One Good Reason (A Boston Love Story Book 3) (7 page)

“Great.” I try to tug my hand from his grip, but he’s still holding tight. With a sigh of resignation, I give up and use our linked arms to gesture at the elevator. “Lead the way, man-child.”

He squeezes my hand before we start walking.

I
should’ve known
Parker wouldn’t be able to stay quiet for more than twenty-five seconds. We’re barely inside the elevator when he starts up again.

“So, I know we’re going to get the flash drive, but what are your thoughts about stopping for thai food on the way?”

My jaw clenches and I glare over at him. “Do you know the definition of
silence
? Also known as
quiet
? Noiseless? Mute?”

“Would you believe it — none of those sound familiar.”

“I don’t believe anything that comes out of your mouth.”

He gasps dramatically and drops his voice low. “You wound me!”

“Fatally?” I ask hopefully.

“I’ll recover.” He grins and swings our interlocked hands in the space between us. “You know, you should be nicer to me.”

“I don’t do things that make me want to stab my eyes out.” I bury a laugh beneath a bitchy tone. “As a general rule.”

“You didn’t want to stab my eyes out last night.”

He moves closer.

I shuffle away as far as his arm will allow.

How many more floors until we reach the fucking ground and I can put some much-needed distance between us?

Parker’s voice goes husky. “Last night… You wanted to do something entirely different with me.”

I swallow and ignore the burst of warmth in my stomach. “Push you off a cliff?”

“No, not that.” He takes a stride into my space.

I side-step until my hip presses against the elevator wall, refusing to look at him. “Run you down with my car?”

“Nope.” He leans closer and his palm tightens against mine.

“Set your clothes on fire?”

“Well, maybe, but only because you want to see what I look like naked underneath them.”

I whip my head around to snap something snarky at him and practically butt noses with the man. He’s close — dangerously close — and his eyes are locked on my mouth. Whatever I was about to say evaporates in an instant.

“No snappy retort?” he murmurs.

I try to summon words, but nothing comes out. He’s invaded all my senses like some kind of plague and completely disabled my ability to speak.

His face tilts closer. “No sassy comeback?”

I tell myself to move out of his path.

My feet don’t seem to cooperate.

He leans in so close I know he’s about to kiss me… And, god help me, I’m about to let him. I’m a statue, waiting for that last shred of distance to disintegrate, waiting to be consumed once more by the passion that filled my veins last night, the desire that still laces my blood like a deadly neurotoxin…

“No witty insult?” he whispers, his mouth practically on mine.

I lick my lips.

And then the elevator jolts to a stop.

There’s a chime and a metallic hum as the doors slide open, snapping me out of my daze. I pull away from Parker so fast he loses his grip on my hand and is left clutching only air as I practically race from the elevator, whirling around to glare at him as soon as there’s some distance between us.

“You!” I bark. “Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?” he asks innocently, a heated look in his eyes.

“You know what.” I’m breathing hard; it takes effort to get my pulse under control.

“I really don’t,” he says, following me into the lobby.

It’s odd to see such a busy office hub totally empty — I guess he wasn’t kidding about sending everyone home early. I have a hard time reconciling the fact that the joking, adorable — shit, I mean
obnoxious
,
annoying
— playboy is actually in charge of so many people. The idea of him as a
boss
is totally at odds with the Parker I’ve encountered thus far. He’s so charming and lighthearted — fuck, I mean
infuriating
and
tiresome
— it’s tough to keep in mind that he’s one of the most influential businessmen in the city.

“I mean it.” I point at him menacingly as he advances on me. “No more.”

“No more what?” His grin widens as I backpedal through the deserted atrium toward the doors to the street. “No more riding in elevators? That’s going to be inconvenient. My office is on the top floor.”

“No more
trying to kiss me
in elevators,” I correct, still backing away from him like he’s in possession of a deadly weapon.

Who am I kidding?

His lips
are
a deadly weapon.

To my great shock, he freezes, adopts a contemplative look, and gives a slow nod of agreement. “Fine. I won’t do it anymore.”

I’m so surprised he caved without a fight, I draw to a halt, leaving about ten feet of space between us. I pretend not to notice the faint flicker of disappointment in the pit of my stomach.

“Really?” My voice is skeptical.

“Sure.” He shrugs. “I’m not unreasonable.”

I stare at him warily for a long time and find no signs of insincerity in his expression.

“Okay,” I say finally, accepting the remote possibility that he’s being serious. “Can we go get this over with, then?”

“Of course,” he says, his tone totally professional as he walks to my side and falls into step beside me. I glance at him from the corner of my eye, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He’s strangely silent all the way to the doors.

Wow. Maybe he was actually being serious for once…

“Plus, it’s not some great sacrifice,” he adds, chuckling as he holds the glass door open for me to walk through. “I can live without elevators. You didn’t say I wasn’t allowed to try and kiss you anywhere
else
.”

There it is.

“Ugh!” An incredulous scream bursts from my mouth. “You are the most infuriating human I’ve ever met.”

“Ever?”

“Ever.”

“Thank you,” he says, his voice somber as he trails me out onto the street. “I take that as a high compliment.”

I groan.

He laughs and takes my hand again.

It’s going to be a long day.

“
W
here are we going
?” I ask for the thirtieth time. We’re walking along the waterfront, still hand in hand — much to my annoyance. The winter wind whips at my face and I find myself wishing I’d brought a heavier jacket. My ankles have blisters from the shitty heels and my shoulder is aching from the weight of my laptop bag. I push the strap higher and sigh heavily as my feet wobble on the uneven cobblestone path.

Parker squeezes my hand. “I did offer to carry it for you,” he reminds me.

It’s true; he did offer. Twice.

I objected because I felt like being obstinate at the time. But that was ten blocks ago, when we were still in the Financial District and I was feeling high and mighty. Now, all I’m feeling is cold and I have the beginnings of a cramp in my side from lugging the heavy bag all this way.

I sigh again.

If I ask him to carry it, he will in a heartbeat.

I won’t though — I’d rather suffer in silence than give him the satisfaction of knowing he was right.

Ass face.

“Want a piggy back ride?” he offers, dropping my hand and doubling over like a parent offering their six-year-old a lift. His eyebrows waggle in an obnoxiously cute way.

I roll my eyes and brush past him.

His long-legged strides catch up to mine in seconds. “Not even a smile. Jeeze. This is my best material.”

“
This
is your best material?” I ask skeptically.

“I take it back — my best material involves a lot less talking and a lot fewer clothes.” He winks.

I make fake gagging noises.

He bumps his shoulder into mine in retaliation. “If I were a lesser man, I’d be offended that you don’t laugh at any of my jokes.”

“Playboy, you don’t seem to be offended by anything I say or do, so—”

My words are cut off by the sound of my phone buzzing noisily in the side pocket of my bag. I pull it out, glance at the screen, and frown when I see it’s Luca calling. I don’t want to ignore his call — he’s insufferably overprotective about my “safety” — but I also don’t want to talk to him while Parker West’s side is fused against mine like superglue.

Just putting Luke and Parker in the same sentence makes me uncomfortable. I can’t imagine what would happen if they were ever in the same room — the cage-fighting UFC-hopeful and the cavalier billionaire, breathing the same air.

Nothing good, probably.

“I’ll call him back later,” I mutter absentmindedly to myself, hitting a button to send the call to voicemail. Glancing up, I find Parker staring at me.

“Boyfriend?” His tone is light, but his eyes are sharp.

I shove the phone back into the side pocket. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Yes,” he says immediately. “That’s why I asked.”

I roll my eyes. “Can we focus? You were supposed to take me to your house. Not for a stroll along the marina. It’s pretty fucking cold out here, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“Hey, anytime you want to come a little closer, just say the word. You won’t hear me objecting, darling.”

“How thoughtful,” I snap sarcastically.

He smirks as we round a bend in the path and I suck in a breath.

Twinkling white lights and red bows adorn every tree in the park. There’s a man in a Santa hat collecting money for a local charity — every few seconds the sharp peal of his bell rings out, followed by his voice.

Merry Christmas! Ho, ho, ho!

A family walks a few yards ahead of us, the little girl holding both her parents’ hands. She looks up at them with pure love in her eyes as they pull her toward the nearby carousel, which is blaring holiday music from every speaker. All three of them are signing off-key.

It’s the most wonderful time of the year…

I drop my eyes and try to breathe through the stinging ache inside my chest.

“Seriously,” I ask Parker when I think my emotions are under control. My voice cracks a bit, despite my efforts. “Are we getting close?”

I don’t know how much more of this I can take.

He nods. “Yep.”

“And?”

“Which part of
yep
did you not comprehend?”

I shoot him a look. “Just tell me where we’re going.”

“Sorry, I left your copy of the day’s itinerary at home.”

“I don’t need an itinerary. I need basic facts.”

“You are really fucking terrible at being spontaneous, you know that?”

“Spontaneity is irresponsible and overrated.”

“It’s also something else.”

I raise my brows. “Reckless?”

“
Fun
.” His eyes narrow. “You ever do anything just for fun, Zoe? Ever let those wheels in your head stop spinning for long enough to enjoy yourself?”

No
.

I look away. “That’s none of your business.”

“Guess that’s my answer.”

I scowl. “I have fun.”

“Oh, yeah?” he asks. “Doing what? Plotting world destruction? Overthrowing governments? Sabotaging corporate businessmen?”

“Maybe I find that stuff fun.”

“Maybe.” He pauses. “But I have a feeling you’ve never really had fun in your life.”

I slam to a halt and, since our hands are still interlocked, he stops too. “You don’t know anything about me! And, for your information, I have plenty of fun.”

He looks skeptical.

“I…” I trail off. “I run. Three times a week. That’s fun.”

“Running isn’t fun.” Parker shakes his head. “It’s a mandatory activity one partakes in so they can continue to eat copious amounts of tacos.”

I smile, despite myself. “Well, I do other fun things.” My mind spins as I try to think of something — anything — I do for pure enjoyment. “Like… I do graphic design on the side, sometimes.”

“A useful skill,” he says, looking unimpressed. “Not a
fun
one.”

“Well…” I trail off again. I feel a humiliating blush creeping up onto my cheeks. “Just… Give me a minute, I’ll think of something.”

“Wow. You really don’t do anything for fun.” His voice is incredulous. “That’s just sad, snookums. Pathetic.”

“I do so!” I protest. “And I am not pathetic!”

“I didn’t mean
you
were pathetic,” he corrects softly, his eyes going gentle in a way that makes me nervous. “I meant it’s a pathetic state of affairs that someone like you doesn’t have a single moment of her day reserved for pure, unadulterated joy.”

“Not all of us have time for hobbies, playboy.” My voice may be a tiny bit defensive. Caustic, even.

He doesn’t seem to notice. “We’re about to make time.”

“What?”

“Come on,” he says, tugging me after him once more.

“Wait!” I drag my heels but it’s no use. “Would you just
stop!
You promised you were taking me to the flash drive.”

“I am,” he calls over his shoulder, never breaking stride as he leads me off the path onto one of the marina docks jutting out over the water. “Two birds, one stone, darling.”

I sigh. Fighting with him is exhausting — especially since he seems to enjoy it so much. Then again, I’d be lying if I said there isn’t a certain amount of attraction — Shit, I mean
amusement
— in arguing with the man.

“Oh, cheer up.” He slows his pace a bit until I’ve caught up. “Humor me with this one, tiny detour, and then you’ll get your flash drive back and be rid of me forever, snookums.”

I turn my head to glare at him.

“I mean
Zoe
,” he corrects, grinning unabashedly. His cheeks are red from the cold. His eyes are gleaming again. He’s annoyingly good-looking.

“Fine,” I mutter because, honestly, it’s easier to cave at this point.

He pumps a fist into the air, victorious, like he’s Judd Freaking Nelson in
The Breakfast Club
.

“
One tiny detour
,” I add in a threatening voice. “That’s all I’m agreeing to.”

“Of course,” he agrees readily —
he’s so full of shit
— before tugging my arm so I stumble into him. We collide, our interlocked hands trapped between our bodies, our sides pressed together as we walk along the dock.

It feels distinctly couple-esque.

Definitely crossing into PDA territory.

And yet… he’s warm. Like a human space heater.