Honor Bound by Joey Hill (speld decodable readers .txt) 📕

now watching television and eating something cooked in the microwave, which would be much more comfortable than this lung-squeezing dress.

And where the hell was Tish?

She wound her way through the crowd, examining each table for her name, not yet

finding it. She spotted a familiar group, some of the contractors she worked with regularly. Maybe she would be sitting with them. As she approached, the crowd thinned and she caught sight of a tall, dark-haired man with broad shoulders who looked very familiar from behind.

But it couldn’t be. He wouldn’t come to this. Would he?

He turned, and her breath caught.

Clay. Clay in a tux. Clay looking drop-dead gorgeous in black and white. Her legs began to shake and she didn’t think she could take another step. She reached for the chairback next to her and held on for support.

She hadn’t expected this, wasn’t ready to see him yet. Ever.

What was he doing here? And how dared he look so damn good?

He walked—no, stalked toward her.

“Ella. What are you doing here?”

He looked angry to see her. Why would he be angry? She should be angry.

“I was about to ask you the same question. Why are you here?”

He scanned the room. “There are people here I need to see.”

“Same people I need to see, I imagine. That’s why I’m here. And Tish made me come.”

He narrowed his gaze as he searched the room. “Uh-huh. Where is Tish?”

“No clue. She dumped me as soon as we got here.”

“How convenient.” He returned his gaze to her, scanning her from toe to head as he had done in Hawaii. She flushed, the cool room suddenly growing warmer. “You look . . .

beautiful.”

“Thank you. You look pretty hot in that tux.”

His lips lifted. “Thanks. It’s uncomfortable as hell.”

“So is this dress.”

“It looks like someone sewed you into it. Turn around.”

She did. She didn’t know why, but she did.

“Christ. Is that a . . . corset?”

“Yes.”

“Fuck me,” he said in a harsh whisper.

She’d love to. Dammit, no, she wouldn’t. They were over. There was nothing between them.

Oh, right. Sure they were. So why had the entire room and her body gone up in flames the second she laid eyes on him?

Chemistry. Physical attraction. She refused to deny that portion of it any longer. Why should she? She’d had ample evidence of it in Hawaii. But that was all it was. It wasn’t love. She wouldn’t love him.

Couldn’t.

“Well, we’re here. Together,” he finally said.

“Yes.”

“How have you been since we got back?”

“Busy.”

“Ditto. You bidding on the downtown parking garage?”

“Yes.”

“We will, too. I also heard there’s going to be a new hotel going up on Seventh Street.”

“I heard about that, too. Haven’t seen any specs yet.”

She hated that they’d been reduced to one-liners about business, that the ease they’d shared with each other that week had dissolved into basic business discussions.

That had been her wish, hadn’t it? That they keep things business only?

But this was different. Before, they had been comfortable with each other.

They were seated at the same table together. Tish—the traitor—finally made her

appearance and gave her a knowing smile throughout dinner. Ella felt trapped between Clay and Tish. She was mad at Tish, felt set up, and had nothing to say to Clay, who seemed content to spend his time talking to one of the city councilmen seated at their table. When dinner was over, she nearly leaped from her chair.

“Where are you going?” Tish asked.

The entire table looked at her.

She had no idea where she was going.

“Ladies’ room,” she finally managed, making a beeline out of the ballroom.

She washed her hands and took the opportunity to stare at her reflection in the opulent oversized mirror in the seating area of the restroom. Her face was flushed, pink circles dotting her cheeks. Her entire body was hot. Maybe she was coming down with

something.

Yeah . . . a case of Clay. Of having to sit next to him and not touch him, not kiss him, not laugh with him, not be able to enjoy the easy conversation they’d always had with each other.

Dammit, she missed him. She wanted him back. And she wasn’t going to be able to have him.

She sat on one of the chairs and stared at herself in the mirror.

Why couldn’t she have him? Why did she have to be so afraid? Everyone died. Not

everyone died young. Clay was strong, healthy.

She thought James had been healthy, too.

She laid her head in her hands, fighting back the ache, the memories, the fear.

“Honey, you can’t spend the night in here hiding.”

Her head snapped up. Tish.

“I’m not hiding.”

“Yes, you are. And you have to stop.” Tish crouched down and laid her hand over Ella’s.

“James is gone. You’re still here. You have to start living again.”

“I have been. I’ve built our company up. I’ve gotten up every day and worked day and night. I haven’t laid around and felt sorry for myself once.”

“I know. But that’s work. That’s distraction. That’s not living. You have a chance to love someone and you’re putting up any barrier you can to keep it from happening.”

She started to argue, wanted to put the blame on Clay, but she knew it would be a lie.

“You’re right.”

“So what are you going to do about it?”

Just the thought of going out there and facing him, of telling him how she felt, made her stomach clench, made her feel sick. But she had to try. “I don’t really know, Tish. I guess not hiding in the bathroom would be a good start.”

The tables were cleared and the room darkened by the time she had fixed her lipstick and made her way back to the ballroom. The band was playing and couples twirled together out on the sizeable dance floor. She wound her way around people milling about. Her table was empty. Everyone must be involved in conversation or dancing. She laid her bag on the table and stared out at the couples on the floor, the overhead lights shining down on them.

“Dance with me.”

She pivoted and arched her brow