Текст книги "About that Night"

Автор книги: Beth Andrews

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It took all kinds.

A dark-haired guy tapped the blonde on the shoulder. Something about the color of his hair, the shape of his head seemed familiar. Before Gracie could figure out if she knew him or not, the blonde turned and squealed as if he’d spent the past ten years on a deserted island with only a volleyball for company, then threw her arms around him. Hugging her back, he turned, giving Gracie a clear view of the huge smile on his face.

His handsome, lying face.

Gracie stumbled and rammed her hip into a chair, bumping it so hard against the table, the glasses on it wobbled. Her face flamed. “Sorry,” she mumbled to the cowboy, but from the corner of her eye, she saw Andrew Freeman’s head jerk up, felt his gaze on her.

The cowboy motioned for her to join him by the large window overlooking the front lawn. She went gratefully. It was better to have that bit of distance between her and where Andrew embraced the beautiful girl.

Better, but not enough. Not nearly enough.

“Couldn’t you find her?” the cowboy asked.

Gracie pursed her lips. He didn’t seem angry. More like he couldn’t understand why she hadn’t done what he’d wanted her to do. Ivy’s words about him being willing to pay to get his way floated through Gracie’s head. Yes, he was nice. And no, he wasn’t yelling at her—like some other guests might have done. But he was obviously used to getting his way.

Maybe Ivy had been right to keep her distance.

“I found her,” Gracie admitted. “I told her you wanted to speak with her, but she declined.”

He raised his eyebrows as if that was a turn of events he’d never expected. “Excuse me?”

“She declined. It means to politely refuse an invitation. But that’s just in this case. Decline could also mean to become smaller or a gradual loss of strength, numbers, qual—”

“I know what decline means,” he said, exasperation edging his tone.

She got that a lot.

“You looked totally confused, so I wasn’t sure.”

He rubbed his forehead, bumping the edge of his hat. “Did you tell her I wanted to see her?”

Hadn’t she just said that? “Yes. I was very specific. She said you weren’t used to being turned down. That this would be a good life lesson for you. So here—” Gracie held out the money. “You can have this back.”

He flicked his gaze from her hand to her face. “That’s yours.”

“But I didn’t earn it. And it doesn’t feel right, keeping it. Plus, now that I’ve had time to think about it—” and time to let the excitement of that much money fade “—I realize it’s sort of icky, a middle-aged man—”

“Middle-aged?” He looked pained. “I need another drink.”

“Giving a teenage girl that much cash. I mean, you don’t look like the kind of guy who’d try to bribe young girls to do, well, things—if you know what I mean...”

He shut his eyes. “I wish like hell I didn’t.”

“But then, everyone said Ted Bundy didn’t look like a psycho serial killer, either, so I think it’s best if I just give it back. Trust me,” she continued when he just stood there. “It’s better this way. For both of us.”

He finally took the cash, and she hurriedly turned away before he decided he was willing to double or triple his offer. She loved Ivy, but Gracie was only human. And if the price were right, she just might be tempted to drag Ivy over here by her hair.

“Hey, Gracie,” Andrew said, having disentangled himself from the blonde. “How’s it going?”

Gracie pulled up short. Darn it. Why had Andrew approached her? Why was he talking to her?

She wanted to hate him for giving her that lopsided grin of his, especially after bestowing the same smile on another girl not two minutes ago. Wanted to hit him for looking nervous, as if he was scared she was going to start ragging on him. Or worse, ignore him.

She wished she could. But that would make him think he still had the power to hurt her. That she still cared about him.

“I’m fine, thank you,” she said, shooting for cool and polite but coming across as uptight and possibly deranged. She tried to work up a smile but figured it would only make things worse. “How are you?”

“Uh, fine. Good. Really good.” Andrew cleared his throat, flipped his head to get his stupid floppy dark hair out of his eyes. “I, uh, didn’t know you worked here.”

Why would he? It wasn’t as if they’d had long, involved chats about their lives. Or anything at all. They were neighbors. Not friends.

Even if she had naively believed otherwise not so very long ago.

“I started here a few months ago,” she told him.

“Cool. That’s...cool.”

Thick, uncomfortable silence surrounded them. Which was weird, since the party was still going on, the band still playing, people still talking and laughing.

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his khakis. He was wearing a dress shirt, too, a light blue one that brought out the color of his eyes. She tried to ignore how cute he looked, but she’d pretty much have to take after the cowboy and stick a couple of forks in her eyes for that.

“So, uh, are you doing anything for Spring Break?” he asked.

“No.”

“Oh. Me and my mom and Leo—uh, Coach Montesano. You know him, right?”

“Only by sight.” Which wasn’t a bad way to know the firefighter-slash-high-school-football-coach. He was one beautiful man. And Andrew’s mom, Penelope Denning, was dating him.

Lucky woman.

“Right. So, anyway, we’re going skiing in Colorado,” Andrew said. “Have you ever been?”

“The only places I’ve been are Pittsburgh and Erie.”

He shook his head. “I meant have you ever been skiing?”

“No.”

“It’s fun.” He took his hands out of his pockets. Put them back in again. “Maybe we could go together sometime. I could teach you.”

“Why would you want to do that? And why on earth would you think I’d ever agree to it?”

Color swept up his neck and into his cheeks. She refused to feel bad about it.

Not after what he’d done.

He shrugged. Dropped his gaze. “I thought maybe we could, you know...start hanging out again. Like before.”

She went cold all over, a deep freeze that chilled her to the bone. She couldn’t breathe through it, couldn’t move for fear that she’d shatter into a million pieces.

“You want to hang out?” she managed to say through stiff lips. “Like before? God, you must think I’m an idiot.”

She turned, but he caught her arm. “No! No,” he repeated, more softly this time as he glanced around. “Not like that. I just meant...you know. As friends.”

“I don’t want to be your friend.” Her voice was even. Dismissive. A miracle as there was a scream building inside her, one she was terrified would escape if she didn’t get away from him. “I thought I made that clear the last time we spoke.”

He flinched and dropped her arm. “Sorry. I thought...” He sighed. Ran his hand through his hair, leaving it all messy and, yes, sexy. “I thought maybe you’d have forgiven me by now.”

She clamped her teeth together to hold back the ugly words in her throat. She didn’t owe him anything. Refused to justify her feelings or explain her thoughts.

“Andrew,” the blonde girl called. “Come here. I want you to meet my uncle.”

He gestured he’d be a minute, then turned back to Gracie. “I, uh, guess I’ll see you in school.”

She didn’t respond. Just walked away.

Of course they’d see each other. She could hardly avoid it in a school the size of Shady Grove High, especially as they shared a few classes.

But she wouldn’t acknowledge him. Wouldn’t make eye contact or speak to him.

I thought maybe you’d have forgiven me by now.

Her fingers curled, her nails digging into her palms. She’d already forgiven him for pretending to like her, sleeping with her and then treating her like dirt. She’d had to. Hating him hadn’t made her feel better. Hadn’t stopped the pain or the tears that had come when she’d thought about how stupid she’d been. How gullible.

In the weeks after his betrayal, she’d spent countless hours imagining ways she could exact her revenge. Things she could do or say to humiliate him. To hurt him.

The way he’d hurt her.

But being angry at him had only given him even more power over her—over her thoughts and feelings. So she’d forgiven him and moved on. But she hadn’t forgotten.

And she never would.

CHAPTER THREE

IVY HAD THOUGHT about the cowboy all night, like some hormonal teenager in the throes of her first crush. Or a stalker with a new obsession.

She jabbed the elevator’s button with her knuckle, tapped her foot impatiently as she waited for it to arrive. Worse than thinking about him? She’d sought him out. Had caught herself scanning the ballroom, the bar—even the hallway for God’s sake—more than a few times, hoping to catch a glimpse of him.

There had been plenty of good-looking men there tonight, an abundance of pretty faces for a woman to ogle, but had she stared at any of the Montesano brothers—a trifecta of dark-haired, dark-eyed, handsome men? Or taken a few minutes to appreciate the beauty that was Kane Bartasavich, with his long hair and that hint of danger in his sexy grin?

No and no. She’d skimmed her gaze right over all of them in search of one green-eyed cowboy.

Yeehaw.

The elevator doors opened and she stepped inside. Chose the top floor. Mooning over him was complete idiocy of course. And a total waste of time. She’d given him the brush-off, and he’d respected that. Despite his initial persistence, he hadn’t pushed. Hadn’t attempted to talk to her again.

She’d figured that would be the end of it. That one of those too many times she’d glanced his way, he’d be pulling out the charm for some other woman. Men. Such fickle, sensitive creatures. She was sure that, after her rejection, he’d move on. Forget all about her.

He hadn’t. He’d watched her, just as much as she’d watched him. Throughout the night, she’d felt his gaze on her, warm as a flame, insistent as a touch. And when she’d made the mistake of meeting his eyes, even from across the room, those damn sparks she’d felt when he’d grasped her shoulders were still there.

The elevator dinged as it opened on her floor, and she walked down the empty hallway, her footsteps muffled by the thick carpet. She stopped at room 801, stared at the door. Biting her lower lip, she realized she’d forgotten to reapply her lipstick. Hadn’t even taken the time to check her hair. Crap. If those weren’t signs that she should turn her little self around and get back in the elevator, she didn’t know what was.

Except her body didn’t seem to be getting the message. Instead of turning, she raised her hand, curled her fingers into a fist. Instead of walking away, she knocked softly on that door.

He’d sent her running. And that would not do. It was demoralizing to realize she’d been such a coward. He was just a man. A gorgeous, confident, sexy man who was obviously interested in her. The day she couldn’t handle a man was the day they needed to take away her high heels and shove her into a pair of mom jeans.

She knocked again, louder this time. Shifted her weight from her right side to her left. The attraction between them was undeniable and mutual. There was nothing to be afraid of.

As long as she was the one in control.

The door opened and there he stood, in all his six-feet-plus glory. And my, my, my, what glory it was. Heaven had blessed the man, that was for sure. His shoes, coat, tie and hat were gone, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up, the top three buttons undone. His hair was shorter than she’d realized, the conservative cut highlighting the strong line of his jaw.

She missed the hat. Wondered if she could talk him into putting it back on.

He skimmed his cool, green gaze over her, his lips curving into a cocky smirk. It took all her willpower not to bolt down the hall as if the hounds of hell were chasing her.

But then his lips flattened, his gaze lingered—not on her boobs or her hips, but on her mouth—before he raised his eyes to hers.

Not so cool, not so disinterested, after all.

Silly man. Did he really think he could one-up her?

She smiled. Oh, she was going to enjoy this.

“I didn’t order room service,” he said, nodding toward the champagne in her hand.

“On the house. Looks like it’s your lucky day, cowboy.”

“That so?” he murmured, the huskiness in his voice causing her scalp to prickle. “Funny, but it doesn’t feel that way.”

Ivy waved her free hand in the air. “All of that is changing. You, my friend, are about to have a reversal of fortune and in the very best way possible.”

“Because I get free champagne?”

“Even better.” She tipped her head to the side, her lips curving in an unspoken invitation. “You get to have a drink with me, after all.”

“Just you?” he asked drily. “Or you and that healthy ego you’re carrying around?”

Her smile was quick and appreciative and completely unembarrassed. “We’re a package deal.”

But when she stepped forward, he leaned against the door frame, all casual grace and stubbornness, blocking her. “To what do I owe this reversal of fortune?”

“Good karma?” She shrugged, didn’t miss the way he glanced at her breasts before yanking his focus back to her face. “Clean living, perhaps?”

He studied her. Looking for whatever answer he needed to hear to let himself get over her earlier rejection. Let him look. She kept her thoughts and her secrets well hidden.

“If you’re waiting for me to beg,” she said, her tone threaded with humor and a hint of nerves she prayed he couldn’t detect, “you’re going to be very disappointed.”

“I’ve never been into making people beg,” he told her. “For any reason. I’m waiting for you to tell me why you changed your mind.”

“Does it matter?”

“Yeah,” he said slowly. “I’m afraid it does.”

“Most men wouldn’t question their good fortune. They’d either accept it as their due or run with it before that luck turned again.”

“Well, now, darlin’, here’s the thing.” Leaning toward her, he spoke directly into her ear, his words quiet, his breath warm against her skin. “I’m not most men.”

“I guess you’re not. But since it’s not enough for you that I’m here, that I’ve changed my mind, which is a woman’s prerogative as I’m sure you know, maybe I should just...change it again.”

A dare. A challenge. One meant to inspire him to let her off the hook. To accept what she was willing to give, no matter what her reasons.

Or watch her walk away again.

He shifted, bringing their bodies close but not touching. The urge to move back was as strong as the one to step forward. Doing neither, she tipped her head to maintain eye contact.

“I’m not asking for a lot,” he said. “Just the truth.”

Her laugh was part snort of disbelief, part oh-you-simple-man-you. “Ah, but the truth is the most powerful thing out there.”

Their gazes locked. She didn’t know whether to laugh or shout in frustration. They were at an obvious impasse. And how had that happened? Men didn’t argue with her, for God’s sake. They didn’t question her motives. Didn’t care about those motives, as long as they got what they wanted in the end.

I’m not most men.

That was why she was here, she reminded herself. What attracted her to him.

And wasn’t that coming back to bite her in the ass?

It didn’t matter what he decided, she told herself. Didn’t matter that she was holding her breath waiting, that her palms were growing damp. If she walked away, he’d be the one kicking himself for letting her go.

Her pride nudged her to get moving already. Reminded her that she wasn’t some pathetic woman in need of a man’s approval or his attention. She was strong. Independent. Brave enough to go after what she wanted.

Of course, her pride was also what had pushed her to come to his room in the first place.

Stupid pride.

“Your loss, cowboy,” she said, though she wondered if she wasn’t losing, as well. She turned, but before she could take a step, he snatched her wrist, held it loosely.

“Don’t.”

It wasn’t an entreaty, more like a command.

Looked as if she wasn’t the only one who refused to beg.

Ducking her head, she indulged in a small, triumphant grin before facing him. She flicked a glance to his hand on her, then back up to his eyes. “You have a choice here, cowboy. A very simple one. You can spend the night alone, holding on to your grudge. Or,” she continued, sliding closer until her knee bumped his leg, her breasts inches from his chest, “you could spend the night holding on to me.” She lowered her voice to a soft, seductive whisper. “What’s it going to be?”

Her breath was caught in her chest. Anticipation and nerves warred inside her. His mouth was a grim line, his chest rising and falling steadily as if he were completely unaffected by her nearness. Her words. The image she’d invoked of them together.

As if he really was going to send her on her way.

She needed to leave. To make her exit with as much dignity as possible.

To make it before he took the choice away from her.

But when she tried to tug her wrist free, his grip tightened. She swallowed. Her hand trembled.

He stepped aside and pulled her into his room.

* * *

THE WAITRESS SMILED, a small, self-satisfied grin that was incredibly sexy, as she brushed past him. “I guess your mama didn’t raise any fools, after all.”

C.J. forced himself to let go of her. Shut the door.

He didn’t compromise. Didn’t negotiate. And he sure as hell didn’t give in.

And yet, the fact that she was standing here said otherwise.

“My mother would punch me in the throat if I dared call her mama,” he said. “Plus, she helped raise my brother, and he’s an idiot.”

The waitress tipped her head to the side, making all that abundant hair slide over her shoulder. “Ah, yes, the groom-to-be.”

“You know Kane?” He wasn’t sure if that was a point in her favor. Or against it.

“We’re not acquainted, if that’s what you’re asking. Although I did go to school with Charlotte.”

“Then how did you know he’s my brother?” Another thought occurred to him, one he would have considered much earlier had she not scrambled his thoughts so easily. Too easily. “How did you know which room is mine?”

“Oh, I have my ways,” she said with a wink. Then she turned and walked farther into the suite, as if expecting him to trail after her like some sort of puppy, eager for her time. A pat on the head.

His eyes dropped to the sway of her hips, the way her skirt hugged her ass.

And he followed.

Not his fault. He was, underneath the wealth, a simple man.

“When I stay at a hotel,” he said as she set the champagne on the wooden bar next to the window, “I expect my privacy to be respected.”

“Not much privacy in Shady Grove, I’m afraid. Or, I’d guess, in small towns in general. Pretty much everyone knows everyone else. If you don’t, you can still get the information want. You just need to pay attention.” She bent, searched under the bar for a moment, then straightened with a cloth napkin in her hand. Unwrapped the foil from around the bottle and loosened the wire cage. “People say all sorts of things in front of—as your mother so charmingly described me—the help. When a guest needs something or has a complaint, we get all the attention. But most of the time, we’re invisible, just ghosts delivering drinks and cleaning up messes.”

She didn’t sound bothered by it, more as though she was stating a fact.

He skimmed his gaze over her face. No hardship there. He’d spent the greater part of his evening wanting to get another close-up look at her. He wasn’t going to waste one moment of it. Not when he’d given up hope of seeing her again.

“You could never be invisible,” he told her, his voice gruff. “And you know it.”

A small smile playing on her lips, she inclined her head as if in thanks. Or agreement. “Either way, I hear plenty. Probably more than people realize. And you, Clinton Bartasavich Jr., were a hot topic of conversation.”

“Is that so?”

He got enough gossip in Houston. He sure as hell didn’t need it following him to this Podunk town.

“Now, don’t be getting all sensitive,” she said, obviously detecting the irritation in his tone. She covered the cork with the napkin, pressed the bottom of the bottle against her hip and neatly twisted until there was a soft pop. “If you hadn’t wanted people to talk about you, you probably shouldn’t have worn that hat.”

“I like my Stetson,” he said easily.

She made a humming sound. Pulled out two wineglasses from the shelf. “Yes. So did plenty of the women at the party. Trista Macken’s grandmother wondered what you would look like in it...and nothing else.”

The back of his neck warmed with embarrassment. He glanced at his hat, sitting on the desk next to his open laptop. “Someone’s grandmother imagined me naked? I might never wear the damned thing again.”

“If it helps, I think the only reason she said it was because all the chardonnay she was guzzling loosened her tongue and her inhibitions.”

Frowning, he considered it. Shook his head. “Nope. Doesn’t help.”

“Don’t be too hard on Mrs. Macken. She was actually the one I overheard say you were Kane’s brother.” The waitress poured champagne into the glasses. Picked them up and sashayed toward him, a siren in high heels and tiny skirt, certain of her appeal, confident of the effect she had on a man. “Though I’d already guessed you two were related, given the resemblance between you.”

“That still doesn’t explain how you knew which room was mine.”

“Now, that’s where my amazing deductive skills come into play.” Stopping in front of him, she offered him a glass. After he took it, she sat on the sofa and crossed those long legs, her foot swinging idly. “It’s obvious no regular room would do for someone like you—”

“Someone like me?” he asked, eyes narrowed.

She vaguely waved a hand at him. “The designer suit, diamond cuff links and that air of privilege and entitlement surrounding you make it clear you only accept the best. The best suites at King’s Crossing are all on this floor, the top floor. The best rooms, the best views of the river... It was all pretty simple, really.”

“And you knocked on every door on this floor until you found me?”

“Not quite. Come,” she said, patting the spot next to her. “Have a seat and I’ll tell you a secret. You can keep a secret, can’t you?”

He sat, his thigh pressed against hers. Let his gaze drop to her mouth for one long minute before meeting her gaze again. “If the price is right, I can.”

“I asked a coworker who works the front desk to find your room number.”

“Which coworker?” It had to have been a man. What warm-blooded, heterosexual male could refuse her anything?

“So you can get him fired?” She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

He set aside his untouched champagne. “Maybe I want to thank him.”

She laughed, a slow, sexy sound, which did nothing to help his already screwed-up equilibrium. “You don’t. You want to march down there and hand him his ass.”

“More of your deductive skills at work?”

“More like good, old-fashioned common sense. It’s clear you’re a man used to getting what you want. You don’t ask for anything. You demand it. And when you don’t get it, there’s hell to pay.”

“These theories you have about me are fascinating.”

“You don’t really think so, but there’s more. For instance, when I asked if you could keep a secret, you said if the price is right, which tells me you don’t do anything free. No favors from you.”

“Favors come with strings attached.”

“I won’t argue. People are inherently users. They’ll take and take and take until a person has nothing left to give. Then they’ll move on to the next poor soul they can suck dry.”

“A cynic.”

She lifted her glass in a mock toast. “A realist. Something we have in common. You’re also neat—no clothes lying around, cluttering up your space, no shoes to trip over. A place for everything and everything in its place, if I had to guess. You have a hard time separating yourself from your work,” she continued, gesturing to his laptop and the contract he’d been reading when she’d knocked on his door. “How am I doing?”

His shoulders went rigid. He didn’t like her reading him so clearly when he couldn’t get a handle on her. Hell, he didn’t even know her name.

“You have me at a disadvantage,” he said tightly.

“Only one?” she murmured before sipping her champagne. “I must be losing my touch.”

He had to bite back a sudden grin. Damn it, but he appreciated her quick mind. Her self-assurance and intelligence.

Shit. He was in so much trouble.

“You seem to know quite a bit about me,” he said. “But I don’t even know your name.”

“That’s easy enough to fix.” Shifting forward in a movement that did some really interesting things to her breasts in the tight, white shirt she wore, she held out her free hand. “I’m Ivy.”

It didn’t suit her. It was too innocent, too sweet, when she was all female power.

He held her hand, liked the feel of her palm against his. “Ivy,” he repeated softly, and her eyes darkened. He rubbed his thumb against the back of her hand, wanting to see if he could fluster her the way she’d flustered him. “Just Ivy?”

“Is that a problem?” Her gaze was steady, her expression amused. Not flustered in the least.

But when he let go, he noticed the unsteadiness of her hand, how she curled her fingers into her palm.

“I like to know who I’m talking to.” Wanted to know more about her.

“You’re talking to me.”

“I could find out easily enough,” he pointed out. All he had to do was make a call to the front desk or ask to speak to the restaurant’s supervisor.

“You could, but there’s no reason to. You and me? We aren’t going to be friends.”

“We’re not?”

“Hardly. Look, we both know there’s a...pull between us. A strong one. I didn’t come up here so we could get to know each other better, just as you didn’t ask me to have a drink with you within five minutes of meeting me so we could swap life stories. We want to explore this attraction between us. Why pretend it’s something other than what it is? I don’t need it prettied up. I don’t need small talk, persuasion or seduction, and I sure as hell don’t need promises.” She laid her hand on his arm, scooted closer, her fingers warm, her scent surrounding him. “I want you, Clinton,” she said, drawing his name out as if tasting it on her tongue. “Tonight, all I want is you.”

Desire slammed into him like a wildfire, threatened to burn away his willpower and common sense. Her agile mind and sharp sense of humor intrigued him. Her face and body attracted him. But it was the combination of everything—her looks and personality, her intelligence and wit—that left him speechless. Breathless.

Made him want her with a hunger that bordered on desperation.

She was dangerous to his self-control. His pride.

He had to figure her out. Had to do whatever was needed to gain the upper hand.

Even if part of him was screaming at him to take what she was offering and leave it at that.

“You declined to have a drink with me,” he reminded her. “Refused to even speak to me.”

“Still stuck on that, huh?” She patted his knee. “How about you build a bridge and get over it?”

“You changed your mind when you found out my last name.”

Letting her hand rest on his leg, she raised her eyebrows. “Wow. I’m not sure if you’re giving yourself too much credit. Or not enough.”

He grinned. “Believe me, darlin’, I give myself plenty of credit.”

“Just not everyone else. Or maybe,” she continued softly, “it’s just me you don’t think too highly of.”

What he thought was that she was just like everyone else. No matter how much he wished she wasn’t. He had to question everything. Everyone. He was a Bartasavich.

And he had to know that wasn’t why she was here.

“Weren’t you the one who said people were users?” he asked. “I need to know who you are. Why you changed your mind.”

* * *

IVY WASN’T SURE whether to smack the man upside his too-handsome head or laugh outright. She was practically in his lap, her hand on his thigh, and he wanted to talk about why she was there?

There was obviously something wrong with him.

And, possibly, something amiss with her, as well, since she was enjoying their verbal battle so much. When they finally came together, it was going to be explosive.

A thrill shot through her, anticipation climbing. She could hardly wait.

She smoothed her hand up his leg an inch. His muscles tensed, and he grabbed her hand to stop her from exploring any farther.

Too bad. She liked the feel of him. Solid and warm. She sensed there was an edge to him underneath the expensive clothes, a power he kept carefully contained.

She couldn’t wait to be the one to make him lose that control. “The beauty of a situation like this is that I can be whoever you want me to be.”

“I want you to be honest.”

She almost scoffed, but then she looked at him, really looked, and saw that he meant it. He was attracted to her, yes, that much was clear, but he wasn’t going to give in to his desire. Not until he got what he wanted.

Silly, stubborn man.

But he wouldn’t be the only one who was going to lose if he sent her on her way. And really, telling him what he wanted to hear wasn’t a big deal. She was still in charge. Still the one deciding how much to share. And how much to keep hidden.

It didn’t have to change anything, didn’t mean there was anything between them other than sex. Uncomplicated, no-strings-attached, possibly mind-blowing sex. A one-night stand between two virtual strangers who would go their separate ways in the morning.

That last realization cinched it. She didn’t have to worry about opening up, just the tiniest bit, to a man she’d never see again. Nothing she told him would matter after tonight.

“There’s more to you than you let on,” she said.

He frowned. “Excuse me?”

“You wanted to know why I changed my mind. You think it’s a game, and it’s not. Well, maybe not completely.” Her throat was parched, so she took a long drink then set her glass down. Tugged her hand from under his. “I had every intention of keeping my distance from you. I thought you were exactly as you seemed. Arrogant. Bossy.” She pursed her lips as she considered him. “Entitled. Uptight—”

“I get it,” he said, his tone all sorts of dry.

But he didn’t correct her or try to claim he wasn’t those things. She could appreciate a man who knew his strengths as well as his weaknesses.

“As the night went on you surprised me. You didn’t flirt with other women after I turned you down, which makes me believe you weren’t out to get laid.”