The Architect (Nashville Neighborhood Book 3) Nikki Sloane (sight word books TXT) 📖

his hand on Travis’s chest coming in as a distant second.

Clay’s expression was guarded, so I couldn’t tell if he loved or hated the idea, but he hadn’t moved. He hadn’t pulled his hand away from me. “Together?”

Travis’s voice was tight. “Yes.”

Light glinted off Clay’s lenses as he turned his attention toward me and searched my expression. Could he see how badly I wanted this? That maybe I needed it as much as Travis did? He must have, because his focus moved on to the other man.

His voice wasn’t loud, but it rang through my body.

“All right.”

We didn’t talk about Travis during dinner, nor did we on the drive back to our neighborhood. After Travis left the restaurant, Clay canceled his entrée with the kitchen, and then Clay proceeded to give me the date I’d been expecting when I’d come over to his house earlier this evening.

We talked about his project ending and the next trip my parents were planning, still undecided if they’d do Europe or Australia. It led the conversation to what traveling we’d done, and from there . . . his family.

His sister was married with two kids and lived on the west coast because she worked for a big tech company. His parents moved to Florida after retiring, so he only saw them at the holidays. He was alone here in Nashville, but didn’t struggle much with loneliness.

He shared personal things with ease now, and I soaked the information up. How he’d toyed with becoming a fulltime carpenter after high school, but a teacher had pushed him to try drafting, and that was it. He loved precision and details and building, plus he was ‘decent at math.’

Conversation flowed freely while we pretended our thoughts weren’t drifting to what would happen this evening. If Clay were drafting a plan in his head, I couldn’t tell, but perhaps he was excellent at multitasking.

Anticipation wound tightly around my body as we returned to his house. Clay was pouring us each a glass of white wine when we received the text message.

Travis: I’m finished. Where are you guys?

Clay: My place. Come over.

His line of text was casual, but it could have just as easily been an order and steam flooded every inch of my body, from my fingertips down to my toes nestled inside the beautiful shoes Clay had given me.

The kitchen renovation was nearly complete, so I pressed my hands to the quartz countertop to try to cool down at least some part of me. It was possible I’d burst into flames when Travis got here, and I frantically looked for something to distract.

“Did you decide on a backsplash?” I nodded to the two samples still taped to the wall.

He stood beside me as we drank our wine and studied the options. “Not yet. Do you have a preference?”

“I don’t know if I can pick one. I like them both equally.” It wasn’t until the statement was out that I heard how it sounded. It could apply to a much larger decision than the decorative bits of ceramic and glass. “I mean, they both look good.”

“Yeah. They’re both attractive,” he conceded. “But you don’t think one is better looking than the other?”

“No, I honestly don’t.” I stared at the tiles, pretending I was talking about backsplashes and not my partners. “They’re attractive to me in different ways.”

He stared at the samples, which were similar, and both cast in varying shades of gray. “I get that.” His voice was off. “Well, I can’t have both. That’s just . . . not how it’s done.”

“I don’t know. Some people do it.” My heart was hurrying along. “Maybe it’d create something really unique and amazing.”

“It sounds like a lot of work.”

I nodded. “I don’t think it’d be easy, but it could be worth it.”

He picked up his wine glass, took a long sip, and stared at the wall like he wished the backsplash were already installed. “A decision doesn’t have to be made tonight,” he said. “Let’s not talk about tiles anymore.”

It wasn’t tense between Clay and me after that, but the mood had taken a hit, and conversation was stilted until the doorbell chimed. Clay set his wine glass down on the table beside the couch and moved to the entryway, while I followed behind. When he opened the door, the other man came in and scoured the room until his gaze landed on me, and his shoulders relaxed. As if the sight of me had a calming effect.

“How did it go?” The band was back around my chest, tight with worry, and I squeezed the wineglass in my hand.

His eyes had a hint of sadness, but they were clear. “It was good. Peaceful.”

“Good,” I said.

The three of us fell into awkward silence for a moment, but Clay rescued us. He motioned that we should move into the living room.

“Did you want something to eat?” he asked Travis. “You had to skip dinner.”

“No, thanks. I grabbed something quick after I left the zoo.”

“Wine?”

“Sure.”

Clay left us, his footsteps growing quieter as he disappeared into the kitchen. Travis held my gaze as he steadily approached, moving in like nothing else existed. It was so intense, I began to retreat, only to bump up against the back of the couch near the center of the room.

He took the glass of wine from my hand, deposited it on the side table next to Clay’s, and then cradled my face in his palms. It was so he could hold me still while he leaned down and claimed my mouth with his. I went rigid under his kiss. Not because I didn’t want it, but because I could hear the other man in the kitchen as he opened a cabinet and retrieved a wine glass.

But I was pliable in Travis’s hands, and even though I didn’t know if this was allowed or respectful, I began to soften. His slow, sensual kiss was less about romance and more about seduction. It was dangerous.

Which also made it exciting.

Clay’s footsteps grew louder as he