Or the way her creamy skin picked up the glow of the sunset through the apartment building’s lobby—or the scent of her hair, a fruity concoction that stayed with him long after she was in the elevator. And who was she going to see? The desk refused to tell him who lived in the penthouse, discretion being the excuse, and one of the reasons he’d chosen this building. Maybe it was some celebrity? Why did he care? Because she’s sparked your interest, pal. Oh, and your mother likes her better than you. Does not. She does, too. Damn. He had to find a way to make this right with Cat. If she stopped coming to see his mother... He took a long pull from his beer and focused on trying to understand what his mother found so interesting about these romance novels. He needed a way to connect with her again—something they could talk about.
