Third in the Calypso Falls series.
Oldest Elias sister Bree has always been the pragmatic one, putting academics and family responsibilities before fun. Now in the final year of her doctoral program, she’s this close to achieving everything that she’s worked so hard for. There’s only one thing standing in her way—and his name is Spencer James.
Just when a truce between Spencer and Bree seems possible, the secret history between their two families comes to light, threatening not only Bree’s career, but their budding romance.
Spence’s sour thoughts were hijacked by the long-awaited sight of Bree’s arrival.
He’d expected her to scurry in with eyes down and an armful of books, especially as she arrived barely a minute before they were slated to start. But no. She walked into the room with unhurried grace, her head high, a slim briefcase swinging from her hand. While the other women in the room wore pants—no doubt due to the January temperatures—Bree was in a skirt, one that fit close all the way to her knees. A tan cardigan sweater over a cream-colored blouse . . . long auburn hair that was pulled back, giving the world a clear view of the pearls in her ears . . . square silver glasses halfway down her nose . . .
She was either on her way to a costume party or she had the worst case of Repressed Librarian disorder that he had ever seen.
Except—no. The clothing might be reserved but there was nothing shy about her attitude. She paused at the end of the table, surveying the open seats. Her gaze lingered on each person. Some got a polite smile. Some got what he suspected was the real thing, given the way her eyes lit up incrementally.
Spence got a cool, assessing glance, followed by a nod.
He’d only had to sit through Frozen once—thank God, his nephew hadn’t been into it, and his niece had been past the prime age for it—and he’d spent a good chunk of the viewing time indulging in a much needed nap, so what memories he had were a bit fuzzy. But Spence was pretty sure that the sister who could shoot ice jets from her fingers was capable of more warmth than Bree Elias.
It was a marked contrast to how she’d looked the last time he’d really seen her, with her eyes snapping and her face flushed while she ripped him a new one.
Time sure brought changes.
Her decision obviously made, she turned to head for the far end of the table. That was good, he decided. It would make it easier to watch her.
Except that when she turned and walked briskly away, he saw that the back of her skirt had some kind of slit. One that went a good halfway up the backs of her thighs. So the steady tap of her heels was accompanied by a totally unexpected, non-Frozen flutter of her skirt. The movement captured his gaze and his focus. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from that provocative dance of fabric. It was like her thighs were playing peekaboo with the world, and holy shit, couldn’t look away.
Bree Elias, he reminded himself. Voted Miss Tight Ass in school. Public disser. Daughter of his sworn enemy.
But damn. The woman could rock a skirt.