The words current fuck douse me with a cold splash of water, and every regret I’ve ever had slams into me and knots in my chest and belly. I pull back, certain I am no better than a groupie, about to be made to feel like a tramp.
Jason curses and presses his hands to the desk beside me. “It’s my manager. He’s got clearance to come up.” He lifts me off the desk and sets me on the floor. “Sorry about his crassness, and the unfortunate fact that he won’t go away.” He reaches up and tugs my bra back into place. “We have to endure him for a little while. Then we’ll get back to what’s important.”
What’s important at this very moment is for me to get out of here before I make a bigger fool of myself. I cut my gaze and start buttoning my blouse. He doesn’t move, crowding the personal space I’ve valued these past six months. Why was I so fast to give it away with this man? I try to step away from him.
He shackles my arm and my gaze darts to his, meeting the soft, almost gentle regret in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he surprises me by saying.
“For what?” I ask, wishing I didn’t want him to say something wonderful and perfect, something that wouldn’t matter if I really were lost in a one-night escape, something I’ve tried to convince myself of.
“For my manager. For making you doubt what just almost happened when I don’t want you to doubt it.”
“Jason!”
His eyes shut and he sighs before looking at me again. “All jokes and flirtation aside,” he says, leaning down and snatching his shirt from the ground, “I’ll make this up to you.”
He turns away and heads for the door, his long, loose hair making it obvious that I just had my fingers all in it. Why does he care about making this up to me? Oh, right. I’m the only female available at the moment. No, I think as mortification sets in. I’m the female with the storage unit he wants to get into—and he just tried by getting into me.
Voices sound in the hallway, growing closer. I grab my purse, shove the strap over my head cross-body style, and spying a mirror hanging in a corner above a dark brown leather chair, I hurry forward and inspect my appearance. Great. My hair is just as wild as Jason’s and my lips are swollen and free of lipstick, which is probably all over him. I am definitely wearing the “current fuck” badge, and not with honor.
“You have the key to the storage unit?”
I turn at the question delivered by a man in a gray pinstriped suit, with wavy blond hair, who I judge to be about Jason’s age. He is good-looking and oozes confidence that borders on arrogance. The kind of man I normally go for and who demolishes me with the ease with which I gobble down a bar of chocolate. Maybe that’s why I am instantly uneasy. Or maybe it’s my stupidity at being caught alone with two strangers. All I know is that I need to get out of here. I should never have come to this room, or this place, or gone to that stupid storage auction, for that matter. I’d lost sight of the course I was on. I had a plan. It was working, and impatience got the best of me.
“Fuck, Daniel,” Jason grinds out. “How about having some damn manners?”
Daniel arches a brow and smirks. “And the word fuck is all about manners.”
Jason grimaces. “That ‘fuck’ was for you, not her.”
Daniel’s lips quirk. “Right. One ‘fuck’ for me now. The one before I opened the door was for her.”
My lips clamp together and my cheeks burn. Jason might be known by many as Red Bull, but I’m certain this man is known by equal numbers as Asshole.
“I’m leaving,” I all but hiss, trying to step around Daniel, but I don’t get far.
Mr. Asshole himself, in all his blond, pressed-suit jerkiness, steps in front of me. “Not so fast,” he declares. “Jason has a tournament and television show taping to get to, but you and I aren’t done yet. I want into that storage unit.”
“Then you should have bid and won it.”
“I would have if—”
“Back off,” Jason snaps, draping his arm around my shoulders, pulling me close, his hip to mine, his long, hard body aligned with mine. Like he wants to protect me, as if I’m his new groupie. “She’s not a part of this. In fact, she’s graciously hearing my story when she doesn’t have to.”
Asshole smirks again. I really want to smack that smirk off his face and I’ve never wanted to hit a man the way I do now. Okay, I have, but it took years to get me there, not minutes. “Right,” Daniel drawls. “And you were just saying ‘thank you’ before I intruded.”
“Enough,” Jason snaps.
“Enough is right,” I agree. “Or maybe you’re just overflowing with so much assholeness that enough isn’t in your vocabulary.” I jerk against Jason and take him by surprise, temporarily freeing myself.
He responds instantly, shackling my arm and placing his body between mine and Asshole’s, giving said asshole his back. “I’m sorry. Fuck.” He scrubs his jaw. “Really fucking sorry. He’s an asshole—”
“You think?”
“Yeah, but you know what they say: better that the asshole is in your corner, not the other guy’s.”
“Keep him in yours.”
“He’s freaked out about all this shit I’m dealing with, just like I am, and it’s his instinct to protect me.”
“I’m pretty freaked out right about now, too. I shouldn’t have come here.”
His eyes—those green, beautiful eyes—soften and I hate that I notice. “I don’t want you to be freaked out.”
I also hate how sincere he sounds and how much I want to believe him. “Because you want into the unit.”
“Of course I do, but that’s not why I’m sorry. Letting him in the door was the mistake, but I had no choice. He’s a damn loudmouth who won’t go away.”
My lips thin. “Because he wants into the unit.”
His lips tighten and the moment of tense silence says more than words. “Skye—”
“Don’t,” I warn. “Whatever you say will just come off as a negotiation to get in the unit.” And my pants, I think with embarrassment, where I almost let him. “I told you I’d come here and look at your evidence. That I agreed to. His abuse is another story. Just go to your tournament and I’ll be here when you get back.” I try to step around him again.
He steps in front of me. “Don’t go.”
“This is ridiculous,” Daniel retorts. “Go to your tournament, Jason. Let me deal with the woman.”
That’s it. I’m officially pissed. I glare at Jason. “Tell your ‘manager’ that ‘the woman’ doesn’t need to be dealt with. She just needs to leave.” He doesn’t move, and my frustration escalates. “Step aside, Jason, or I swear I’ll prove just how well you know how to make a woman scream. And while I suspect some of your women have really large ‘assets’ of the Victoria’s Secret nature, mine are my really big lungs.”
His gaze flickers low, grazing my breasts that have been in his hands, before he arches a brow. “Your lungs?” he asks.
“Yes. My lungs.”
“Jason—” Daniel starts.
“Don’t say another word,” Jason snaps, scrubbing a hand over his head, more loose strands of his light brown hair falling around his handsome face, a look of utter frustration on his handsome face.
“Someone needs to think with the right head,” Daniel retorts, and I don’t get the chance to attack.
A glower slides over Jason’s face and he whirls on his manager. “Enough means enough.”
Yes, it does, and I’m past my limit. I dart for the door, leaving the murmur of their voices behind me, and by the time I reach for the foyer their exchange has turned heated. I yank open the front door and leave them to fight, feeling like a fool many times over. Not only did I go to a stranger’s home alone, I actually feel regret that he’s letting me leave. The same stranger who is using me and is willing to seduce me on a desk to get what he wants. And I almost let him, which screams “sex-deprived idiot.” I need to find the brain I’ve always prided myself on.
The door slams behind me and it’s like a slap
in the face. I feel used and abused. I question my judgment in helping Jason at all. A ding sounds the elevator’s arrival and I wait for what feels like forever before it opens. Still Jason hasn’t appeared, which truly shocks me since I have something he wants, but all elevator fears aside, I freely step into the car, no sexy male roadblocks in sight. The car begins to move and I squeeze my eyes shut as I replay the kiss on that desk, darn near feeling his tongue against mine, his hands on my body, and I burn with a mix of heat and embarrassment. Why did I let that happen? How did I let that happen?
Not soon enough, I’m free of the elevator and darting across the lobby and outside the building, where I ask the doorman to call me a cab, which he seems quite willing to do. It’s a late morning in August, and thankfully a normal mid-70s with sun, considering I don’t have a jacket with me. I wait by the wall at the side of the building and I don’t miss how the doorman takes a call and glances at me. I know what that means. He’s talking to Jason and I have a bad feeling I’m not getting my cab. I start walking, trekking down the sidewalk and grimacing as I approach a monstrous hill when Jason’s sporty car pulls up next to me.
“Skye,” Jason says. “Get in. Let me take you home.”
I flick him a look. “I’ll catch a trolley.”
“Don’t be stubborn,” he chides. “You won’t find a stop until you’re past that hellish hill. Let me take you home. I have a plane to catch. It’s not like I can stay and harass you, no matter how pleasurable that might be.”
I stop and glare at him. “Harassing me is pleasurable?”
“Damn straight.” He gets out of his car and towers over me, his hands settling on my shoulders and sending waves of heat through my body. “Please,” he murmurs, his voice a soft, seductive purr I’m sure many a woman has fallen prey to, “let me take you home. It’s the least I can do, considering how badly the past hour has gone.”
He’s right. He owes me a ride. I shrug out of his hold, dart to the passenger side of the car, and climb inside. A moment later, he joins me and the tiny space is too intimate, the scent of him too manly, too alluring. After all that just happened, this isn’t just a ride, no matter what I might want to tell myself. I still want him. What does that say about me?
He maneuvers the fancy sports car onto the road and my confusion over my feelings for this man has me in attack mode. “They say we are who we hang out with,” I comment.
“He’s an employee.”
“Who appears more in charge than you.”
He flicks me a look. “His paycheck is tied to my career, and he thinks my bedroom habits got me into trouble. The timing was just bad.”
“From what you told me, your bedroom habits did get you into trouble. Then and now.”
He sighs and surprises me with, “Right. You’re right.”
The tension etching his voice has me studying his profile, and I’m certain he knows I’m looking at him, though he stares straight ahead. I can almost feel the turbulence and worry radiating from him, and I think of the blackmail notes he’s shown me. He has to be truly freaked out. I would be. Actually I am, and they weren’t even directed at me.
We fall into silence and I think I should say something, but I’m not sure why or what. My cell phone rings, and I dig it out of my purse and see Ella on the caller ID—she probably wants to meet at the storage unit. Everyone wants to talk about that storage unit.
A bad thought hits me. She has officially paid for it; what if she wants to claim it? I punch the Answer button. “Hey,” I say.
“Hey you. I’m at the storage facility. You headed this way?”
I glance at Jason’s profile and think of his manager and private investigator. All trouble brought on by Trouble. No, brought on by me agreeing to go auction hunting. Trouble I can’t drag Ella into.
“Skye?” she asks when I haven’t replied.
“Sorry. No. I’m not headed there now. I have a neighbor helping me and I’m waiting to find out his schedule.”
“His schedule? Please tell me he’s hot and sexy and all those things that make him oh so much better than me.”
I do not look at Jason. “I’d say that gets a big yes.”
“See now?” Ella teases. “Auction hunting has all kinds of perks.”
“I guess it does,” I say, relaxing a bit as she seems keen on this still being my unit. But just for safety’s sake, I add, “I’m going to bring that envelope to you at our next yoga class.”
“Then I won’t be at yoga class. And you don’t know my home or work address.”
I scowl as if she can see me. “I can’t let you—”
“Yes, you can. I’ll even take the unit—”
“No, I’m actually feeling more optimistic today. I’m just … not a gambler, so—” Shit. Wrong thing to say. I don’t have to look at Jason to feel his shift in attention from the road to me, as I add, “It takes me time to process and accept risk.”
“I’ll take the risk.”
“No you won’t. I told you. I’m giving you back the—” I stop myself before I say “money.” “I’m giving it back.”
“No, you are not.”
She’s making me nervous. “I want to. I want to do this.”
“You’re sure?”
“Absolutely. And I want you to take that envelope back. You barely know me.”
“Random acts of kindness.”
“That you can’t afford.”
“I, ah … I can. I’m coming into some money.” There’s a muffled male voice. “I need to go. Talk soon.” She hangs up and I stare down at the phone. Coming into some money? I thought she was doing auction hunting because she needed money? I’m confused—but then, I was right in what I said. She barely knows me or me her.
“Why do I think that was about the unit?” Jason asks.
“It wasn’t about you,” I say.
“Just the unit.”
It’s not a question. He knows, just as he most likely saw Ella with me at the auction. “It was my friend who talked me into auction hunting.”
“That you regret.”
Again, not a question, and proof he wasn’t just listening in to the conversation, but also taking in every subtle intricacy of the word choices, but then he’s a poker player. I suspect that attention to detail is part of why he wins. “I have two jobs,” I say, after some hesitation. “Taking on something new was about getting rid of one of them, but I’m just not the right personality for this.”
“Meaning what?”
“They open the doors to the unit, and you bid on it based on nothing more than what you see. My friend bid for me, or I wouldn’t have bought the unit at all.”
“So she wanted the unit.”
I turn toward him. “No, don’t start thinking this is about you. She just wanted me to have a unit and make this work.” And I pray I’m right, and her “coming into some money” has nothing to do with Jason or this Stephanie person. “She has nothing to do with this, and I don’t want her involved in this.”
“You’re sure she—”
“Yes. I’m sure.” I face him. “Either you promise—”
“You’re all about promises.”
He’s right, I am—and I’m not sure why. It’s not as if life has taught me promises are always kept, yet still I cling to them as having meaning. “Promise me.”
“You said you barely know her.”
“Jason—”
“I promise. Unless she’s involved and you just don’t know it.”
“Meaning you’re going to check her out.”
“My people are already checking her out.”
He pulls the car in front of my building and parks, and I’m not sure what to expect next, but I’m surprised when he’s out of the car before I can try to figure it out. I open my door and he’s there before I can exit, snagging my hand and pulling me to my feet, his touch hot. Despite my anger, when our gazes meet the charge between us is unmistakable. “Don’t you have a flight to catch?” I ask, sounding way
too breathless for him not to notice.
His lips quirk in that sexy way that I never seem to fail to notice. “I’ll drive fast,” he assures me, and he holds on to my hand as he shuts my door, as if he’s afraid I will dart away. He’s probably right. “I’ll walk you to your door,” he says, and I’d argue, but he’s already tugging me along with him.
The instant we’re at my town house, I dig my keys from my purse and turn to him, offering what I should have from the beginning but wasn’t willing to. “I can’t just give you the unit without knowing more.”
He studies me a long moment. “I’ll pay you ten thousand dollars.”
I gasp. “What? No. I don’t want that. I just need to feel good about my decision to hand over the unit. But while you’re gone, I’ll look around inside for anything that might locate Stephanie.”
He leans on the door frame, caging me without touching me. “Whatever the case, I’m paying you ten thousand dollars. You expected a profit on the unit. I need you to know you didn’t get cheated. I don’t cheat.”
Any fear that this is about him overhearing my conversation with Ella is superseded by a fierceness in his voice that speaks almost as loudly as the fear in his eyes that I’m shocked he has let me see. Or maybe he hasn’t let me see it. Maybe he doesn’t even know it’s there—which for a poker player is a testament to how rattled he has to be.
“You have the blackmail notes,” I remind him. “You can prove you were set up if she makes good on her threats.”
“I can only prove she blackmailed me—not that I didn’t steal those chips. And there’s more than me on the line.”
His father. That is his true torment. He’s worried about how this will affect him and he cares about his family. I envy him that bond, one that I, too, would fight for if I were as blessed as he to have such a thing.
“It’s going to work out,” I promise him, and without a conscious decision to touch him, my hand finds its way to his chest. I see the slight narrowing of his eyes at the touch, feel the racing of his heart. This sexy, confident man, who has women lined up for him, needs me. Maybe it’s just the right time and the right place, but I’ve been there. I’ve needed someone who seemed to give a damn at times when no one did.
Inside Out: Behind Closed Doors Page 6
