every ounce of her attention, even with Cecilia Arends and Tommy searching for her just inches away.
    “I hope you don’t think it’s odd for me to tell you this,” she began tentatively, after they’d talked for a while. She was reclining on the pillows, having found a relatively comfortable position in the armor. “But during the summer I turned sixteen, I traveled across the country with my mother from San Diego to New York by car. I tried to live on the West Coast with my mom and my new stepfather after my parents’ divorce and my mom’s remarriage, but it didn’t work. I told her it was because I’m a New Yorker at heart. I have the city and the seasons in my bones, but in reality . . .”
    She faded off.
    “You didn’t get along well with your new stepfather? Or your mother?” Seth asked, his gravelly baritone sending prickles of pleasure along the back of her neck.
    Gia grimaced regretfully. “Let’s just say I couldn’t abide by some of my mother’s life choices. At the time it was a bigger deal than it is now. She was a very talented attorney when she was with my dad and me. I was used to seeing her as a smart, together, accomplished woman. She threw away all of her potential, her career—everything—to become a La Jolla trophy wife.” She noticed that Seth remained very still as he watched her, his golden eyes trained on her with a complete—and thrilling—focus. “It was sort of hard to see, for a girl forming her own ambitions and goals for the future, that’s all,” she explained ruefully. “Besides, it was like a watershed summer for me. Developmentally. But that’s not the point,” she said apologetically, recognizing she was rambling. “I begged my mom to drive me back to Dad’s instead of fly. I was in my Jack Kerouac stage,” she grinned. “Driving across the country sounded very romantic to me. Mom humored me because it kept me with her for a few days longer . . . and maybe I wanted that too. It was a wonderful trip, just my mom and me and the long hours on the road with the country unfolding in front of us. You can’t help but bond under those circumstances, you know? We’d been going through some real mom-daughter drama—we
still
go through some mom-daughter drama—but that trip . . . well, it’s a kind of touchstone for us, a wonderful memory both of us cherish,” she trailed off wistfully.
    Noticing Seth’s unwavering, palpable attention on her, she hastened to continue. “In New Mexico, we stopped at one of those roadside gas stations and stores that sell everything. I was stretching my legs and looking at some of the artwork from local artists that was on sale there, and I saw this very subtle, masterfully carved and painted sculpture of a man.” Her gaze flickered over his face; she suddenly felt uncharacteristically shy. “And it just blew me away. The face. Even though the expression was so impassive, it spoke volumes to me. I bought it with all the money I had in my purse, ignoring my mother’s protests. I still have it today, in my Manhattan apartment.”
    Seth looked vaguely amused and puzzled. “You thought I’d consider it odd for you to tell me that?”
    When she recalled her meandering approach to the topic, she laughed. She’d wandered far from the central point. “No, but now you will because of my lame storytelling skills, right? My whole point is: You look like it. The carving. It’s why I keep staring at you . . . I think . . .” she faded off awkwardly.
    He calmly took a swallow of the water he was drinking, but kept his gaze on her. Panther eyes. That’s what they reminded her of. Hypnotic.