by Sarina Bowen
Slowly she shook her head. “If you were summoned it was by someone else. That redhead, maybe.”
He smiled because she’d noticed the redhead. That meant she’d been watching him, too. He let his eyes drift down her body slowly. He’d bought the dress on a whim. She’d been trying on shoes in a store, and he’d been eating an ice cream cone outside. The color caught his eye in a shop window. Somehow he just knew it would fit her. There wasn’t any doubt in his mind. He’d asked the startled women working there to wrap it up.
His gaze dropped all the way down, then took a lingering path back up, past Lauren’s hips, where his hands had once enjoyed skimming the fabric. Up to her breasts, just visible above the soft folds of the blue silk. He leaned forward and spoke into her ear. “You summoned me by wearing this.” He let his lips just brush the shell of her ear as he spoke.
She shivered mightily. But then she sidestepped him. “I didn’t think you’d even remember,” she said, giving him a cutting look. Then she turned her back and marched away, toward the hotel lobby.
He stood there watching her go. Every ounce of her anger toward him was deserved, but time was in short supply. He couldn’t afford to just shrink back and wait for Lauren to realize there was a reason they couldn’t stop watching each other from the opposite ends of a party.
Finishing his beer, he tried to think what to do. He was done with this shindig, though. He’d put in his time. Setting down his empty drink, he made his way past the pool where hotel guests were still splashing, even in the dark.
When he spotted the check-in desk, he got an idea.
THIRTEEN
Storming into the ladies’ room, Lauren didn’t know whether to laugh or scream. You summoned me, he’d said. And, damn it, she had, even though it hadn’t really been her intent.
She was truly amazed that he’d remembered the dress. Men weren’t supposed to remember these things. They were supposed to have hammock sex and then forget about it by cocktail hour the following day. And if Mike was the rare romantic who could never forget a big moment, then why had he treated her so carelessly?
For someone who supposedly still loved her, he had a funny way of showing it.
Lauren was just standing there avoiding her reflection in the mirror when she heard a groan. A glance revealed the hem of an adorable fifties-style dress beneath one of the stalls. “Rebecca? Are you okay?” she called.
“I don’t know,” came a wobbly voice.
“What’s the matter?”
The next groan sounded more frustrated than ill. “I wasn’t supposed to drink. But I thought a single glass of champagne would be okay.”
“And it isn’t?” Lauren guessed.
“Not so much, no.”
“Do you feel sick?”
The stall door opened slowly. “I thought I did, but my stomach is fine.” Becca wobbled out. “My head is all woozy, though. I need to go upstairs.”
“I’ll go with you,” Lauren said quickly.
Becca’s eyes grew damp. “Don’t tell Nate. He’ll be pissed at me.”
“Oh, screw him,” Lauren said, reaching over to take Becca’s hand. “He doesn’t control us.”
“But he’s gone to so much trouble for me, and I’m such an idiot.” She reached up with a free hand to rub her temple. “The fancy new doctor said not to drink. And I didn’t listen.”
“Lesson learned, then,” Lauren said lightly. “Where are your shoes?”
“Oh, crap,” Becca said, a little sob escaping her. “I left them under a bar stool.”
Since this was such a nice hotel, there was an upholstered sofa near the door. “Sit here. I’ll find your shoes.”
“Really? I’m sorry. You’re being so nice to me.”
Ugh. That only proved she’d been a perfect bitch before. “It’s fine. Just don’t go anywhere.” She helped Rebecca to a seat and then slipped out of the powder room.
Her return to the party was accomplished with stealth worthy of a James Bond movie. She didn’t want to catch Nate’s eye, and she didn’t want to bump into Mike, either. But the shoes were quickly located when Nate’s back was turned, and Mike wasn’t visible anywhere.
Twenty minutes later a dizzy Rebecca was safely tucked into her bed.
First, Lauren waited while Becca changed into an amusingly skimpy nighty. “I’m sorry you’re not getting your sexy encounter with a basketball player.”
Becca glanced down at her lacy negligee and gave a wobbly shrug. “This isn’t for special occasions. I always wear lingerie. It’s my way of reminding myself that sex still exists.”
“Huh. I should try that. And Nate would pee himself if he saw you in this.”
“Why?” Becca burped.
Whoops. “Do you need any aspirin?” Lauren asked to cover her Freudian slip. “Or a glass of water?”
“I guess water is a good idea. I just feel so odd. Like I had ten drinks instead of two.”
“Hmm.” She fetched a glass of water from the bathroom. “Look, do you think we should call your doctor?”
“No!” Becca groaned. “One glass of wine can’t kill me. I don’t want to make a big deal out of it.”
“Are you sure?” Lauren asked. “Nate won’t be mad.”
“Yes, he will!” Becca used the furniture and then the wall to brace herself on her way to bed. She yanked the comforter down and climbed in. “I’m jus’ gonna sleep it off. Don’t tell anyone.”
“Okay,” Lauren agreed. “Under one condition. You let me take your key card and come back to check on you in a couple of hours.”
“Deal,” Becca said, facedown in her pillow. “S’on the desk.”
Lauren tucked the key into her tiny purse and said good night. Then she had to ride the elevator back down to the lobby, because the hotel had two towers and she and Becca were staying on opposite sides. As the doors parted, she took a cautious glance into the lobby. Neither of the men she’d been avoiding was present, so she walked quickly around the wacky, hallucinogenic furniture toward the other elevator bank.
Where Nate was standing, wearing a frown. “Have you seen Rebecca?” he barked by way of a greeting.
D’oh!
“Rebecca is fine,” Lauren said carefully. “I just came from her room, and she’s gone to bed.” That was all true, even if it wasn’t all of the truth.
Nate’s eyes narrowed. “I saw her stumble out of the party. She did not look well.”
“Um . . .” Lauren hesitated. “She wasn’t feeling well, but she’s really okay. And I’m going to check on her again in a couple of hours. I’ll set my alarm.”
Nate ran a hand through his hair. “Did she drink? Is that why you look guilty?”
“I’m guilty of nothing,” Lauren reminded him.
He gave her a Nate smirk.
“Look—Becca thinks you’re going to be mad at her.”
“For breaking the doctor’s orders? I am.” He folded his arms and began to pace in front of the fountain.
“Why?” Lauren yelped. “It’s not your body, Nate. She’s your employee. She’s having a bit of a hard time, but you can’t go all medieval on her and bring down the wrath of the kingdom just because a single glass of wine hit her really hard.”
He glowered at her. “I’m supposed to be shaking hands all night for Alex. And instead I’m worrying about Rebecca.”
That’s when Lauren lost it. “You poor overworked man,” she gasped, her scowl matching his. “Everything you do is your choice, Nate. So worry or not. But consider asking yourself why obsessing about Rebecca’s health is your new favorite hobby. And if you say it’s because you need her back at her desk running the Brooklyn office, I may not be responsible for my actions.”
His eyes widened, and the color on his cheeks deepened. Lauren found herself in a stare-down with her boss. Even more startling—she won. Na
te winced and looked away.
Lauren didn’t even know why she was pushing him. It was none of her business, and Nate didn’t like to be pushed. Still, she shoved a hand into her clutch purse and pulled out a key card. “Look. This is her key. Am I using this to check on her later? Or are you?”
He took a deep, yoga-worthy breath. Then he snatched the card out of her hand and shoved it into his pocket.
“Just be nice, okay?” Lauren added. “Don’t scold.”
His eyes dipped. “All right.”
Lauren stood there a moment longer, a little shocked that she’d intervened in the Nate/Rebecca melodrama. But then she gathered her wits and left Nate alone, patting the pocket where the key was. She looked over her shoulder as she hit the button for the elevator that would take her to the Princess Suite. “She’s in room 404,” she added quietly.
“I know,” he said, his voice rough. Then he gave her a smile more sheepish than Nate was usually capable of making.
Trippy.
She rode the elevator up to the penthouse level alone. Maybe she should fill up the giant bathtub in the Princess Suite and soak in it. She deserved a decadent reward for flying to Miami and surviving a party where Mike Beacon wore a tux. Even though she was mad at him for intruding on the demilitarized zone she’d tried to enforce between the two of them, it didn’t stop her from wishing she could remove his tuxedo shirt with her teeth and nuzzle his slightly furry chest with her nose . . .
Lauren keyed into the suite and heard the sound of running water. “Hello?” she called out. The room was softly lit and there was music playing in the background—a soft house music beat. Very Miami. The maid who performed the turndown service at this hotel was very thorough. But also tardy. It was way too late for housekeeping to be in her room. And where was her cart?
The water shut off, and Lauren kicked off her shoes, preparing to greet whoever was tidying up the bathroom.
But the person who emerged was Mike Beacon.
Startled, her brain tried to make sense of the picture. He had his tux jacket thrown over one arm, and a wine bucket in his hand. His bow tie was undone, and the top couple of shirt buttons, too. Lauren got a glimpse of the tan skin at his throat, and a dusting of chest hair below that.
When he spotted her standing there by the door, he did a double take. “Hi,” he said, his face breaking into a smile. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“My apologies,” Lauren snapped, since snappishness was her only weapon when they were in the same room. “I didn’t mean to startle you in my hotel room.”
“No problem,” he said, his smile widening. “Come in and take a load off.”
That’s when Lauren’s head almost exploded. “How did you get in here? Wait—I don’t even care how. Just go, okay? It’s been a long day.”
He moved, and she scooted away from the door to give him a wide berth. But instead of heading for the door, he walked into the bedroom. What the hell? Stunned, Lauren just gaped at the open doorway. The sound of a cork popping was the next one she heard.
“Forgot the glasses,” he muttered. Mike reappeared, looking as handsome as he ever had in his life. But this time it only made her fingers itch to punch him. He trotted over to a cabinet against the wall and plucked two champagne flutes off a shelf.
“Mike!” Lauren spat as he turned his back and headed into the bedroom.
“Yes, Lo?”
Her blood would probably boil over any second now. “This is not your room! Take your wine and hightail it back to wherever you’re staying.” She stomped over to the bedroom doorway just to try to make sense of this odd scene.
He sat calmly on the edge of the bed, bottle in hand, pouring a glass of champagne. It was Moet & Chandon. Our brand, her traitorous memory offered up. Lauren licked her lips unconsciously. She’d always loved champagne. “The first glass is for you,” he said quietly, holding it out.
Although she had an urge to grab it and guzzle it down, she resisted. “I don’t know what you’re playing at. But stop, okay? You can’t bluff your way into my room and pretend the last two years didn’t happen.”
His big brown eyes took measure of hers. He set the glass down on the bedside table and picked up the empty one, filling it slowly so that it wouldn’t bubble over. “I’m not playing,” he said quietly. “I’m well aware that the last two years happened, and they were terrible.” He set the second glass down and placed the bottle carefully into the ice bucket on the floor.
When he straightened up again, he began unbuttoning his shirt. “But we’re both here and I have missed you. So here I am, Lo. Come and have a glass of champagne with me, because you’re the only one in the whole goddamn state of Florida that I want to talk to, anyway. What are we waiting for?” His face was dead serious, that handsome cleft chin pointing at her, waiting.
Lauren stood in the doorway, feeling agitated. He made it sound so easy. She was still too angry to just go along with this little fantasy. “Maybe I wore the dress just to make a point. It’s not like you don’t deserve it.”
He nodded slowly. Then he picked up both glasses and offered her one.
She shook her head.
Mike took a sip of one of them, then he closed his eyes in pleasure. “There hasn’t been enough champagne in my life lately,” he said, taking a second sip. “Not much to celebrate.”
“Likewise,” she said, because twisting the knife was something she did often when he was around.
He eyed her over the rim of the glass. “See, I considered that maybe you wore that dress just to piss me off.” He took another sip of champagne, and she watched his throat work as he swallowed it, his Adam’s apple bobbing. A dark dusting of stubble on his rugged jaw was visible even from this distance, and her traitorous mind wondered how rough it would feel under her hand.
Lauren’s mouth watered, and she wasn’t sure if the cause was the wine, or the man drinking it.
“. . . But then I realized that can’t be it,” he mused, admiring the tiny bubbles rising up the sides of his glass. “The Lauren I know isn’t a bitter person. She wouldn’t torture me, even if I deserved it. So I decided I was right the first time—the dress was a summons. An olive branch. I accept, baby. Have some champagne and sit with me.” He patted the bed beside him. Her bed. In her private suite. How did he even get in here?
“Let me get this straight,” she said through a throat constricted by anger and surprise. “Either I jump on your dick in gratitude, or I’ve become an angry, bitter person?”
His eyes flared with both heat and amusement. “That’s an oversimplification, but I do like the sound of that first thing.”
She folded her arms in front of her chest, clasping her elbows to prevent her hands from shaking. Every nerve ending in her body was standing at attention. So this is what fight-or-flight feels like. “Maybe I didn’t mean to make a statement, Michael. Maybe it’s just a dress.”
Slowly, he shook his head, his glimmering eyes fixed on hers. “It’s not just a dress. And I’m not just some guy you used to date. A lot went wrong between us, and I take all the blame, okay? But we’re both here. Right now. Just us.” He stood up suddenly, grabbing the other glass of champagne off the table and stepping toward her. “Please.” He held out the glass. “There’s eleven hours until we get on the bus to the airport. Spend them with me.”
Her mind reeling, Lauren grabbed the glass and took a much-needed sip. The bright taste of champagne burst across her tongue. Ten days from now she would probably be giving up wine on her obstetrician’s orders. And giving up men was also a certainty.
Last chance, her subconscious whispered.
The bubbles tickled her throat as she swallowed. “I’m still angry at you,” she said, eyeing the attractive man standing in front of her. “I don’t think that’s going to go away even if I let you talk me out of my clothes.”
It was
tough talk. Except she left out the part about how she was still in love with him.
“I know you’re still mad,” he whispered. “I’m still mad at me, too. So we’ll have that in common.” He leaned forward and brushed his lips across her cheekbone.
Lauren inhaled a deep breath scented with both his aftershave and the wine in her glass. She felt hyper-aware of everything happening, as if the moment were transpiring in slow motion. The rustle of his shirt fabric against her shoulder felt louder than it should have. And the warmth of his body leaning close to hers gave her goosebumps.
“It can’t be that easy,” she said, her voice low. She wouldn’t bother to pretend that she wasn’t tempted. But still. “After all this time, it would be weird.”
“That’s the thing. It won’t.” He drained his glass and set it on the bedside table. Then he moved around to stand behind her. “Drink your bubbly. It’s a good bottle. I still love champagne.”
She took another sip on command. So much for giving him a piece of her mind.
A warm, calloused hand landed on her shoulder. With his other hand, Mike gathered her hair and smoothed it away from her neck. “The guys tease me for drinking it,” he said, his voice low and private, his thumb tracing the curve of her neck. “Sometimes I’ll order a glass at the bar after we’ve won a road trip game. Doulie will rib me about it while he slugs back the Scotch. But I drink it because it makes me think of you.”
Lauren closed her eyes and let herself be overwhelmed by the sensation of his hands on her body. Too many hours had been spent trying to remember how this felt. This man’s loving touch had always made her pulse race. The drag of his fingers over her skin made her feel more alive than she had in months.
“Lo,” he whispered, his breath at her ear. “Let me love you tonight.” His lips landed at the juncture of her neck and shoulder, and she shivered. He began to drop teasing kisses on her sensitive skin, and she barely held in her gasp.
As he continued this torture, her eyes stayed slammed shut, and her mouth hung open. When the backs of his fingers traced a slow line down the side of her dress, she bit her lip until she tasted blood.
