“That’s going to be Shaw’s next hit,” she said, joining in the applause for a second before the band broke into an acoustic rendition of No Doubt’s languorous reggae anthem, “Underneath It All.” This time, a handful of couples straggled onto the dance floor.
“Shaw has hits?” he asked.
“Several, but for other artists. He’s not very ambitious about performing. He just loves the music and sells songs to pay the bills.”
Rip slid his hand around her waist and led her toward the bar. “So you know all that about Shaw, but you didn’t know I what I did for a living?”
“Shaw plays a lot of my corporate gigs. We’ve kept in touch,” she explained. “Did you keep in touch with anyone from school?”
“I’m in a fantasy football league with Jack Morris and Drew Billings. Chris Anderson looked me up last time he was in New York and Mick Wasterson worked with my unit outside Kabul when he deployed after West Point.”
She raised her chin. “And here I thought when you left, you’d never look back.”
“I don’t think I really did look back,” he said, sliding a finger under her chin to angle her face up to his, “not until now.”
She met his bold stare. “And what do you see?”
“Honestly? I’m not sure. It used to be so clear. Now, not so much. Thanks to you.”
7
ERICA LOST HER CHANCE to find out exactly what Rip meant when Kate dashed over and reminded her that she should have performed the official welcome announcements thirty minutes ago. She’d gotten so lost in their dance and private conversation that her normally innate sense of time had completely fallen away.
And that wasn’t all. As Erica took to the stage, she felt stripped and exposed—but not in a bad way. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so authentic and real. When she accepted the microphone from Shaw, she wasn’t worried about anything except powering through her official duties as quickly as possible so she could get back to Rip.
As she spoke, more than a few of her former classmates ping-ponged their stares between her and Rip. Her messages about the scramble golf tournament set for the morning and bar crawl event at lunch seemed muffled underneath the scrutiny. But Rip either didn’t notice or he didn’t care. Leaning against a column near the bar, he watched her with rapt attention, his gaze betraying his increasing and undeniable lust.
Forcing herself to focus on her digital tablet, she ran down the rest of the list of special events, focusing on the black-tie dinner and dance tomorrow night. She suddenly wondered if she and Rip would go together—if they’d last more than just this one night.
“So, everyone, if you need anything during your stay, be sure to contact Kate Schaffer,” she said, gesturing toward her assistant, “and she’ll take care of it. As your former senior class president, I hope you all have a fabulous time catching up with old friends and maybe make some new ones.”
She glanced in Rip’s direction and he responded with a wink.
The applause from the crowd spurred Erica off the stage, but she didn’t get two steps off the dais when her former student council vice president, Lyn Young, bounced over. “You are the queen of great parties!”
They exchanged pecks on the cheek, but since Lyn went to the same gym that Erica did, they didn’t have to try and fill in ten years worth of life experiences into a ten-minute chat. Of course, this left Lyn free to ask the question so many others wouldn’t dare to.
“So, tell me. What’s going on with you and Scott Ripley?”
Erica tried to look innocent. “We’re just catching up, like everyone else.”
“Honey, he looked like he wanted to strip you naked and do you on the dance floor. And I heard you rode up together on the back of a motorcycle and nearly ran down the head bellman. Trust me, no one else here is catching up that way.”
With a shrug, Erica neither confirmed nor denied. She knew their secret was out, but she didn’t have to reveal too many details.
Lyn narrowed her gaze. “I don’t remember you ever being interested in him back at school.”
“That was a long time ago,” Erica said.
“Yeah, but he’s still hot.” Lyn’s voice lilted with just enough wistfulness to remind Erica that sometime in sophomore year, Lyn and Rip had been an item—for about five minutes.
But then, he’d been “an item” with a lot of girls, but never for very long. Was he still the same way?
And did it matter if she was only in this for the weekend?
She managed to change the subject with Lyn, but didn’t get very far in returning to Rip when another old friend, and then another, approached to join in the conversation. They complimented her on the reunion plans, asked about her parents, exchanged business cards and slyly attempted to pump information out of her about Rip before she made a viable excuse and extracted herself from the barrage. She found a quiet corner behind the bandstand and was nearly breathless so that she barely made a peep when someone grabbed her by the arm and tugged her behind a decorative wall that hid stacks of extra tables and chairs from view.
“Rip!”
He placed his hand over her mouth. “You want to get out of here, or what?”
The flash of mischievousness in his gaze zapped her sense of responsibility to smithereens. The fact that she should see the party through to the end dissolved under his heated gaze.
She nodded.
“Follow me.”
He led her to the service elevator, but he didn’t press the button for her floor, opting instead for the parking garage, a fact she only barely noticed when he drew her close and kissed her soundly.
“Where are we going?”
“I don’t know. Out of here. We’ll take my bike out this time.”
The double doors dinged open and while she followed him into the darkened, underground structure, she had no desire to hop onto the back of a bike again. Part of her wanted to return to the party—the other part wanted to go back up to her suite. Either way, running off with Rip wasn’t an option.
“Why?”
“What do you mean?”
She sidled up close to him. She could feel the hard press of his erection through his slacks. She could see the dark fire of desire in the pupils of his eyes. So why was he running off?
“Why are we running off when my suite is fifteen floors up?”
He started to pace, his hands streaking through his hair as pent-up energy created a tension in the air that Erica suspected had the capability to ignite.
“I have a sudden need to hit the open road.”
She shook her head. “Don’t you always?”
“No, that’s just it, I don’t. I mean, I haven’t. Not since I left Chicago and joined the service. I settled down, got some focus, found my place. But I’m suddenly feeling like I need to hit the open road again. Come with me?”
“To New York?”
“What? No, just…out. I can’t ask you to leave Chicago. I mean, can I? You just wanted a fling, right? A roll in the hay with the class bad boy to break yourself of your bad dating habits?”
Erica stepped back, her stomach dropping as if he’d said something insulting when what he’d said had been nothing but the God’s own truth. That’s exactly what she’d wanted from him—so why now did it sound like less than she deserved?
She forced a sensual grin. “Of course that’s all I wanted. That’s why I’m having trouble understanding why you want to go ride your bike when you could be upstairs riding me.”
He nodded, but didn’t move. His jaw clenched tight and his hands shoved into his pockets, he looked like a caged animal, one that Erica had no idea how to tame.
She approached him cautiously, hooking her hand around his wrist and drawing his fingers to her mouth. She kissed his palm, then slid his warm flesh around her waist, then lower so that he cupped her buttocks. When she sidled even closer, he grabbed her tight and pulled her flush against him.
“You’re like a drug,” he said.
“Is that good or bad?” she asked.
“I’m not sure yet,” he admitted, lifting her so that he could suckle the skin on her neck.
“Then take me upstairs so you can find out.”
* * *
THE URGE TO RUN HAD BEEN wholly unexpected. Rip had watched Erica at the party, talking to friends, trying desperately, he knew, to get back to him so they could finish what they’d started earlier in her suite.
But what if he didn’t want to finish? What if he didn’t want this weekend to be both the start and end of the most exciting relationship he’d had in years, if ever?
He’d had a shot at her ten years ago. He’d been with enough girls to know when they were aching for him in a way that only he could soothe, but he’d let her go to save her the shame of being one in a long list of lovers who’d ultimately meant nothing to him except as an outlet for his discontent.
But he wasn’t that same guy anymore. He’d come to terms with his crazy childhood and his parents’ mistakes. He’d made amends by serving in the military and starting the foundation that helped kids like him who’d been affected by crime and criminals. All the justifications for keeping Erica Holt at arm’s length had been stripped away, leaving nothing but the unbinding truth that she was, in a word, irresistible.
He pressed the button to recall the elevator. He held both her hands in his while they waited for the car to return, alternating between kissing her skin and smoothing her softness against his cheeks. When the bell dinged and the doors slid open, he led her inside and they rode up to her suite without exchanging another word.
She went in first. He locked the door behind him and watched from the hall as she stepped out of her shoes and pulled the tie that would unwind her form-hugging dress. For a split second, he imagined they weren’t in a random hotel room, but were at an apartment. Maybe his. Maybe hers. The pull of familiarity socked him in the stomach and kept him from venturing farther into the room.
“Rip?”
“You’re incredible,” he said.
She smiled, but he could see her wariness just as she likely witnessed his.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m going to stay in Chicago.”
He blurted it out. He wasn’t thinking about repercussions or long-term plans. He was following his instincts, indulging his desires.
He was surprised when her eyes flashed and the corners of her mouth curved downward quickly before she tamped down whatever emotion she didn’t want him to see.
“For the week, you mean?”
“I don’t know,” he said.
“Oh,” she said.
She grabbed the sides of her dress and drew them close to her body, giving him the answer he sought. She was still banking on this affair being quick and easy and disposable. Any indication that he might want more from her and she shuttered away that bold, sensual woman he’d held in his arms on the dance floor and with whom he’d wanted to spend the whole night in bed. A couple of hours ago, he’d been fine with a brief affair. He had a full life in New York and no desire to get tangled up with a woman he would only disappoint when it was time for him to return.
Now, he’d disappointed her merely by floating the idea that he’d stay beyond the three-day reunion.
“Look,” he said, glad he’d decided not to give up his room even though he’d had every intention of spending the whole of the weekend in hers. “It’s been a long day. A lot is going on tomorrow. Maybe we should—”
“Yeah,” she agreed before he could finish the thought, which was a good thing because he had no idea what to say next.
Luckily, he did know what to do.
He crossed the room and after searching her eyes for any sign of skittishness—and finding none—he kissed her in a way he never had before. Despite the dozens of times he’d pressed his mouth to hers over the course of the afternoon and evening, this was different. This kiss wasn’t about passion or lust or reliving the glory days or making up for what he’d missed out on when he’d turned her down ten years ago.
This was about what he was feeling now.
He wanted more than a fling. He’d had flings. Hundreds of them. But from Erica, he wanted more. He always had. He simply had to figure out how to get it.
“I’ll see you tomorrow?” she asked, her voice a whisper.
“I’ll call you in the morning,” he said. “We’ll make plans.”
He kissed her on the nose, then held her for a long minute, breathing in deeply to imprint the sweet mixture of her perfume into his mind.
Then he left.
He needed time to think. He needed space to work out a truce between his warring wants, needs and desires. Because as much as he’d wanted to make love to Erica tonight, first he had to figure out what it all meant—and if, in the end, he really had the strength to walk away.
8
A LONG TIME AFTER THE DOOR shut behind him, Erica dropped onto the mattress and tried to make sense of what had just happened.
One moment, Rip had hardly been able to keep his hands off her. Then, something had changed—shifted into territory she’d never expected to cross into with him. He’d hinted that he might stay in Chicago for more than just another two days and though the thought had given her heart a jolt not unlike an electric shock, the surprise had thrown her brain out of service. She hadn’t known what to think or what to do. When he’d hinted that they should spend some time apart, she’d instantly agreed. She’d needed space. Time. Perspective.
No, she needed him.
Tying up her dress quickly, she grabbed her cell phone and called down to the front desk. She knew she was breaking a gazillion hotel policies by asking, but she used her influence and long association with the management to find out Rip’s room number. He was only two floors below her, so she bolted down the stairs, too impatient to wait for the elevator.
She raised her fist to knock, then stopped herself.
What was she doing?
She had to think, plan, strategize. Rip wasn’t like the men she’d dated before, nor was he like the guys she’d agreed to marry. He was honest and clever and deeper than anyone had ever given him credit for. He’d see right through any of her bullshit the same way he’d always seen right through her.
What if she couldn’t handle such authenticity? With Rip, she’d have no choice but to be her true and open self. He’d expect no less.
Luckily, she wanted even more.
The door opened.
“Erica?”
“I—”
“Is something wrong?” he asked, glancing down the hall.
He had his shirt off, but he was holding it in his hands, along with his key card. Was he going back up to the party or, hopefully, coming back to her?
“I don’t want you to go,” she admitted. “I mean, when the reunion is over, if you can stay, I want you to stay. I know I acted like I didn’t a minute ago, but I was just surprised. I thought you wouldn’t want to stick around.”
He slid his hand around her waist and guided her inside. “I didn’t think I’d want to stick around, either. But I do. I don’t know for how long. I have a life in New York and I can’t just walk away from it.”
“I know,” she said, sounding much more enthusiastic about his returning to the East Coast than she truly felt. “It’s just…”
They were both stumbling over their words. Erica had so much she wanted to say, but wasn’t sure how far to go or how fast. Luckily, he seemed to be suffering from the same affliction. He pulled the chair away from the corner by the window and invited her to sit down while he punched his arms into his button-down shirt and sat on the corner of the bed.
“This is weird,” he said.
She laughed. “You do know how to cut to the heart of the matter.”
“Job skill.”
“No,” she replied, shaking her head. “You’ve always had that ability. You see right through to the truth. If you’d kissed me all those years ago, I would have been just
another notch on your bedpost.”
“And I would have been just another guy you didn’t marry.”
“I don’t think it would have gotten that far, do you?”
He leaned on his elbows, his head bowed. “Not likely.”
“So what is it now? I had a good plan, you know. I considered every detail and took every possible outcome into consideration.”
“All but one.” He turned his face toward her and though his blue eyes met hers with startling intensity, she didn’t look away.
“That you wouldn’t want just a weekend fling.”
He pressed his lips together and nodded. “Weird, right?”
“Yeah,” she said with a shrug. “Sort of.”
He scooted nearer and took her hands in his. She was shaking again, but to her surprise, so was he.
“Thing is, Erica, I’ve done the weekend fling thing. I got that out of my system a long time ago. I don’t think I really realized it until you came riding into my life again, but I’m looking for something deeper this time. A real connection. A relationship.”
“But I’ve done that, too,” she said, glancing down at her hand and imagining each of the three diamonds she’d worn on her left ring finger. “And I’ve never made it work.”
He leaned forward and kissed her knuckles. “You never tried with a guy like me, though.”
She laughed. “This much is true.”
As if he could no longer bear to be apart from her, he tugged her onto his lap. “I wasn’t ready for a girl like you back in high school. You’re serious and focused.”
“Don’t make me sound so boring.”
“Don’t sell yourself short, Erica. Never again. To a guy like me, you’re almost too much woman to handle.”
She arched a brow. “Only almost?”
“I’m up to the task.”
He rounded his body to hers. She loved how her curves fit intrinsically into his, as if they’d been built for each other physically and spiritually.
He was a risk-taker, a rule-breaker, a game-changer. He’d certainly changed her expectations for this weekend—in a perfectly wonderful way.
The Guy Most Likely To...: Underneath It AllCan't Get You Out of My HeadA Moment Like This Page 18
