Maid of Dishonor (5 page)

The sleeve of his shirt stretched across his biceps as he did so, drawing her gaze, and the wave of warmth crested. She tore her eyes away from the bulge of muscle flexing under the white linen and cleared her throat.

You can survive one more drink with the guy, surely.

She'd turned over a new leaf in the years since she'd jumped Carter Price at Hillbrook College and kick-started a chain of events that had changed both their lives irrevocably... But one drink was all she planned to risk.

* * *

If only she could have kept that resolve front and centre. And she probably would have, if he'd carried on flirting with her so openly—because she happened to be an expert at verbal foreplay. But it turned out the new Carter was a whole lot craftier than she'd given him credit for.

One drink turned into two and then three, until she stopped counting, as the man captivated her—not so much with those damn biceps, or the openly hungry looks, but with his knowledge and enthusiasm, when she steered the conversation to what she had thought would be the neutral topic of their working lives.

He talked with an infectious pride and dispassionate insight into the challenges he'd faced and overcome to drag the paper mill he'd inherited from his father when he was only seventeen into a thriving business. Then he'd listened with interest—and a surprising lack of criticism—to the string of careers she'd tried out before starting her web-design business last year.

They'd touched on a few personal topics—such as the hellish heat in Savannah in August, and her move from London to New York five years ago—but had neatly sidestepped anything too personal such as his marriage or his sister, or the apology that she'd originally come to deliver. Until, after two solid hours of non-stop conversation, Carter Price had managed to lull her into a sense of security.

Unfortunately, during their very grown-up, surprisingly comfortable conversation, she'd found herself becoming more and more aware of him on a purely physical level: the low appreciative rumble of his laughter that made the skin on her spine tingle; the flash of interest in his eyes that made her voice slip instinctively into the smoky purr of her youth; the intense expression when he was outlining the different funding options she might want to explore for her business, which reminded her of the expression he'd once worn when exploring her.

The hotel bar was emptying out, as New York's Friday night party people headed out to pastures new, and the subdued lighting, the intimate silences only made her more and more aware of the desire to make the conversation just a teensy weensy bit less comfortable. Now that he was an urbane, successful and well-travelled businessman instead of the sheltered boy he'd once been, what would be the harm in spicing things up a little?

After all, given the recent pressures of work, and the emotional stress of trying to repair the damage she'd done to the Awesome Foursome, she'd had a rather difficult summer so far. Flirting in particular had been off the agenda—especially flirting with someone as delicious as Carter Price.

‘So, Carter, there is one thing I'd really love to know...' She stabbed her straw into the Cosmopolitan he'd insisted on ordering her after too many club sodas. ‘For a man who's so dedicated to his business,' she continued, not quite able to resist a small purr when she took a sip of the Cosmo and his gaze dipped to her mouth, ‘and has clearly spent a great deal of time and effort making it successful, I'd really love to know how you find enough spare time to date and dump so many different women.'

His brows winged up and then he chuckled—the easy sound triggering a new wave of tingles up her spine. ‘Why, Gina, have you been checking up on me?'

She savoured another sip of the heady citrus-flavoured cocktail—not caring in the slightest that she'd been busted. ‘I'll admit, I indulged in a quick Google this afternoon purely out of curiosity, you understand.'

‘Oh, yeah,' he said, his voice lowering deliciously. ‘I understand entirely.'

‘And frankly I was quite staggered by the profligacy of your dating habits.'

‘The profligacy, huh?' His lips curved, making her heart rate spike deliciously. ‘I love when you use those longs words—they match that snooty English accent so well.'

‘Flattery will get you nowhere. Answer the question.'

‘There was a question in there?' he asked, the mock innocence making her grin back at him.

‘You know very well there was—about your profligacy and your time-management skills,' she prompted. ‘Which appear to be phenomenal if the evidence I found on the Internet is anything to go by. I did a little survey actually. And counted four different dates on your arm since you took Anjelique Montclair to the Georgia Governor's Ball on New Year's Eve.' She huffed to illustrate the point. ‘I have major frock envy over that fabulous dress she had on, by the way. Very classy.' Not to mention a tiny bit of envy over how delicious Anjelique's date had looked in his tuxedo.

‘She did look good, if I recall correctly,' he mused, still not answering the question, and not looking abashed in the slightest by her observation. Then again, she hadn't really expected him to.

‘So?' she prompted again, actually more curious than she wanted to admit. ‘Where
do
you find the time? Not to mention the stamina?'

He watched her, his gaze taking on a challenging glow, and the reckless thrill made her pulse leap.

Game on.

‘The time and the stamina's easy to find, because while I'm socialising I'm usually working as well. Anjelique's father is a close friend of the governor's and I wanted an introduction to expedite a zoning request that the city council had been sitting on for months.' The smile he sent her was smug and completely unrepentant. ‘In the South, mixing business with pleasure is the only way to get things done.'

‘That sounds exhausting,' she said—and remarkably cynical. Had Anjelique realised he was dating her to expedite a zoning request?

‘Not necessarily,' he murmured, his voice husky.

‘How so?'

‘Because I don't sleep with every woman I date.'

‘Ah, I see.' She felt her cheeks heat. She hadn't expected him to be quite that blunt. Or for the admission to please her quite so much. But she quashed the burning desire to ask him directly if he'd slept with Anjelique. ‘That's a relief.'

‘It is?' he asked, lifting her hand from the bar to toy with her fingers. ‘Why is that?'

The heat shot straight up her arm and joined the tingles migrating up her spine.

She tugged her fingers out of his. Damn, she'd walked right into that one. She certainly didn't want him thinking she was
that
interested in his love life. ‘Because sleeping with someone to expedite a zoning request doesn't seem terribly romantic,' she remarked, struggling for flippant while her knickers were dampening with need.

‘Uh-huh. When did you start thinking sex has anything to do with romance?'

When I slept with you.

She erased the foolish thought, and the silly spurt of vulnerability that came with it, and dipped her head to peer into her half-finished Cosmo.

Where had that come from? It wasn't even true—their night together had been hot and reckless and exhilarating, but ultimately wrong. Proving that even she had the capacity to confuse sex with romance. She pushed the drink away. Especially when she'd had too much to drink.

‘I don't,' she replied, ignoring the blip in her heart rate at the intense watchfulness in his gaze. ‘But maybe Anjelique does.'

‘I wouldn't know,' he replied. ‘Because I've never had sex with Anjelique.'

She tramped down on the idiotic surge of adrenaline. And decided she was definitely finished with her alcohol intake for the night.

But jolted, when he covered her hand, brushed his thumb across the knuckles. ‘You, on the other hand...'

Her eyes met his and she felt a little dizzy—mesmerised by the cool blue of his irises.

‘You wanna know the one thing I remember real clear from that night?' he murmured.

She shook her head, knowing she didn't want to know, especially not in that low seductive growl that was setting sparks off all over her sex-starved body.

‘However wrong we were for doing it, it felt right while it lasted.'

Her pulse rate accelerated at the forceful tone. ‘I don't think we should talk about that,' she whispered, her voice faltering along with her resistance. ‘It's a really bad idea.'

He climbed off his stool, and pressed his hand to her back—making the tingles hit meltdown as he rubbed the slinky silk over sensitised skin. He hooked her hair behind her ear and leaned in to whisper against her lobe. ‘Bad ideas can lead to awesome sex.'

She shuddered, not caring any more that she was sitting in a public bar, or that she wanted to stretch against his palms like a contented cat.

‘And it's not wrong any more,' he murmured, his breath hot and seductive against her ear.

She raised her head. ‘Are you sure about that?' she said a little breathlessly, as it occurred to her just how far removed the Carter who stood before her now was from the innocent man she'd once seduced, if that cocksure look was anything to go by.

‘I'm not dating right now—are you?' he said, deliberately misinterpreting the question.

‘No, but.'

He pressed a thumb to her lips, silencing the feeble protest.

‘Didn't you ever wonder what it would be like between us...without all the emotional garbage tripping us up?'

Emotional garbage.

She heard the words, and saw the harsh cynicism behind the hunger.

‘Yes, I have,' she answered honestly, because there wasn't much point being coy when her desire had outstripped her caution a good half an hour ago.

Was she seriously considering this? And why couldn't she seem to consider anything else, such as running off screaming into the night, which had to be the smarter, safer, more sensible option?

He placed both his hands on her waist, and drew her off the stool, until she stood in his embrace, that spicy, musky scent intoxicating her. ‘I have a whole hotel suite upstairs, if you want to find out the answer.'

‘That would be insane,' she whispered. ‘You're insane.' Why did he have to look so gorgeous and why couldn't she muster even a single iota of the guilt she should be feeling?

‘And this would be relevant because...?' The quick feral grin sealed her fate.

Because suddenly she knew why she'd never been able to stop running from what had happened that night. It wasn't because of the mistakes they'd made, the bad things they'd done. She'd been punished a thousand times over for those and she'd changed enough to know she would never be that reckless, thoughtless girl again.

But she hadn't forgotten the glorious way he had made her feel either. He was the one that had got away. And she'd never been able to forget him. Not entirely.

And now he was back. And available. And this time, whatever they did together would just be about the sex. She could have him, enjoy him, get over the physical hunger that had burned inside her for years, and then let him and all the memories go, and walk away for good with no more nagging regrets.

Because if there was one thing she had learned in the years since that night—it was how to separate her sexual needs from her emotional ones.

‘I guess it isn't relevant,' she murmured. ‘Not any more.'

There was no Missy, no marriage in a fortnight, nothing to feel guilty about any more. And they both appeared to be two very different people now.

For whatever reason, Carter, the sensitive, conflicted, sex-deprived virgin had been replaced by Carter the cynical, commanding and sexually confident player. And, thanks to the devastation she'd had to face and overcome after their one night together—not to mention several thousand dollars' worth of therapy in the years since—she was no longer the screwed-up little flirt who thought having sex with any man who took her fancy could replace the love her father had denied her.

His thumbs pressed into the hollow of her hips as he brought his mouth close to hers. ‘It was good then, but it'll be better now—because this time, we'll both know what the hell we're doing.'

She smiled, disarmed by the self-deprecating comment—even though she was sure it was disingenuous. ‘Be careful, Carter,' she teased, the urge to flirt overwhelming her caution. ‘You don't want to oversell yourself, because as I recall you were a remarkably precocious virgin....'

His answering chuckle arrowed through her. ‘There's no doubting you were a powerful inspiration to me back then. But I've learned a few things since—about stamina and focus and technique.' He gave her bottom lip a playful nip, sending a delicious shiver down to her core. ‘Which makes me confident I can do a lot better now.'

She let out a shaky breath, her arousal already long past the point of no return. ‘Then I suppose the least I can do is let you prove it.'

‘Amen to that.' He groaned, then clasped her cheeks in rough palms.

His mouth covered hers, his lips as hot and hungry as she remembered them. But this time he took control of the kiss. There was no tender, tentative, achingly sweet exploration, no moans of staggered arousal, just hot, insistent strokes as his tongue took possession of her mouth, and demanded her response.

She could vaguely hear the sounds of the bar around them—but the exhibitionist in her, that had never really gone away, had no problem wrapping her arms around Carter's waist, and letting her tongue duel with his, refusing to relinquish control and making her own demands in return.

Lust flowed on a heady wave down to her centre as he tried to force her surrender and she refused to submit.

‘Hey, guys, you wanna get a room? We've got a whole hotel at your disposal here.'