The Architect (Nashville Neighborhood Book 3) by Nikki Sloane (top e book reader .TXT) 📗

the same way she’d come from, trying to entice me to follow her.

So, I did, which added to Clay’s confusion. He fell in behind me as I strode into the living room.

I pulled to a stop when I saw the new addition. Noir seemed proud to show off this custom piece of furniture. She went to the base of the tree and vaulted up it, passing by the first platform and continuing to climb higher. There were several platforms to choose from, but she stopped at one in the middle so she could dig her claws into the sisal rope section that was wound tightly around the center support.

It wasn’t like the cheap, two-tiered cat tower covered in carpet I’d bought her months ago, which she’d mostly destroyed instead of Clay’s furniture, thankfully.

For one thing, this piece was taller than I was. The center support was a bare, whitewashed tree trunk with a natural curve and a fork halfway up, splitting off into two smaller branches. The platforms were covered in thick, white faux fur, which gave the impression there were clouds floating around the tree.

Like everything else he did, it was beautiful. How in the world did he do that? He’d created a cat tower, but it was also gorgeous art. And it looked even better when Noir finished sharpening her claws and climbed up onto the next platform, nestling in on her cloudlike bed. The black of her coat popped out and complimented the monochromatic piece.

I reached over and scratched her behind the ears, enjoying the contented purr she awarded me.

“When did you make this?” I asked him. “It’s amazing.”

“Oh, thanks. I did it over the weekend.” He looked at me like the tree was no big deal, and not what he wanted to talk about right now. “Lilith, did you hear what I said?”

“Yes.” My tone was cool. “What are you sorry about?”

He sighed. “Everything.”

“Be more specific.” We needed to work on our communication, and I wanted that to start right now.

My request didn’t frustrate him. Instead, he nodded. “First, I’m sorry for what I said to Travis about our friendship being a mistake. I’ve already apologized to him, but I wanted to make sure you know too. He was right. I was scared.” He made a face. “I was fucking terrified.”

This was a good sign, and my pulse quickened. “I’m glad you two talked.”

“Me too.” He motioned toward his couch. “Do you want to sit? I have a lot more to apologize for.”

Another good sign. “Sure.”

I sat, but he didn’t. It made it feel as if he were giving a presentation, selling himself to me, but I didn’t mind that. I could use a little persuasion after the weekend he’d put Travis and me through.

“Second,” he said, “I’m sorry for not saying anything when I started to develop feelings for you. It’s not an excuse, but when I made that promise, I never expected it to happen to me, and when it did—”

“You got scared.”

He set his hands on his hips and hung his head. “Yes. I didn’t want to drive you away.”

“So, you’re saying you’re not scared now?”

He shot me a sad smile. “Oh, no, I’m definitely still scared, but I’m no longer too scared to say so. The last week has been miserable without you.”

It was such a huge step for him to admit what he was feeling. He was genuine and willing to be open. I’d never seen him vulnerable before, and . . . lord. He hadn’t a clue how sexy it was.

“And third,” he came over and sat beside me, close but not too close, “I’m sorry about how I reacted all of last week. I felt like what we’d done—what I’d done—during the threesome crossed a line with Travis. I didn’t ask him if he was okay with what I did, and afterward, I . . . struggled with how I felt and what it meant.”

I turned, tucking one leg beneath the other so I could face him, and softened my voice. “Did it mean something to you?”

“Yes, and no. Travis and I talked about it today. How I liked what we did because it gave me control and power.” He tossed a hand up. “And physically it felt good.”

I couldn’t stop my smile. “It did.”

“I’m not romantically attracted to him, but sexually?” He hesitated, but then pushed through. “I’m trying to get comfortable with the idea that . . . might be a gray area for me. How do you feel about that?”

He looked so nervous, and I put a reassuring hand on his cheek. “I’m more than fine with that. As someone who’s incredibly attracted to both of you, let me say this—I get it.”

I wasn’t trying to make light of what he’d just shared, but dear God, did I understand, and thankfully, he chuckled. It seemed to break some of the tension he had, and he lifted a hand to touch mine on his face.

“I’m sorry for Friday night,” he said. “I felt ambushed and it was a knee-jerk reaction. Everything went off the rails, and when you said it was all or nothing, I thought I’d already lost you. I can’t compete with him.”

He nearly broke my heart all over again, “Oh, my God, Clay.” I leaned in, pressing our foreheads together. “It’s not a competition. I love you both.”

His mouth found mine, and this kiss was as unexpected as they came. He was the confident and in control dominant who could make me tremble, but when my lips pressed against his, I discovered he was shaking. It wasn’t in fear—this was relief. He hadn’t won or lost me to another man.

He was realizing he had us both.

“I’m going to do better,” he said as soon as the kiss ended, “and I have a plan. If you don’t like it, I’ll throw it out, and we can draft a different one.” The corner of his mouth quirked up. “Very little with you goes according to plan anyway, but do you want to hear it?”

I gave