Because he couldn’t stop thinking about their kiss.
It hadn’t been a kiss he’d give a sister. Instead, it had been like his first taste of water after years in a desert, and he hadn’t been able to get enough, hadn’t even come close to satisfying his thirst.
Before he realized what was happening, the photographer placed Paige next to him, probably because they were the lone man and woman in the group.
The silk of her dress brushed his hand—and just like that, he was back outside in the snow with her, the silk of her hair against his fingers as he kissed her, as he devoured her mouth.
He was desperate to feel and taste her all over again.
But he couldn’t trust his judgment or his emotions anymore. He just plain couldn’t trust, so he knew he had to stay away from Paige until he had himself totally under control again. Especially given that Whitney had left his bed cold since her last fake miscarriage as the distance between them grew into a deep chasm.
Last night’s kiss with Paige had stirred up not only emotional longings, but physical ones too. Yes, he desperately needed to blow off some sexual steam with someone, but he knew damn well that the worst woman he could do that with was Paige. She was kind, giving, caring. And he wouldn’t just end up hurting her badly.
He’d lose her friendship forever.
Yet he still couldn’t stop reliving their wild, insane, sexy, mind-altering kiss.
The photographer took dozens of pictures, then rearranged them all again for more shots from different angles. “You two here,” he said, pointing in front of the arbor.
Before he, or Paige, could explain that they weren’t a couple, they were moved into position by the assistant, and more pictures were snapped.
Lyssa stepped between them as soon as the photographer finished and linked elbows with them. “What do you say the three of us get some champagne and start ringing in the New Year?”
Evan looked at his watch. “It’s only four o’clock.”
Lyssa rolled her eyes at him. “It’s never too early to celebrate a new marriage and a new year.”
He should be grateful for the way Lyssa had just separated him from Paige. Had it not been for her interruption, who knew what he might have said? Or done.
Because the kiss he and Paige shared had not only scrambled his brain, it had made it nearly impossible to remember who he was. Who Paige was.
But no matter how much he wanted to kiss her again, forgetting wasn’t something he could allow himself to do. Not ever again. For both their sakes.
Especially hers.
Chapter Seven
Evan left Chicago right after ringing in the New Year with his family. He justified his early departure with the fact that he’d been gone from the San Francisco headquarters of The Collins Group, for over a month. He’d been in contact with his hundreds of traders, financial analysts, planners, and market analysts while he was gone, but there was still plenty for him to personally catch up on.
But it was more than work that had him flying out early on January first. All evening at Will and Harper’s wedding reception, it had taken every ounce of willpower he’d had not to grab Paige’s hand and pull her away from the crowds to a quiet, secluded spot where he could devour her mouth again.
Somewhere he could devour all of her this time.
She had been far too gorgeous in her dress, the silky fabric caressing each and every one of her curves. When she laughed, he’d not only picked out the sound above everything else, he’d felt her laughter deep inside.
Had it not been for the family and friends who’d somehow managed to keep the two of them on opposite sides of the room the whole night, he might have slipped. He’d wanted to hold Paige close, bury his face in her hair and drink in the scents that had driven him nuts the night before. He’d wanted to bust past everything he knew to be wrong…and take the hot night of pleasure that Paige’s kiss had promised.
But she was the opposite of her sister. She wasn’t hard or conniving. Paige was sweet and guileless. She was giving and selfless. She cared for others above herself, thought of everyone’s well-being before her own. She gave too much of herself already, and he simply could not take anything more from her. The best way he could look out for her now was by not dragging her into his mess of a life.
Because he would never forgive himself if he hurt her.
Which meant it had to stop. All of it—especially the erotic dreams of her at night. They needed to get back to the place they’d been, where they used to laugh and talk without tension, just like when they’d been friends in college and everything had seemed so much easier.
In San Francisco, Evan’s driver met him at the airport. “It’s good to have you back, sir,” said Mortimer, holding open the door of the roomy town car.
“It’s good to be back.”
Mortimer had been with Evan for five years, and though Evan insisted there was no need for sir, Mortimer preferred the formality, along with a black suit, chauffeur’s cap, and shiny black boots.
For once, traffic was light, and the drive down the Peninsula to his home in Atherton seemed to flash by as he buried himself in more of the work he’d been doing on his plane.
Mrs. Mortimer opened the front door as soon as they arrived. The Mortimers had come as a package deal—housekeeper/cook and driver/property manager—and lived in a cottage on Evan’s property, with a tidy little garden. Mrs. Mortimer was as tiny as Mortimer was tall, with white hair as thick as her husband was bald.