Ten steps away at most.
And, look there, his keys were on the table beside the door.
Get dressed. Get out. Go home.
Which is why he stared in horrified fascination at his hand as it drew down the covers beside Victoria.
What are you doing?
His body answered by sliding between the sheets until he was lying right next to her outstretched hand.
As though his body were a magnet for hers, her hand groped for him, found his shoulder. Next he knew, she was sliding across the bed in her sleep and curling against him.
And he loved the way it felt.
With a final sigh of resignation, Kip removed his towel and dropped it beside the bed. Then he slid his arm beneath her and hauled her close. Her cheek came to rest on the pad of his chest, her arm draped across his ribs, and her knee drew up and over his thighs until the heat of her sex branded his hip.
After only a slight hesitation, he reached over and clicked off the lamp beside them, pitching the hotel room into darkness.
Only then, when he couldn’t see himself breaking another of his ironclad rules, did he relax.
Unmatched comfort and peace rolled through him, and as his eyelids grew heavy, his final thought was a promise to himself:
I’ll leave before she wakes up. She’ll never have to know I did this, and I can pretend I was never this stupid.
I’ll leave . . . before she . . .
Sleep took him over.
Chapter Twelve
The first thought Victoria had as she came to wakefulness was the words she thought she’d heard Kip whisper to her last night as he came.
I love you.
It was a damn good fantasy. But a fantasy nonetheless. He’d never say something like that.
Still . . . I love you. Those words—the ones he’d never said—had sounded divine.
She opened her eyes with a smile on her lips. A smile that quickly faded. Last night was the last night.
Oh, damn. That hurt.
“You are a bed hog.”
What? Her head swiveled to the left—toward the sound of the voice she’d just been fantasizing about.
Kip sat on the edge of the bed, fully clothed—more’s the pity—and holding two paper coffee cups.
He was still here? Did that mean something?
Oh, God, what did it mean?
Amid the cacophony of her internal thoughts, what came out of her mouth was, “You brought coffee?”
That’s right, Victoria. Go for what matters.
“And croissants.” He nodded to the bag on the side table as he extended a cup her way. “It’s black, but I had them leave room at the top and brought back the typical stuff. I didn’t know how you take it. I got espresso and milk if you like that better.”
His words were quick—almost on the verge of babbling—and it was very un-Kip-like.
She bit back a smile. “I take it black.”
He shook his head, biting back his own smile. “Of course you do. I’ll remember that.”
Like he was ever going to be bringing her coffee in bed again?
Her heart leapt. Holy fuck, do you want him to bring you coffee in bed again?
While she had to admit that him bringing her coffee every damn day sounded pretty great, she snatched the cup of coffee from his hand with a bit more force than was necessary.
A flicker of doubt lit through his eyes and was gone. But she’d seen it. He was as unsure about what he was doing here the morning after as she was.
With both her hands wrapped around the cup, she glanced back and forth between her coffee cup and the brown pastry bag on the nightstand as her stomach rumbled.
Next she knew, Kip was plucking a flaky croissant from the bag. “Let me,” he said softly, extending the pastry toward her lips.
How he managed to make even those two simple words sound like sex personified, she didn’t know, but her lady parts perked up immediately.
This morning-after business does have some potential bonuses.
Warm croissant touched her lips. She took her first bite, and her eyes slid closed. Somehow, it tasted better than normal.
He exhaled loudly. She opened her eyes to find he wasn’t quite looking her way as he set her pastry down on the side table. “Well, I’m going to head out.”
“Oh.” She picked at the sleeve around her coffee cup. “Okay.”
He stared at her hands and jerked a nod. “Okay.” Then, he pushed to his feet, rocking a bit when he got there. “Victoria . . . this has been . . . ” He shoved a hand through his hair. “Pretty incredible,” he finished softly.
Her bite of croissant seemed to stick in her throat. She cleared it. “Yeah. It has been.” Oh, God. Did her eyes sting?
Then, she straightened. “Oh!” Sliding out of bed, she raced to her laptop bag. “I can’t believe I forgot.” She balanced her coffee and fished around in her bag until she found the cashier’s check she’d had prepared yesterday for the remaining balance of their agreement. This had to be why he’d stayed.
That her stomach sank because he hadn’t stayed simply because he wanted to had to be an anomaly.
Spinning around, she thrust the check out between them.
His gaze landed on it, and his eyes widened. “Huh.”
Huh? What did that mean? That he hadn’t remembered the money either? Wait, he had stayed just for this reason. Right?
The check, which she’d thrust toward him perfectly straight, suddenly wilted and bent over her fingers. She cleared her throat and waved it a bit.
Jerking forward, almost as though he’d forgotten he needed to move, he reached out and gently slid the check from her fingers. “Thank you,” he said softly, folding the check without looking at it and putting it in his back pocket.
He turned toward the door, then paused. “Oh, yeah.” He turned back to her. “I should . . . kiss you.” He raised his eyebrows. “Right?”
How this situation managed to become so awkward was a mystery. “You don’t have to.”
“No . . . I want to.” Then he leaned down and pressed a soft, espresso kiss to her lips.
Mmm, delicious. The awkwardness faded away, but she could feel it perched in the wings, ready to make a reappearance at any moment. To keep it at bay, she wanted to grab his shirt and pull him down for another. Alas, her hands were occupied with scalding coffee, and he was leaving. Needed to leave.
He stood straight and shoved a hand through his hair. “I’ll . . . uh . . . see you later, then.” Immediately, he winced. “I mean—”
She nodded. “I know what you mean.” She licked her lips. “Take care of yourself, Kip.”
He gave her a half smile and then beat feet toward the door as though his loafers were on fire. When he escaped into the hall, closing the door firmly behind him, Victoria didn’t know whether to frown or snuggle into the pillows that would probably still smell like him.
So, she opted for a third option: getting her ass out of this hotel for the last time and forcing herself to go home and get ready for work. She’d neglected some of her other clients lately as she’d worked on The Ricchezza campaign. She owed them more than that and was prepared to rectify matters right away.
She was distracted the entire time she went through the motions of getting ready. All the way up to the office building, she nursed the coffee Kip had gotten her, and then, even though it was empty, she carried the cup with her to her office, tracing her fingertip over Kip’s name.
Like a fucking eighth grader with a massive crush.
“Ugh.” She dropped the cup into the trashcan by her desk.
“Hastings!”
Victoria’s head jerked up. Mr. Kincaid was standing in the open door of her office, glowering her direction. She flicked a quick glance at the clock on her desk. Not late. “Is . . . everything okay?”
“Conference room, now!” He stalked down the hallway.
It never failed. Whenever someone talked to her like this, she got the same,
sick feeling in her chest that she’d gotten since elementary school: the I’m in trouble feeling.
She just couldn’t think of what she’d done. Was he mad about her other clients’ neglect? She was fixing that!
She straightened her blouse, smoothed a hand over her hair, and followed the wake of Mr. Kincaid’s palpable wrath to the conference room.
He was already sitting at the head of the table, the phone conference speaker several inches in front of him. He gestured at the chair to his right, and she obediently moved toward it and took a seat. She couldn’t get any words out past the lump in her throat.
Mr. Kincaid pressed a button on the speaker. “Go ahead and patch the call through.”
“Yes, sir,” came the immediate reply.
When the light on the speaker flicked to green, Mr. Kincaid leaned forward. “Good morning. I have Ms. Hastings here with me. What can we do for you?”
The deference in his tone. Her brows shot toward her hairline. He never talked like that unless the client was really . . .
The sick feeling in her stomach got worse, and then, everything was confirmed.
“Ms. Hastings, this is Mr. Davis’s personal secretary.”
“Oh,” she replied, like an idiot. “Good morning.”
“Yes,” the secretary said. “I’m sorry to make this so short, but I have to sit in on a conference call in a few moments.” She cleared her throat. “You were spotted with a man at a local eatery last night.” Victoria’s blood stilled. She’d been spotted with Kip last night. Just what had they done in that booth at the restaurant? She racked her brain as the secretary continued with, “Mr. Davis has expressed his—”
She struck out on pure instinct. “Oh, Kip?” For some reason, Victoria laughed. “Yes, I was out with my significant other last night. The local falafel restaurant, right?”
In her peripheral vision, she saw Mr. Kincaid jerk back his head and snap his attention her way.
“That’s wonderful!” the secretary said with absolutely no pause beforehand. “That’s exactly what we thought, which is why I’m calling.”
Wait, the secretary wasn’t calling to tell her they knew all about her dirty little secret and she was so, so up shit’s creek? “It . . . is?”
“Mr. Davis,” the secretary continued, “would like to invite you and your young man to dine with Mrs. Davis and himself tonight. A get-to-know-you, if you will.”
Victoria momentarily closed her eyes. So, they weren’t calling to fire her because she’d been spotted with a prostitute. They were calling to invite her and her significant other over for dinner.
A significant other they only thought she had because she’d assumed the worst and opened her big mouth.
Fuck.
She blinked her eyes open and cast a wary glance her boss’s direction. She’d really done it now.
Say yes! Mr. Kincaid mouthed.
As though I would say anything else. “Certainly!” Her voice cracked, but she forged on. “What a delightful invitation. Kip and I would be happy to join you.”
“Someone will be waiting for you at the main entrance to The Ricchezza to direct you to our private dining.” The next second, there was a click, and then the dial tone.
She turned toward Mr. Kincaid reluctantly. Here comes the barrage of questions.
He was staring at her as though she were a puzzle he couldn’t figure out. “Will these dinner plans be a problem for you to uphold?”
She frowned, but then his meaning became clear. He hadn’t believed her when she’d said Kip was her boyfriend. Lord knows what he thought instead, but the fact that it couldn’t be worse than the truth stung a bit. “You met Kip yesterday.” Her tone was defensive, but she couldn’t help herself. “Shook his hand, don’t you remember?”
Now Mr. Kincaid frowned. “That . . . boy you kicked out of the building and refused to introduce me to. He’s your boyfriend?”
Victoria winced. “Kip is not a boy.” That’s what I decided to argue? The word vomit continued. “He’s a gentleman, and my only hesitation about tonight is introducing him to Mr. Davis. Not the other way around.” What the fuck did I just say?
Mr. Kincaid’s eyes widened. “Well, I’ll be damned. You definitely sounded like a girlfriend just then.”
I did? That was . . . concerning. And there was the word girlfriend, dropped like a fucking grenade into their conversation. “This evening will be perfect.” She looked him directly in the eye and faked all the confidence she didn’t feel. “I won’t let you down.”
For the first time that morning, Mr. Kincaid’s eyes softened. “I suspect you won’t.”
Victoria nodded, then turned and walked out of the conference room. Her ankles wobbled more than usual in her modest-height heels. By the time she got to her office and closed the door—something she rarely did—more than just her legs were trembling. Her fingers shook as she reached for her phone. The fact that his number was at the top of her most used contacts made the swishing feeling in her stomach grow worse. This was horrible. They’d been so awkward this morning as they ended things, and now she’d gone and done this . . .
He answered on the first ring. “Victoria?”
The confusion in his voice was glaring. He may be her most used number, but that was attributed entirely to texting. She hadn’t called him in the morning since the one after their first night together. “Kip.” Her voice cracked. “I fucked up.”
There was a pause on his end of the phone. “Honey, I sincerely doubt that.”
She covered her eyes with one trembling hand. “I told my boss you’re my boyfriend.”
“Oh.”
“It’s worse.”
He laughed. “That’s not exactly horri—”
She blurted it all out, shoving words from her mouth as though they were rats fleeing a sinking ship. “I told the owner of The Ricchezza the same thing, and now we’re supposed to have dinner with him and his wife tonight, and they think we’ve been dating for months and that you’re my significant other.”
Her breaths were billowing in and out, creating a horrible, desperate static over the awkwardly silent line between them. “Oh, God, say something.”
“Are you asking me out?”
The amusement in his tone was palpable, and even so, she found it impossible to believe what she was hearing. “Are you . . . laughing?”
And then he did. Laugh. Hard. “This is you fucking up? Shit, you would lose your mind if I told you about my college years.”
Her brow furrowed. “Kip!” But then her lips twitched. “This is serious!” A giggle burbled from her lips, and next she knew, she was laughing just as hard as she was. How in the world had she thought things had turned so awkward between them this morning? She must have been imagining it.
Her laughter rolled around the room. Her office was not soundproof. No doubt everyone at Precision Media thought she’d cracked. She brushed a tear from the corner of her eye and collapsed into her chair with a groan, smoothing a palm over her aching belly. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed that hard. “You’re not mad?”
“That you didn’t tell two powerful men who could destroy whatever business I choose to run with before it starts that I’m a gigolo? Oh, yeah, I’m furious.” He chuckled.
Oh, wow. He was right. If he wanted to break into the small business world, he wouldn’t be able to be honest about his past. Ever. The thought made her swallow hard. She wanted to reach through the phone and touch him.
She clenched her fingers in her lap. “I hate to ask this of you, but—”
“Victoria.”
The soft utterance of her name across the line was louder than a crash of lightning.
All the humor had left his voice. She licked suddenly dry lips. “Yes?”
“I . . . have another client tonight. I’m sor—” He cleared his throat. “I never cancel on clients.”
“Oh.” Her cheeks filled with heat. And, hello again, awkward. “I shouldn’t have
assumed. Of course, you would have . . . ”
Another client. Another woman who would be running her fingers through that thick hair of his—the very hair she’d tenderly washed last night. Another woman who would see and kiss and lick every inch of Kip’s skin. The dip of his collarbone where he was particularly ticklish. The underside of his dick, right close to the crown, that when she stroked it with the pad of her thumb never failed to make his eyes roll back in his head . . .
Just this morning he’d been in her bed. Something clawed its way up her throat. It was either going to be a scream, or—
“I’ll buy you out,” she blurted. “You know. Whatever she’s paying”—she waved a hand through the air—“I’ll double it.”
Silence filled the line.
“Kip?” Her fingers clenched the phone. “You there?”
“Buy me out,” he said quickly. “Wow, that’s very generous.”
She frowned. He didn’t sound like he thought it was very generous. Nor did she feel like she was being generous. For only the second time since she’d met him, the money between them felt huge. Like it was the most important player. The only other time that had happened had been this morning. She placed a palm over her woozy stomach. “Did I . . . say something—”
“No.” He sighed. “Honey, of course not.”
“Okay. Umm . . . Me buying you out—Is that something you’d be interested in?”
There was another pause.
Oh, dear God. He was going to say no. Her fingers tightened on the phone.
“Victoria, it’s not all about the money. I have a professional reputation to uphold.”
“Yeah, but not for much longer. Right? With the money I paid you this morning, you’re nearly ready to quit.” Her voice was tinged with the slightest hint of desperation. She bit her lip to keep from spewing more words. She’d insulted him. Talking about money like this—it just felt . . . wrong. “I’m sorry. Kip . . . ” She sighed. “I’m sorry. This just means a lot to me, and—”
“I know it does,” he said quietly. “I’ll do it. Of course, I’ll do it. Just text me the details.”
Victoria’s head reeled back. “Oh!” She practically yelled the word and cringed. “Oh, right.” Where she’d expected relief, ice instead filled her veins. “Right.”
Hard Work Page 16
