Текст книги "Crashed"

Автор книги: Sherilee Gray

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 14 страниц)

Chapter Seventeen

Alex was mindless at this point. Nothing but need and desperation.

“You want me to fuck you hard?” Deacon repeated, hand still between her thighs, teasing her, making her quiver and shake. She was sensitive from making herself come and on the verge of coming again just from his gentle touch, the sound of his voice. His rough commands and descriptions of what he wanted to do to her.

“Yes. I want it.” She ignored the begging note to her voice, or how much letting him take control over her in this way turned her on. How much she needed it from him. With Deacon, she could just let go.

He started undoing the buttons on his shirt, and she realized he must have come to her straight from the airport. He’d taken off the jacket but was still wearing trousers instead of jeans. For some reason the thought of him rushing straight to her, coming to her first, made her belly flutter. He balled up his shirt and threw it on the car with her tank top, then dropped his hands to the front of his pants.

Yes, please. Her inner muscles fluttered in anticipation as he undid his belt and shoved down his pants and boxers, freeing that beautiful, long cock. He didn’t take his eyes off her as he moved between her trembling thighs. One of his hands landed on her waist, the other moving up to cup the side of her throat, his fingers lingering over her hammering pulse.

He sucked in an unsteady breath. “You are so beautiful, Alex.” His hand moved down between her breasts, over her belly. “You don’t have any idea, do you?”

His voice was deep, rough, had a note of something she was afraid to believe in, afraid to hope for. Just afraid, full stop. The intensity in his gaze made it hard to hold his stare. What the hell is he doing?

It was too much, not enough. She needed him to stop looking at her like that. She needed to bring this back to the reason she was lying naked on the hood of his father’s Pontiac. Bringing her hands to her breasts, she teased her nipples. “Don’t make me beg for it, Deke. Come on. Give it to me.” The muscles in her thighs shook, her body way past want to flat-out need at this point.

His nostrils flared. “Oh, I’m going to give it to you,” he rasped.

But instead of slamming inside her, taking her hard like he’d promised, he positioned himself and slid deep inside her, nice and slow. When he was fully seated, he leaned over her and kissed her. The kiss was deep, tender, and had the ability to break her into a thousand pieces.

No. No. No. Not this, anything but this. She reached down and gripped his ass, grinding against his hips. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, sucking in deep steadying breaths. Dammit, she wanted him to lose control. To take her like he had in the bar, over her kitchen table. Taking her hands, he gripped them in one of his and lifted them over her head, holding her completely immobile.

He stared down at her. “Not this time, sweetheart. This time we’re going to take it slow.”

She started to shake her head in denial, panic knotting her lower belly, but then he withdrew, and she moaned at the feel of all that hard, hot flesh moving inside her. He was relentless, his big body shaking with the effort, but the stubborn bastard took his time, kissing her in a way that made her heart hurt, made her wish for things that could never be. Didn’t he realize what he was doing to her? What this was doing to her?

“Fuck, I missed this,” he rasped against her lips.

Jesus. She couldn’t take much more.

He grunted, soft and deep, and kept on making the unconscious, unrestrained sound every time he pushed inside her. It was the sexiest thing she’d ever heard; it lifted the hair on the back of her neck, made her toes curl.

“I missed the feel of you, so tight around my cock, the way you grasp me tighter when I pull out like you can’t bear me to leave. You need this as badly as me, don’t you, sweetheart?”

“Yes.” The word came out with her next breath, before she could swallow it down.

His gaze blazed, the muscles under her hands jumping. His thrusts intensified, still at the same slow pace, but deeper, harder. “I love the way your lips part when I push inside, the way your breath hitches,” he rasped.

Oh, God. He was killing her.

He continued to make love to her, never taking his eyes off her, following the cues of her body to take her higher.

She shivered and closed her eyes against all that intensity staring down at her.

“Look at me,” he demanded.

Helpless to do anything but obey at this point, she lifted her lids.

“I want you to see what you do to me. How good you make me feel.” He reached down and cupped her ass, tilting her hips up, then thrust back in, grinding against her. She sobbed, so close, so damn close. “Only you make me feel this way, Alex, this hungry, this possessive.” He repeated the slow thrust and grind and the pressure increased. “You make me crazy, sweetheart. Wild. Only you do that to me. No one else.”

His abs tightened as he bent to suck the bar piercing her nipple, drawing it into his mouth, then thrust deep and held her there. One more tug on her nipple, and she shattered, hard. When he lifted up, covering her body, she hung on tight, sinking her teeth into the firm muscle of his shoulder to stop from screaming. He started to move then, no more slow torture; now he pounded into her, arms locked around her, holding her immobile. All she could do was take it, lie there and absorb the full power of his lust. Lost in the sound of his grunts of pleasure, the rough, tender words he rasped against her ear, drawing out her own orgasm, she clung to him in return, never wanting him to let her go.

Then with a shout he came hard inside her, big body tensing and shaking through his release.

Collapsing over her, he pressed her into the now warm, unyielding steel at her back, but she didn’t care. Nothing had ever felt so good, so right. She smoothed her hands over his wide shoulders as he glided in and out of her slow and easy, and she knew there would be no returning from this. She was completely lost to him, always had been. And for the first time in her life, she wanted to take a risk on loving someone, despite the possibility of losing him.

She blinked hard when her eyes started to sting and swallowed against the lump in her throat when it threatened to escape in a painful sob.

Damn you, Deacon. Damn you for making me love you.

…

Alex miraculously found a parking spot right outside Deacon’s apartment building. Probably because the sun was barely up.

She’d gotten up early—they had another busy day ahead, and she wanted to talk to him before it was time to open the garage.

Nerves flipped around in her belly. This was a stupid idea, wasn’t it? Maybe she’d lost her mind.

She hadn’t been thinking straight, not since Deacon had carried her upstairs and tucked her in bed after making love to her.

I hate leaving you, Alex. I know I’ll see you in a few hours, but I already miss you.

He’d whispered the words against her hair, kissed her, then left. She’d hated it, too. But it was too risky for him to stay, and they both knew it. Still, when she’d watched him walk out the door, she’d had to bite her lip so she didn’t beg him to stay.

Last night she realized she wanted to be more than his fuck buddy, more than an arrangement. A man didn’t look at a woman like Deacon looked at her, didn’t make slow, sweet love to a woman like he had her, and not care about that woman, right?

Only you make me feel this way, Alex, this hungry, this possessive.

She shivered at the memory. He’d claimed her last night. She’d felt it in every fiber of her being. Everything had changed, everything. She had no idea what it meant going forward. Deacon had made it clear at the beginning he didn’t want a relationship, that what they had going on had a use-by date. Did he still feel that way after last night?

No. She couldn’t believe it. He made sure she felt wanted, desired…important.

Alex was a lot of things, but a coward wasn’t one of them. There was too much at stake—her heart, for one. Her friendship with his sisters and their garage for another. If there was a chance for them, if he wanted the same thing she did, they needed to forget about their arrangement and just…be together.

Was she really going to do this? What choice did she have? She couldn’t go on like this. She’d been stupid, naive to think she could.

Blowing out a deep breath, she reached over and grabbed the coffees she’d bought on the way, climbed out of her Viper, and headed into the building. The doorman was already at his post and gave her a warm smile when he opened up for her. “Hey, Harold.”

He tipped his hat and smiled. “Morning, miss.”

Blood was pounding through her veins, and her knees felt weak and shaky as she crossed the floor. This was a huge risk. God, what if she was wrong? What if he didn’t feel the same way she did? She shook her head, fought the self-doubt back. Deke had changed over the years. No, he wasn’t the same boy she’d first fallen for. He was a man. The type of man who went after what he wanted ruthlessly. He didn’t let anyone get in his way. Well, she could learn a thing or two from him in that respect.

And despite it all, despite the suits, the flashy cars, and the expensive apartment, he was still her Deke. He was still in there. He’d shown himself time and again over the last couple weeks. That tender, caring, protective side was still in there under the hard exterior, and she had to believe he couldn’t do what they were doing and not feel something for her other than lust.

The elevator door opened, and a guy strode out. It was the same guy from the first night she’d been here, the night she’d bolted from Deacon’s apartment as soon as he’d fallen asleep. Sitting in the foyer, barefoot and more than likely looking like a woman who’d recently been screwing her brains out.

Averting her gaze, she tried to slip past, but he touched her arm. “Hey, I know you, right? You were here a couple weeks ago? I remember the ink.” His gaze darted to her arm, to the rose tattoo poking out from under her sleeve.

She tensed. “And?”

“And you were hard to miss.” The guy moved in close, and she had no choice but to take a step back or he’d be all up in her personal space. “I was hoping I’d see you again. Can I have a word?”

“Nope. I have somewhere to be.” She went to move past again, but he took the drinks from her hands and placed them on the unmanned reception desk near the elevator. “What the hell?”

He straightened his tie and gave her a lopsided grin. “I think you might be interested in what I have to say. I’ve been looking for someone in your line of business, actually, but haven’t found the right fit, so to speak. I think you and I might get on just fine.”

Unease turned to relief, then excitement. Deacon must have told him about West Restoration, which meant he obviously knew the guy. She shrugged off the way her creep-o-meter was wailing and joined him by the reception desk. “Look, I know the competition in this city is fierce, but I promise you won’t be disappointed. I’ve never had a dissatisfied customer. In fact, they always come back.” She was no Rusty when it came to this stuff—that woman had the gift of gab—but she was no slouch.

His gaze dropped to her breasts, and she automatically crossed her arms. Maybe he just liked Iron Maiden? The T-shirt was old and fitted. She glanced down and her face heated when she realized crossing her arms caused the fabric to cling and show off the outline of her barbell.

“God, that’s so sexy. Damn.” He moved closer. “What’s your rate, sweetheart?”

Her ease vanished, and her empty stomach churned. “It depends on what you want done,” she answered cautiously.

“I want a whole night. Maybe a regular thing? I get the feeling one night with you wouldn’t be enough. Deacon West keeps coming back for more, so you must be worth whatever your fee is.”

He thinks I’m a prostitute? He touched her hip, and she shoved him back. “You are way the hell out of line.”

She tried to move past him, but he grabbed her arm, crowded her. “Don’t be like that. You want to be wined and dined first? I can do that. My money’s just as good as West’s.”

Before she had the chance to knee him in the balls, he was being wrenched back, arms windmilling to prevent himself from falling on his ass. Deacon, looking like he was capable of murder, wrapped his hand around the other guy’s throat and shoved him against the nearest wall. “You touch her again, and I will kill you. Do you understand?”

The guy screwed his face up. “You want the whore all to yourself, you can have her. Plenty more where she came from.”

Murder flashed in Deacon’s eyes.

“Deacon. No!”

He completely ignored her, pulled back, and slammed his fist into the creep’s face. The crunch of bone shattering made her wince, as did the blood that splattered across Deacon’s white shirt.

The guy howled and covered his nose. “Jesus Christ! You broke my nose!”

Deacon ignored him and turned to her. “Elevator, now.”

When she stood unmoving, still in shock, he grabbed her arm and dragged her along with him, pulling her in before the door closed. “What the hell, Deacon?”

His jaw was granite, and when he looked down at her there was no warmth or affection in his hard gaze. He didn’t speak, not until they were in his apartment, after he’d dragged her into his bedroom. She stood on the opposite side while he tugged his shirt from his trousers, undid the first few buttons, and pulled it over his head, throwing it across the room.

“One man not enough for you, Alex?”

The emotion behind his words felt like a physical blow. Anger she could handle, though she sure as hell didn’t deserve it. But it wasn’t just anger radiating from him—no, there was pain as well. And the expression on his face twisted her up inside.

“I come down to find you with that asshole…” He shoved a hand through his hair. “After last… After what we…” He growled, shook his head.

After last night? Was that what he was going to say? She crossed her arms over her chest, more hurt and angry than she’d been in her life, which should be impossible, but there you go. How could he still doubt her? “I was not with that asshole, he followed me.”

“Yeah?” The raw emotion in his voice had not diminished, not even a fraction.

She moved closer to him, her own anger sailing over pissed and landing somewhere in the vicinity of rage. Deacon wasn’t the only one hurting. His opinion of her, as it turned out, wasn’t much better than that bastard downstairs. But despite her desire to lash out, to rail on him, she kept her voice controlled, even. “You get that in my line of work.”

His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides as she moved in, so close her breasts brushed his chest. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Whore, Deacon.” He visibly flinched, mouth opening, then closing. “Your friend downstairs wanted to know my hourly rate.”

A flush crept up from his neck, and he gritted his teeth. “What did you just say?”

“Do you really need me to spell it out? Here, maybe I should show you.” She yanked on his belt, pulling the leather free, unbuckling it to shove her hand inside. She was surprised when she found him hard as iron, cock pulsing in her hand.

“What are you doing?” He grabbed her wrists, holding them firmly in his.

“I would have thought that was obvious. Services rendered and all that. Maybe you’d prefer my mouth?” She tried to drop to her knees in front of him, but he released her hands and gripped her upper arms, holding her immobile. “I thought you loved it when I sucked your cock?”

His nostrils flared, and the heat in his gaze sent her up in flames, but he didn’t release his hold, nor did the anger causing his body to shake diminish.

She tried to fight him, tried to drop down in front of him again. “Suddenly you’ve grown a conscience? What, don’t tell me you care for your little whore, Deacon?”

She hadn’t meant to say that. Still her pulse raced, wanting to hear it, to hear that he actually gave a shit.

Instead he stood there like a damn robot, confusion and God only knew what else in his gaze, looking at her like she’d grown a second head. Oh, yeah, he knew the ugly truth as well as she did. They could never be together. They were from different worlds now. She’d momentarily forgotten that, had let her emotions cloud her better judgment. Convinced herself their feelings for each other would be enough to overcome their differences, that they were so much more than what they were.

What she was.

But even if Deacon had considered more, some kind of future together that didn’t include sneaking around—well, the reality of his neighbor soliciting sex from her would have knocked any stupid ideas from his head.

Having a girlfriend who could pass as a streetwalker? Not a good look for a corporate CEO.

She pulled out of his arms, and he let her. Let her pace to the other side of the room, away from him. Pain more acute than she thought possible gripped her heart.

“Alex…” He took a step toward her, then slammed on the brakes, shoved his fingers through his hair, and bit off several more curses.

I am such an idiot.

Tears stung the backs of her eyes, but she refused to let him see her cry. Goddammit, she would not fall apart in front of him. She darted through the closest door, into the bathroom, and shut herself in. Sucking down several deep breaths, she fought to keep her emotions in check. You knew this would happen, but you still opened your heart. This is your own damn fault. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Head bent, she stared at the floor, then her gaze landed on the trash basket. A shirt had been dumped in there, and she could see something pink smudged on it. Without thinking, she lifted it out and held it up.

Lipstick stained the front pocket and one side of the collar. Oh, God. She stood frozen. It sure as hell wasn’t hers. But it didn’t take a mind like Sherlock Holmes to figure out who the owner of the lipstick was, either.

Had he kept Emily on the sidelines all along?

She shook her head. If she believed that, she was no better than Deke, with his mistrust and accusations. There had to be a reasonable explanation, didn’t there?

God, she wanted to believe that, so much, but that old fear—the sting of his rejection when he’d left her for Emily—lurked below the surface, making it hard to think clearly.

All of a sudden she was suffocating. Every breath seemed to scald her throat, her lungs shrinking in her chest with each painful breath. She threw the shirt back in the trash and bolted from the bathroom.

“Alex?” Deacon called after her.

“I need to get back to work.” He came after her, grabbed her arms, and stupid hope fluttered through her belly. She turned to face him but couldn’t read the expression on his face.

“Don’t run away from me, Alex. Not again.”

“I have to go.” She tried to pull free, but he held on tight. “Let me go.” She barely recognized her own voice, so broken, so damn pathetic.

He winced a second before his expression closed down completely.

Then he did what she asked—he released her, stepped back, and let her walk out the door.

Chapter Eighteen

Deacon gripped the steering wheel tight enough to make it groan as he pulled into the parking garage under his apartment building. After an afternoon spent explaining to his goddamn lawyer why he’d broken that bastard’s nose, his shitty mood still hadn’t improved. The asshole would more than likely sue.

It was worth it.

At the end of the day, it was only money. And that bastard more than deserved what he’d gotten.

He still didn’t know what had come over him. He’d lost it. In his surprise at seeing Alex there, then the way the guy had crowded her, put his hands on her. Like an idiot, he’d immediately thought the worst. His default after Emily’s deceit, her cheating. The way his mother had done the same to his father.

Trusting another person, even Alex, didn’t come easily. But she hadn’t deserved his rancor, his accusations.

Don’t tell me you care for your little whore, Deacon?

Jesus. He’d frozen when she’d fired those pain-filled words at him. The realization of what he’d done, what he’d accused her of when he knew better, knew she would never do that to him, had hit hard.

She’d called herself a whore. He’d made her feel that way. She doubted his feelings for her. Had no clue how he felt. That knowledge had rendered him speechless. And so fucking ashamed of the way he’d treated her, the things he’d said. Buried in his own petty jealousy, he had struggled with what he could possibly do or say to make it right.

So he’d done fucking nothing.

He’d messed up.

God, her face—he’d literally seen her pulling away from him, shutting down, and he’d imploded. Too many emotions warring to take front and center. In the end, he’d been unable to convey anything but anger. Furious with that asshole, and furious with himself for causing her to doubt her feelings for him, feelings she hadn’t been able to hide the night before when he’d made love to her.

But what pissed him off most of all was that he’d allowed his past to get in the way of what he could have with Alex. Instead of helping her work through her fears, he’d allowed his own, his fear of losing her, to take over. He’d messed things up. Again.

So much so, he’d managed to obliterate any progress he’d made with her, the trust he’d worked so hard to gain.

And she’d run from him.

He slammed his hands down on the steering wheel and shoved the door open. Screw it. He was supposed to attend a business meeting tonight with Alex, but he’d cancel. He needed time with her alone, to try to repair the damage he’d done.

Did she truly believe he saw her as nothing but a whore? Jesus, the idea made him ill. Yeah, he’d told her the agreement between them would only ever be physical, but that was so he could make her accept the truth, accept the way they felt about each other. Without expectations, without letting her fear of attachment get in the way. He shoved his hands in his hair. But it wasn’t her issues threatening to destroy their relationship before it began. It was him. His petty jealousy. His possessiveness. His inability to trust.

The two women in his life he should have been able to count on most, his mother and his wife, had lied and cheated. And he was now realizing the full effect those betrayals had had on him. How it had messed him up. That because of it, he didn’t trust his own damn judgment, when he knew Alex would never do that to him.

If he didn’t sort his shit out, he’d ruin everything. He’d lose Alex for good.

He shouldn’t have let her walk out his apartment door. He should have held on to her and made her understand.

“Deacon?”

He turned to find Emily standing by her car. So preoccupied with Alex, he hadn’t even seen it when he drove in. “What are you doing here?”

Her lip quivered. “I—I need to talk to you. Please don’t tell me to go.”

“We have nothing to discuss. Not a damned thing.”

He turned away, but she rushed after him and grabbed his arm. “Please. I’m not doing so well, Deacon. I—I think I might do something stupid.” A tear streaked down her perfectly made-up face. “I miss you so much. Seeing you with…” Her face twisted. “With her.” She shook her head. “I can’t bear it.”

“What do you think you might do, Emily?” She shook her head again, and he grabbed her upper arms. “Answer me.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she sobbed, burying her face against his chest.

He had no choice but to hold her while she cried, when all he wanted to do was shake the shit out of her, beg her to leave him the fuck alone. This woman had screwed with his life, made him fucking miserable, and he was trapped, chained to her in a way that had him waking up at night in a cold sweat. He sure as hell wouldn’t let her kill herself over him. That was something he could never live with. But no matter how many doctors and psychiatrists she saw, it always came back to this. Her obsession with him.

“Why aren’t you with Steve?”

“He’s away on business.” She brushed her tears away.

“How would he feel if he knew you were here?”

She sucked in a breath and looked away. “I doubt he’d care.” Her eyes, round and liquid, stared up at him. “He’s not you.”

Jesus Christ. “Come upstairs.” She gave him a wobbly smile and clutched his hand like a lifeline. The thought made him want to throw up.

Emily had been doing great for the last eighteen months. It seemed like she’d finally moved on. Could he trust this? This sudden relapse? She’d manipulated him more times than he could remember. But then, how could he risk not believing her?

If he ignored her cry for help and something happened…

Shit.

He took her up to his apartment and let her in. “Take a seat. I’ll make you some tea.”

So fucking polite, so normal. Have some nice, soothing tea while you emotionally blackmail me, while you keep me away from the only woman I’ve ever loved.

He leaned against the counter and took several steadying breaths. Jesus, could he be any more of an asshole? For all he knew, Emily was suffering some kind of emotional breakdown. It wouldn’t be the first he’d ridden out with her—but it sure as hell needed to be the last. He couldn’t be her crutch, not anymore. He needed to talk her into getting help.

He pulled out the cups and glanced at his watch. Dammit.

There was no way he’d make his dinner meeting tonight, but more frustrating, he doubted he’d get to see Alex. He quickly called about dinner, made his apologies, and rescheduled, then scrolled down to Alex’s name. The phone rang for so long he started to think she wouldn’t answer.

“Hello.”

The sound of her voice went a long way to soothing the stress and anxiety he always felt when Emily was like this. “Hey.”

The pause before she spoke, that hint of wariness, fucking twisted him up inside. “Worried I’m not coming?”

“No, I—”

“We have a deal, right?”

Deal. It wasn’t a fucking deal, not to him. And as much as she tried to deny it, she knew it, too. “Alex…”

“We still have a deal, don’t we, Deacon?” There was an acerbic bite to her voice—her tone damn near gave him frostbite. He knew she was still angry after the way he’d behaved this morning—she had every right to be—but he got the feeling this was something more.

He held the phone tighter to his ear. “Talk to me, Alex. I know I—”

“I’m getting dressed. I’ll head over to your place when I’m ready.”

Her voice was still cold, but she’d dropped the quietly controlled anger. Now she just sounded emotionless, distant. Fuck. She was holding back, keeping her feelings locked down, and he hated it.

“Deacon?” Emily’s voice drifted in from the hall and, he was positive, bounced off the kitchen cabinets and right down the goddamn receiver to Alex.

“You still at work?” Alex asked.

“Look, something’s come up. I, ah…I have to cancel our plans for tonight.” He wanted to say more, so much more, but Emily chose that moment to walk into the kitchen.

Alex was silent for several seconds, then she laughed, the sound forced, distant. “Jesus. You’re so damn predictable.”

Goddammit. “No. Listen to me—”

Emily’s face crumpled. “Are you…are you talking to her?”

After the way things had been left between them, this was the last thing he needed. Alex barely trusted him as it was. With the scratches and the confrontation in the store… She’d jump to the wrong conclusion without doubt. His little viper would use it as another way to protect herself, an excuse to push him away, and he couldn’t have that. He was doing a good enough job of that on his own.

“I have to go. I’m sorry.” He wanted to tell her about Emily—all of it, the lies, the betrayal—but the memory of his ex sitting in the bathtub the day after he’d found her in bed with another man, a blade to her wrist and swearing she’d cut her vein wide open if he exposed her, if he told her family and friends what she’d done to keep him—stopped him cold. She couldn’t bear the humiliation. All she had left was her position in society. She’d lost him, if she lost that, too…

He couldn’t risk it, couldn’t risk telling anyone, not even Alex.

Alex cleared her throat. “Yeah, sure.”

Dread slammed him hard. “This morning, I…” He glanced up at Emily, and those cold blue eyes were locked on him. “I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”

“Forget it, Deacon. I have,” Alex said, then hung up.

…

Alex rolled an old tire around the side of the garage to stash behind the building. Really, this job could wait till later, but she needed a minute. Rusty had been watching her all damn day, and Piper just flat-out wouldn’t leave her alone. They weren’t blind. They knew something was up. Something she could never tell them.

And being a crabby bitch all day hadn’t helped, either.

I’ll talk to you soon, okay?

Those words kept running through her mind. If that wasn’t a kiss-off, she didn’t know what was. One minute he missed her, couldn’t get enough of her, the next, she was finding lipstick-stained shirts in his trash and he couldn’t get away fast enough. She shoved down the stab of pain. Her feelings didn’t matter in all this. He’d made that clear from the start.

All that mattered now was what this meant for West Restoration.

Lifting the tire, she stacked it on top of the others, then turned to leave and slammed up against a hard chest.

She opened her mouth to scream bloody murder, but a hand slapped over her mouth—and Deacon filled her vision. “It’s just me.”

She yanked his fingers away. “What do you think you’re doing?” Then without conscious thought, her gaze moved over him, ate up every inch of his body. It had only been a day, but it felt like forever. So many emotions pounded through her, making her dizzy. She didn’t know whether to punch him or kiss the living daylights out of him.

“I had to come and see you.” He moved in, crowded her, pressed her into the warm steel wall of the garage at her back. “Last night…something came up.”

His back muscles tensed under her hands, and she realized she’d wrapped herself around him instinctively. That brought her up short.

Wise the hell up, Alex.

His dark gaze zeroed in on her mouth. If he kissed her right now, she’d be lost. “You don’t owe me an explanation. You’ve been busy with your suit buddies, whatever.” She shoved at his chest to get some space and shrugged. “Hey, I get it. Whores and five-star restaurants don’t mix, right?”