Page 102 of After We Fall

Once in the house, he walks me to the door of my room and turns me to him. His hands slide around my back and press me to him for a tight, warm hug.

I wrap my arms around his shoulders, stand on my tiptoes, and tuck my face into the crook of his neck.

He bends so his mouth is at my ear. “You’ll be at that New Year’s Eve party, Penelope.”

His low, growly words reverberate through me. “I will?”

“Yeah. You owe me a dance.”

I smile and snuggle in tighter, the warmth between us heating up.

For the foreseeable future, the light, the sound, the emotion must be muted, taken in doses. But there is one thing I hope I can always experience to full capacity.

Luke Granger.

24

“Penelope.” Claire Stark’s long athletic legs eat up the marble tile of the main ballroom at the Broadmoor Hotel. Legs currently adorned in a pair of shiny black holiday pants matched with an exquisitely feminine tuxedo jacket. She’s dressed to kill and has an expression to match. “Thank goodness you’re finally here.”

I bite the inside of my cheek to hold back a smile.

For five days, I’ve watched Claire handle the needs of the ranch with a confident hand. It’s petty of me, but it’s nice to see the stress written on her face and know she has limits. I was starting to believe that she was a superhero.

Or that I was easily replaced.

“How can I help, Claire?”

“Oh no you don’t,” Luke says at my side. Strikingly close to my side. It seems my choice of dress for the New Year’s party pleased him.

The form-fitting black dress with flutter sleeves falls to just above my knees, but the long, wide, silver zipper up the back gives the dress an unexpected spark. A zipper that Luke is currently running his knuckles over as we stand speaking to Claire. My only jewelry is Luke’s exquisite bracelet. And if the grunt and the fire in his eyes are any indication, he likes that detail of my ensemble too.

My four-inch black peekaboo heels with thick black bows around the ankles bring me just a few inches below Luke’s commanding height.

He darts his eyes to mine, and my face flushes with heat all over again, just like when he arrived at the ranch to pick me up for tonight’s festivities. Who can blame me? If the man looks amazing in his standard-issue cargo pants, he looks downright impeccable in the well-fitting gray suit, accompanied by a black shirt with two buttons opened as if he threw the ensemble on without a second thought. Which he probably did, as indicated by the stubble on his face.

I’ve never been one to fancy facial hair. Typically I look at someone who hasn’t shaved and want them to prioritize their life in a manner that allows for increased self-care. But this look on Luke? I immediately want to run my hands over his face.

A face that is now smirking at me.

“Baby?” he says.

I shoot my eyes from his lips to his eyes, then over to Claire.

Right. Claire. She needs my help. “I’ll just work with Claire for a few minutes,” I say to Luke.

“We’re only here for an hour. I’m already worried the lights and sounds are going to trigger a headache. You don’t need to be working on top of that.”

“Not working. Just helping. Please, Luke. I sit around all day doing nothing. It’s torture. Let me just talk to her for a few minutes.”

Luke studies my face, then turns to Claire, who stands before us with pleading eyes and hands clasped under her chin. “You have as long as it takes for me to get Penelope a drink. Then she’s back off the clock.” With those parting words, Luke stalks to the open bar.

Claire follows Luke’s exit with her eyes. He saunters between gorgeous round tables, each adorned with tall clear vases filled with dreamy white hydrangeas and roses, their greenery giving the perfect accent of color. The tablecloths and napkins provide the base for the winter-white motif, but the gold edges around the crystal goblets and porcelain china tie in the darker, shimmering gold of the chairs. A celebration fitting for a palace.

I glance at the artwork hanging on the walls, gorgeous paintings showcasing the depth of the Rocky Mountains. They were picked by the quirky and beautiful volunteer art teacher at Twelve Bluebells Ranch, Daphne Fielding, who also works at the hotel’s Contemporary Gallery.

When I glance at Claire, she’s not looking at the decor the same way I am.

“Claire?”