Authors: Ann Christopher
“I’m sorry, because you’re very handsome and very tempting. But I can’t.”
His frantic brain was already stumbling ahead, trying to find a loophole. She couldn’t now, yeah, sure, but what about six months from now? “I’ll just give you my card, then, and you can call me—”
“I can’t,” she repeated, turning away and picking up speed as she prepared to jump back into the flow of foot traffic.
So there it was. The end. He had to let her go because, like he’d said, he wasn’t a stalker, and he was already skirting the line.
“At least tell me your last name!” he called after her, choking on his frustration.
She never turned back.
Chapter 4
T
hree hours later, when he got off the elevator and headed to the hotel’s bar, Marcus was still mad at the world and, more than that, at himself.
For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out what’d happened.
He’d met some woman on a plane. They’d shared a near-death experience and a kiss. They had chemistry, yeah, but it would have to remain forever unindulged, because the woman wasn’t in the right place for any hookups. They would, in fact, never see each other again, and that had to be the end of the story.
So why wasn’t that the end of the story?
Why was Claudia’s face all he could see, as though it’d been tattooed to the insides of his eyelids?
Hadn’t he clicked the delete button in his brain and tried to forget her? Hadn’t he done the right thing by dragging his tired and wired ass to the hotel’s gym, where he’d pumped weights until his muscles burned and shook? Hadn’t he followed that up with a five mile run on the treadmill and a shower cold enough to make ice cubes of his surging hormones? Hadn’t he made some calls and answered most of his emails in a vain effort to think about something—anything—else other than the loss of a woman he’d never had in the first place? What the hell was wrong with him and why couldn’t he forget her?
His phone vibrated in his jeans pocket, providing him with a welcome distraction. Veering away from the bar entrance, he fished it out and checked the display. It was Cooper, his adopted brother and one of the co-owners of Davies and Sons.
He clicked the phone on. “What’s up, man?”
“Grounded in Chicago, eh?” Cooper asked.
“Yeah. I’m about to drown my sorrows at the bar.”
“Sounds promising. So it looks like I’ll catch up with you in Jackson Hole tomorrow.”
“Say what?” Marcus dropped into a tall-backed chair in the seating area outside the bar. “Are you coming out?”
“Yep. If we want to land this auction, we need to bring in the big guns. That would be me.”
Marcus snorted.
“That’s it?” Cooper sounded surprised. “I toss you a softball and you don’t hit it out of the park? What’s up? You sick?”
Marcus leaned his head against the back of the chair and rubbed his tired eyes. “It was a bad flight.”
“I get that. That’s why you’re in Chicago. What else?”
“I—” Marcus gave his shoulders an irritable twitch. He was fast becoming disgusted with himself for acting like such a lovesick puppy that his brother could hear it in his voice. So Claudia didn’t want to see him again. Big deal. Screw her. “Nothing.”
Cooper waited.
Marcus shifted in his seat, trying to find a comfortable position. He crossed his legs, then uncrossed them. He ran a hand over the top of his head and cleared his throat, trying to unstick the words.
“There was this woman. In the seat next to me.”
“Oh, yeah?”
Marcus could feel the silent but acute sharpening of Cooper’s interest. “Yeah.”
“So?” Cooper prompted.
“So...she gave me the kiss-off. I may see her again on the flight out of here, but I may not. And if not, I’ll never see her again.”
“Ah.”
Cooper waited, which was one of his more annoying tactics. He seemed to have an innate understanding that if he kept quiet long enough and let the tension play out, Marcus would be forced to spill his guts, whether he wanted to or not.
“I...wasn’t real happy about that,” Marcus admitted.
“Easy come, easy go, right?”
“Not always, man,” Marcus said. “Not always.”
“Yeah.” Cooper let out a harsh sigh. When he spoke again, his voice was uncharacteristically morose. “I feel you.”
Marcus snorted. The last thing he needed was fake sympathy from one of the biggest players on the Eastern Seaboard. “You feel me. No doubt. And I was born the son of wolves.”
Silence from his brother.
“Hello?” Marcus said sharply.
“Every now and then,” Cooper said slowly, “you meet someone who could be...special. I get that, is all I’m saying.”
Now Marcus’s interest was piqued. “Who have you ever met?” he demanded.
“What? Nobody.” Cooper made a disbelieving noise that was a little too vehement to be sincere, and Marcus made a mental bookmark to bring the topic up again at the earliest possible opportunity. “This is about you, man. Go have a drink. Get laid. Get over it.”
His brother’s advice had as much appeal as a daily prostate exam, but Marcus decided he should fake it anyway, at least with the drink. What the hell else was he going to do on this lonely and no doubt sleepless night at an airport hotel?
“Yep,” he said. “I plan to.”
“See you tomorrow.” Cooper yawned hugely in Marcus’s ear, forcing him to hold the phone at arm’s length. “Can you believe this? Flying out to Jackson Hole to convince Judah we can make him a lot of money? When we’ve already made him a lot of money? I’m not sure trying to get his business is worth all the trouble, frankly.”
“You may be right,” Marcus said. “Later, man.”
“Tomorrow.”
Marcus hung up and headed across the lobby, passing several tall and ultramodern banquettes that were arranged around a massive gas fireplace. He was just leaving the lobby area and crossing into the bar’s dimly lit interior, when he heard it.
“Really, I don’t know what it is with you American men,” said the bored and achingly familiar voice from the other side of one of the tufted banquettes. “Why are you all so persistent?”
Marcus froze and listened with his entire being.
“There’s no need to get testy, sweetheart,” replied a harassed male voice. “I just asked if you wanted a drink.”
“I have a drink! You can see it sitting right there on the table!”
“And an attitude, too, apparently,” the guy said.
“You’d have an attitude, too, if a random stranger tried to force himself on you when you were trying to unwind and called you ridiculous names like
sweetheart,
” Claudia said.
“We could unwind together,” the guy tried. “Maybe have a bite together in the bar?”
“Or maybe I could call security and do my best to get you thrown out of the hotel,” replied Claudia sweetly. “Your choice.”
Marcus grinned.
“You know what, honey?” the guy snapped. “You win. Enjoy your drink.”
“I will, thanks,” Claudia told him.
“Nut job,” the guy muttered.
“Prat,” Claudia answered.
Marcus couldn’t help it. He laughed under his breath.
The guy, a well-dressed and lanky professional basketball player type, appeared around the edge of the banquette, saw Marcus and frowned. “Word to the wise? Stay away from that one, buddy,” he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder in Claudia’s direction. “Save your balls the misery.”
Marcus laughed again, taking care to keep his voice low so Claudia wouldn’t hear him just yet. “Point taken.”
Grumbling darkly, the guy disappeared into the bar.
After a moment’s indecision—he couldn’t keep blowing his chances with her, so he had to handle this just right—Marcus shoved his hands into his pockets and slowly rounded the corner of the banquette until Claudia came into view. Her head was bent over her drink, giving him the opportunity he needed to get his whirring thoughts together. He stared, double- and triple-checking to make sure she was the same powerful career woman he’d met on the plane.
She was, of course.
Maybe what he was seeing now was the soft milk-chocolate layer inside the hard outer shell he’d encountered earlier.
She’d changed clothes, for one thing, and now wore a loose-fitting yoga-type outfit—black again—with a neckline that draped over one shoulder to reveal a wide stretch of velvety skin. Bare feet, manicured with a pretty purple polish, peeked out the ends of stretchy black leggings, and a pair of flip-flops lay on the floor beneath her seat. She was sitting cross-legged, and her hair was a mass of wet curls. Even from the distance of a few feet, he could smell the lingering spicy freshness from her shower.
A tumbler of Scotch on the rocks and a tablet computer sat on the funky round coffee table in front of her.
She stared down at her lap. In a gesture that was as absent as it was agitated, she ran her hands over her knees in endless, rhythmic circles.
Marcus watched her, rapt and unmoving.
She raised a hand and swiped at her face with the bottom edge of a sleeve.
He opened his mouth to say something, but he couldn’t think what.
Her head came up. She looked directly at him with shimmery gray eyes that swam in unshed tears. Whether she was startled to see him again or had known he’d been standing there the whole time, he couldn’t begin to guess.
Either way, something about her made his heart stop.
“Hi,” he said softly.
“Hi.” Ducking her head, she ran a hasty hand over her reddening cheeks, straightened her shoulders and swung her feet to the floor. If he could peek into her mind, he’d probably find her wishing she had a suit of armor to put on for protection against him. “I wasn’t crying or anything. I was just...you know. Allergies.”
With some effort, he got his brain to restart and shifted it into first gear. “Right. I didn’t think you were,” he lied.
“Good,” she said, regaining some of her crispness and brightening.
“Although...I wouldn’t blame you if you were. That guy was clearly a punk.”
“Clearly.” She grinned and stifled it just as quickly, looking uncomfortable until she gestured to her drink. “Scotch is bloody awful. However do you choke it down?”
“It’s an acquired taste. I thought you didn’t drink.”
“I never drink.” She ran a fidgety hand through her hair and sighed. “But a day like this seems to call for an exception, don’t you think?”
“Absolutely,” he said, gesturing over his shoulder, toward the bar. “That’s where I was headed.”
“Oh.” Her face fell, resisting all her efforts to hide it. When she smiled again, it was strained and false. “Well. I shouldn’t keep you then.”
He wanted to tell her that she wasn’t keeping him, because there was no known place in the universe where he’d rather be, but his pride had taken one too many whacks from her today, and he didn’t think it could take another one.
So he forced himself to back up and turn toward the bar, taking what felt like the biggest risk of his entire life. “Have a good night, Claudia.”
“And you,” she said cheerily.
He took one grudging step away from her, then another. On the third step, he started giving himself mental kicks in the ass. Stupid! He was so stupid! Had he really thought—hoped—that she’d invite him to stay?
Claudia?
Really, moron? Didn’t he already know her better than that? Why hadn’t he figured out a way to keep the conversation going a little longer, or at least—
“Marcus,” she called after him.
Deep inside him, something that had lain dormant for far too long woke up, flapped its wings and soared as high as their jet had earlier. Which made it hard for him to suppress his idiotic grin and arrange his features into an expression that was politely puzzled and nothing more.
“Yeah?” he asked, glancing at her over his shoulder.
She hesitated before gesturing vaguely toward her drink. “I...seem to have this Scotch I’m not going to finish.”
“Oh, yeah?”
Flushing prettily, she swept her hands through her hair, ruffling it. “And you like Scotch, as I recall?”
He inclined his head. “I drink the occasional Scotch, yes.”
“Why don’t you have this one, then?”
That wasn’t the invitation he wanted—no, needed—to hear. So he picked up the tumbler, raised it in a grateful toast to her and took a sip.
“Thanks,” he said, turning to go again. “I’ll just take it into the bar with me. Have a great night.”
She scowled. “Marcus! You’re not this bloody clueless! Have a drink with me!”
By this point, he couldn’t stop his smile if he tried, and he didn’t want to try. He wanted to dance and sing. Veering back to the banquette, he sat next to her, close enough for their knees to brush, and gave her shoulder a bump with his.
“Was that so hard?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said sourly, brushing lint off her pants. “You have no idea.”
“Look at me,” he told her.
At first he thought she’d refuse, but then her turbulent gaze flickered up to his.
He opened his mouth, which was full of things he wanted to tell her but knew she wasn’t ready to hear.
You don’t know how beautiful you are.
Don’t be afraid of me.
I want you.
So he swallowed all those back and focused on one small thing.
“It’s just you and me, Claudia, sitting here having a drink. Nothing to get stressed about.” He paused, reining himself in hard. “Okay?”
She nodded, the corners of her eyes crinkling into a tiny smile. “Okay.”
“Great,” he said, light-headed with relief. “What can I get you, beauty?”
Chapter 5
“E
arl Grey tea?” Marcus asked five minutes later, watching Claudia fish a small plastic bag containing a fancy tea bag out of her purse. They’d managed to flag down a passing server, who brought an oversize mug and a small silver pot of hot water along with a platter of cheese and crackers, olives and chocolate-covered strawberries. “Do you always bring your own?”
Now she was busy adding sugar and lemon, but she paused to flash him a grin. “Always. You Americans don’t know the first thing about good tea. Not to worry, though. Your country has other things to recommend it.”
He raised a brow and sipped his Scotch. “This should be interesting.”
“Well, you’re very good at strong coffee, obviously. And supersizing things. You just don’t get a two-pound serving of chips—”
“Fries.”
“Yes, fries, in London, do you?”
“Apparently not.” He waited, but there didn’t seem to be more. “And?”
“Oh, well.” She paused in her careful selection of a piece of cheese and scrunched up her face, thinking hard. “I do love Walmart for the prices, although I don’t have much of a chance to go since I live in the city. And basketball. I love college basketball games. And Manhattan, of course. No other city’s like it.”
“Thanks for that,” he said grudgingly, watching her eyes roll closed with delight as she savored the cheese. “Anything else?”
“Yes, actually.” Her expression turned wistful. “Don’t laugh, but I really want to rent one of those giant RVs one day and drive across the country, seeing all the sights. The Grand Canyon, the national parks, the sequoia trees— I told you not to laugh!”
“I’m having a tough time picturing you trekking through the canyon in your black leather on a mule. I’d love to see it, though.”
“Oh, that. A woman’s got to have her corporate armor.”
“What do you do?”
“Rare books. If you want one, I’ll find it for you.”
“Oh, yeah? Keep your eye out for an early edition of
A Tale of Two Cities
for me, okay?”
“Dickens, eh? You can’t be all bad, then, can you?”
“I’ve been telling you that all night.”
“No comment. By the way, that book’ll cost you a pretty penny—”
“Just keep a lookout.”
“And anyway, as you can see, I’m perfectly happy to shed all corporate armor and just relax every now and then. What are you looking at, sir?”
Marcus caught himself giving her an admiring once-over that may have been a bit too frank. He thought about schooling his features, but it was way too late now. “I’m trying to decide which version of you I prefer. They both have their pluses.”
“Is that so?” she asked tartly. “I can hardly wait to hear this.”
“You’re not fishing for compliments, are you, Claudia?”
She bristled, a vivid flush reddening her face. “I am not—”
“But I’m glad to hear the U.S. is good for producing something other than—what was it?—bad rashes?” This change of topic seemed to take her aback. She raised her brows, and he took advantage of the silence. “You’re good at attracting men, aren’t you? And giving them the kiss-off.”
She recovered quickly, grinning as she tucked her feet under her again, getting more comfortable. “My so-called skills did fine with the other guy just now, but they don’t seem to have worked with you, have they?”
He shrugged. “The other guy just wanted a quick hookup.”
“And you don’t?” she asked incredulously.
“Don’t get me wrong,” he admitted. “If you’re in the mood for a quick hookup, I’m your guy.”
She rolled her eyes. “Good to know.”
“But there could be more here than that, and I think you know it.”
She stared at him, her smile fading away. “Maybe I simply need to be harsher with you. Like I was with the other guy.”
He turned to face her more fully and rested one knee on the seat. They leaned closer to each other, sinking more fully into the cocooned privacy of their world in front of the fire. Unsmiling, he brushed his knuckles across her cheek, sweeping a wayward curl back from her eyes as he held her gaze. This connection of their skin was subtle but electric, and he felt her tiny shiver of awareness as though it were his own.
“Maybe you don’t really want to get rid of me.”
There was a long pause.
“Maybe I don’t,” she admitted softly.
This gave him the permission—and the courage—he needed to be bolder about touching her again. He took his time coming closer, giving her plenty of warning and the chance to back away, but she didn’t. Her gaze was direct. Inviting. So he traced his fingertips over her silky brow and down the sweetly curved angle of her cheek, stopping at the edge of her mouth.
“If you keep looking at me like that,” he murmured, “I’m going to kiss you. Just so you understand.”
Her lids lowered fractionally and she licked her lips, making him think that, once again, she’d be the one doing the kissing. But she caught herself and leaned back just enough to break the contact between them. She turned her head and seemed to be trying to hide her desire behind a sudden interest in the flickering flames.
Silence, peaceful but expectant, settled around them. The server peeked his head around the banquette to see if they needed anything, but Marcus flapped a hand to shoo him away. He didn’t need anything but this. He watched Claudia, ready and eager to catch whatever she decided to throw at him next.
“Were you scared today, Marcus?” she asked after a while. “On the plane?”
“Yeah.”
“Really scared?”
“Yeah.”
“What did you think about in that moment? Did you pray?”
Once again, his mouth filled up with words he meant but wasn’t ready to say and she damn sure wasn’t ready to hear. Here in their little private corner, though, danger of any kind, physical or emotional, seemed very far away. So he decided to be honest with her.
“I thought about my wife. And...you.”
Her head came around, her silvery eyes wide with surprise, and a wealth of possibilities seemed to blossom in that second. She didn’t ask what he’d been thinking about her, which was good, because he wasn’t sure he could articulate the mixture of emotions he’d felt—familiarity and surprise, yearning and anticipation, gratitude that he’d met her and fear that it might already be too late to explore their attraction.
“Why—” she began shakily, then had to pause to clear her throat “—why would you think about me at all in a moment like that?”
He tried for a smile. It wouldn’t come. “I wish I knew.”
They stared at each other. Something in her searching gaze gave him the courage to ask, quietly, “Did you think about me?”
She blinked and looked at the coffee table, her expression pensive. One beat passed, then two. At last she seemed to decide something, reached for her tablet and leaned back against the cushions again.
“I made a list,” she said, tapping the screen to bring up a document. “Things that went through my mind when I thought we might crash. Things I regret.”
He nodded, fighting hard to resist touching her again, especially at this moment that felt so vulnerable.
“Number One—I regret that I skipped the dinner at my mother’s house last October so I could go woo a potential client. At the time, I thought it was the most important night of my life.” She made a bitter sound. “But I didn’t get her business and my mother died of cardiac arrest the next morning. Good decision, eh?”
“Ah, man.” He understood that kind of shock and pain all too well. “Claudia, I’m sorry—”
She flashed him a wry smile. “I know, I know—you’re sorry. Only I don’t do emotional stuff very well, so I’m going to need you to sit quietly so I don’t fall apart.”
“I understand,” he said quickly.
“Good. So, the thing is—”
“That’s why you were crying earlier, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Marcus,” she said, glaring at him. “Now will you shut the bloody hell up?”
“You got it.”
She watched him, making sure he kept his word. He sealed his lips. When she was satisfied, she started again. “With my mother, well, that’s not a regret I can do anything about, is it? And if she were here and I apologized for it, I know she’d look at me as though I’d gone insane, so I know she forgives me. Oh, and she left me this necklace that she always wore. My father gave it to her. I’ve never even met him. But I have this necklace. It’s jade.”
She held it out, and he saw that it was an intricately carved dragon pendant in shades of green.
“Beautiful,” he said.
“Thanks,” she said absently, taking a deep breath and plowing ahead. “But I have regrets I want to correct, which brings me to Number Two—”
“You want to find your father?”
Her face hardened. “Of course not. He’s written me off and I’ve returned the favor. No, I regret that I haven’t made peace with my baby brother back in London.” With a deep sigh, she ran a hand through her hair. “We don’t get on at all, mostly because he’s royally screwing up his life. Part of it’s my fault. Well, mine and my mother’s. I think we spoiled him too much, and he was the only male in the family. But he’s straightening himself out now. Back in school and all, with me footing the bill. I’d like to be closer to him, and that’s something I can fix, right?”
Marcus nodded.
“Number Three—I’ve never had a dog. I want a dog.”
Marcus grinned. He couldn’t help himself. “Dogs will get hair on your black clothes. Unless you’ve found a hair-free dog.”
“There are low-shed dogs, yes, but you’re talking again,” she said sourly.
“Sorry.”
“Number Four—I’ve never been married or had children.”
“Children and husband are behind dogs?”
“Well, dogs don’t talk and get on your nerves, do they?”
“True.”
“Number Five—I’ve never taken that RV trip across this beautiful country of yours. Nor have I seen Alaska or Hawaii.”
“Neither have I,” he admitted.
“Number Six.” She trailed off.
A husky new tone in her voice had him listening hard. He waited, watching as she ducked her head and swiped her hand through her hair again, ruffling the curls into a delightful halo around her blushing face.
“Number Six,” he prompted, damn near holding his breath with suspense.
“Number Six.” Her bright gray gaze flickered back to his, and it was so hot and direct that every muscle in his body tightened and hummed with lust. “I regret that I blew you off in the terminal, Marcus. And I intended to do something about it.” She paused, and in the deepening silence between them, he could hear the shallow rasp of her breath. Or was that his? “If you hadn’t bumped into me tonight,” she continued, “I’d planned to find you back in New York. As soon as possible. I was just about to search for you on Google.”
* * *
Marcus kept his mouth shut, his hands deep in his pockets and his gaze firmly on the tips of his shoes as they got into the elevator, stood side by side and stared at the numbers over the door. He was determined to be a gentleman, even if his blood was running hot and he felt off-kilter, like a caveman who’d thrown on a tuxedo and gone to the ball.
Who was he fooling, though? Not himself, certainly. So what that he wasn’t begging her to come to his room or running his fingers up the back of her neck and into her hair? The air was still thick with desire and unspoken words, and he was quite certain that Claudia was sensitive enough to feel it.
Overhead, the lights switched. Second floor.
Claudia, who was staring at the numbers as resolutely as he was, shifted on her feet, restless with energy.
She smelled like spices, shampoo and sensual woman.
Cursing his overactive nose, he balled his hands into fists and tried to remember the important things here. That they’d just met. That she was skittish and had clearly had bad experiences with men. That as much as he wanted her, he needed to be strategic about how he handled things. Earlier he’d been sure he’d never see her again, but fate, or something like it, had given him another chance. They’d spent a little time together. They’d see each other again in New York because they both wanted that.
A surprising win all around, right?
Why couldn’t he be grateful and leave it at that?
Why was it so hot in here?
Why was it so hard for him to keep his hands to himself?
Third floor.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Claudia look in his direction and open her mouth as if she wanted to say something.
Fourth floor.
Do the right thing, man,
he told himself, trying to ignore the spiraling desire low in his belly. It wasn’t that hard. Do. The. Right. Thing—
“Marcus.”
Screw it. If she thought he could keep his hands off her when she spoke his name with that kind of husky longing, she was sadly mistaken.
He turned, staring into her stormy-gray eyes. His hands came out of his pockets and went straight to the sides of her head, to the velvety sweetness of her cheeks, the silky column of her neck and the sleek locks of her hair.
She shuddered helplessly, covering his hands with hers, and there was something so raw and electric about the connection between them that he knew he had to look away from her face or risk being badly burned.
And so, bypassing the lips he desperately wanted to taste again, he pressed his cheek to hers and whispered in her ear, “I want you.”
“I want you, too,” she said.
“Then come to my room with me, beauty.”
“I can’t. It’s such a bad idea, and I’m smarter than that.” She sighed helplessly. “I’m trying to be smarter than that.”
“Claudia. Sweet love.” He traced her tender earlobe with the tip of his tongue and relished the responsive croon that hummed in her throat. “It’s not about smart or dumb. It’s about inevitable.”
She tipped her chin up, surrendering, a hint of a smile touching her lips and—
With the worst conceivable timing, the elevator dinged and the doors opened.
Sixth floor. Claudia’s floor.
She went rigid and stepped out of his arms and out of the elevator.
Facing him from the other side of what felt like an abyss, she looked breathless and turbulent. “I can’t,” she said again, but there was no conviction in her tone. “I’m not going to jump into bed with some man I just met.”