by Lisa Wells
She hummed the tune. Would the song ever end? And why in the hell were people still not carrying on with their conversations? Leave it to her to debut her karaoke voice in front of a group of well mannered publishing peeps.
Who was she kidding? They weren’t well mannered. They were vultures. They were busy taking mental notes of her trainwreck of a performance for future book material.
“Hey honey, I’m sure I can satisfy you,” some guy yelled.
Ian frowned and, once again, began walking toward her. Slowly. Purposefully.
“I can’t get no…” she sang the words softly, her heart kicking around inside of her like a tantrum-throwing toddler. What was he going to do? Did he lose his brain today?
The crowd noticed his approach.
Why was he drawing attention to himself? He was supposed to be a professional.
Whispers swept through the karaoke bar.
Kinley couldn’t tear her gaze away from his. She wanted to. But she couldn’t.
Why did he have that…look on his face?
Ian reached out and took the microphone from her hand. The music faded but continued to play lightly.
“If I’m not mistaken, you’ve thrown down the gauntlet to all the men in this bar with this song.” He spoke into the mic, his voice tight. “And since your big brother, my best friend, asked me to keep an eye on you here at the conference, I’m afraid what I’m about to do is entirely necessary.” He leaned down and had Kinley over his shoulder before she knew what was happening.
There was a group gasp and then laughter.
Kinley pummeled his back. How dare he treat her like this? People were watching. Sure, they didn’t know her. She was an unknown. But they knew him.
A female from the audience ran up on the stage. She took the mic. “Umm, I’ll sing what she sang.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Ian carried Kinley off the stage, not giving a damn that people were watching and whispering and videoing. He accepted her purse from that bonehead would-be Highlander and didn’t put her down until they were inside an empty elevator.
“Have you lost your ever-loving mind making a spectacle of us out there like that?” Her eyes were spitting poisoned darts at him.
He resisted an urge to smile at her outrage. Maybe his actions had been a little over the top. Then again, his woman for the week had been up on stage asking to be satisfied. And some idiot was ready to take her up on it. “It would appear I have.” What in the hell was a man to do if not go all primal? Unable to resist any longer, he grinned. Like a big goofy idiot. He hadn’t had this much fun since…since a very long time. “You’ve been very naughty.”
She blinked, shook her head at him, and then twitched her lips. “What are you going to do?” she asked in a suggestive tone.
Was she swaying?
Hell, she was tipsy. He pulled her into his arms to keep her steady. “What do you think I’m going to do?” he whispered against her hair.
She placed both hands on his chest and pushed away enough to be able to look into his eyes. “I hope you’re going to give me a man-made orgasm.”
He threw back his head and laughed. “Man-made, huh?” He’d turned the vibrator on as payback after he received a phone call from a man she met at the club the other night whom she’d given Ian’s phone number. He’d wanted to know if Ian would like to hookup.
She tapped his lips with her finger. “An Ian-made orgasm.”
Ian’s cock responded to the invitation. “You’re very bad for taking out your vibrator. You disobeyed a direct order.”
The elevator came to a stop on their floor. He turned her toward the open door and pushed slightly to get her to start walking.
She stumbled out. “You can spank me if you want. I’m not afraid.”
He missed a step. Ever since she’d come back into his life, he’d felt off balance—as if walking on a wire, where one misstep could end things. But making it all the way across could be the start of a new venture in his life.
In their room, he walked to the couch, sat down, and patted the cushion next to him. “I don’t ever want you to be afraid of me.”
“That’s good because you’re not the least bit scary.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Is it time for my spanking?” She used a purring tone. Like someone looking forward to what they were proposing. Did being spanked turn her on? Well, hell, that was the point—to excite both of them.
She sat down with the grace of a newborn colt—all arms and legs going everywhere.
“Not just yet.” He’d been hard for her all evening. Hell, probably since he laid eyes on her in the airport wearing that ridiculous pillow around her neck.
She waved a finger at him. “So then what?”
He grinned. Kinley Foster was more than just a little tipsy. He should put her to bed, but a person could find out a lot about another person when they were sloshed. And there was something he was dying to ask her. “If I ask you a question, will you promise to tell me the truth?”
She awkwardly laid her head on his lap, mouth facing his cock, and curled up.
He groaned silently and rubbed her hair.
“I never lie,” she said.
“Me either.”
She rolled over on her back and peered up at him. “Since when?”
He ran a finger across her brows, smoothing them out. “Since always.” Should he ask her? Was that taking advantage of a boozed-up—
Kinley took his finger and kissed the tip and then bit down. “Tell me about you and my brother’s fiancée.”
He pulled his finger out of her grip, away from her teeth. “You’re not sober enough to have that particular conversation.”
She placed her palm on his chest. “You started this tête-à-tête, not me.”
He smiled. With her speech slightly slurred, it sounded like she said tit-on-tit.
She had a point. He decided to give her a straight answer. Maybe because he was tired of keeping the truth to himself. Maybe because she finally asked. Maybe because he was beginning to think he wanted a relationship with Kinley, and the truth was necessary. Maybe his behavior in the bar was his roundabout way of telling the world, she was his. Maybe…
“Stacy wasn’t good enough for your brother.”
Kinley’s roving hand stilled against his chest. “Who said you got to be the person to decide who was or wasn’t good enough for my brother?”
Ian hoped she was too drunk to feel the rapid beat of his heart under her hand. “She did when she came to my apartment to tell me she was in love with me. That she never loved your brother.”
Kinley’s eyes narrowed. “I think you seduced her into coming to your apartment.”
“You’re wrong.”
“I saw her in your apartment. Naked.”
“Then you ran home and told your brother.”
She sighed and raised her legs in the air and kicked off her shoes. “Don’t you think he had a right to know?”
“He had a right to hear the story from me.”
She unzipped her jeans then raised her hips and wriggled out of them. “You wouldn’t have told him the truth,” she said, tossing them on the floor. “Guys never tell the truth.”
Ian swallowed hard. “We’ll never know, because you didn’t give me a chance.” When she reached for her shirt to take it off, he placed a hand over hers and held it in place.
Kinley rolled her eyes like she was upset he wasn’t going to let her get naked. “When he confronted you and Stacy, you didn’t deny her story. She said you two had been sleeping together for quite some time.”
“I wouldn’t contradict her story.” He couldn’t believe they were having this discussion. After all these years. With her drunk and in her panties, lying on his lap. Her brother had simply taken his word for it when he told him there was more to the story, but he wasn’t at liberty to tell all. That’s what best friends do.
Would she remember a damn thing come tomorrow?
She pulled her hand o
ut from under his. “You wouldn’t contradict her story because you don’t lie, and what she said was true?” She slipped her hand inside her tiny red panties that matched the red bra she’d shown everyone in the bar.
He gulped. God, he couldn’t think with her doing that. Was she distracting him on purpose? If so, the plot was working. “If I tell you the reason, do you promise not to tell anyone?” He tugged her hand out and laced his fingers with hers—like a girl wanting to hold hands. What was wrong with him?
“Absoooooolutely you can trust me.” She giggled, ruining the believability of her response.
He ran his free hand down the side of his face. How much and where should he start with the story? “Stacy came to my apartment about a week before their wedding and said she was in love with me. I sent her home. Told her she was having cold feet. Perfectly normal.”
“I never did like her feet. She had the ugliest toes of anyone I’ve ever known.” Kinley raised her foot and twitched her toes. “I like my toes. Do you like my toes?”
“You have lovely toes,” Ian said, chuckling. “Then the day you came by, Stacy dropped by about twenty minutes earlier. Drunk and crying. I told her to go lie down and sleep off the alcohol. She went into my bedroom, and I thought that’s what she was doing.”
Kinley hiccuped. “Sorry. Continue.”
“You knocked. When I opened the door, you threw yourself in my arms and kissed me, and offered me your virginity.” She’d been wearing a raincoat. She’d opened it, showing him her school uniform. The skirt rolled up at the waistband. She’d been so adorably sexy and naive.
“Technically, I tripped and landed in your arms and then just decided to kiss you while I was there.”
That would explain the velocity with which she came at him. “Unbeknownst to either of us, when you rang the doorbell, Stacy heard. She recorded our interaction.”
“The bitch.”
“When you left, she said I either had to back up her story, or she was going to post the video on Facebook.”
“Why? What did I ever do to her?”
“Nothing. She wanted me, and I guess she thought I’d marry her to keep her quiet about you. You were underage at the time, and she probably thought that would be enough for me to yield to her demands.”
Kinley pulled her hand out of his. “And then you slept with her?”
Their gazes locked. “I didn’t sleep with her.”
“Why didn’t you just tell my brother the truth?”
He glanced away. “I couldn’t let Stacy ruin your reputation. You were still in school.”
Kinley sat up. “Shut up. That’s too sweet to be true.”
“I don’t lie.” There were a lot of things he did wrong, but he wasn’t a liar.
Kinley’s eyes took on a glassy appearance. Almost as if she were on the verge of tears, but more likely the result of alcohol. “How did you keep her quiet when she realized you weren’t going to marry her?”
“I paid her off.”
Her eyebrows furrowed. “So you just let half the town think you were the reason my brother and Stacy didn’t get married?”
He popped his neck. “It’s what you do for the people you love.”
She bit her lip and glanced away.
He waited.
After what felt like a century, she glanced back at him and grinned. She gave him an I-know-what-you’re-up-to nod. “Is this all an elaborate lie so I’ll have sex with you? Because you should know, I’m going to have sex with you.”
He exhaled. “I don’t lie.” He should record himself saying that on a loop and send it to her so she could listen to it over and over when she was sober.
“Did you know I design Tshirts ranting about how we live in a society where trust is a stupid emotion?”
As a matter of fact he did. “Have you sold many?” He was the proud owner of one.
“Enough to pay for this trip.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I’ve answered your personal question, may I ask you one?”
“Seeing as I’m lying here in my panties”—she did a Vanna White over the lower half of her body—“I’d say that’s going to be a request I approve.”
He laughed. He found himself laughing a lot around her.
His laughter died away, and he took a deep breath. The weight of what he was about to ask settled on his shoulders, and a decade’s worth of doubts slammed like a linebacker into his chest. “When you lost your virginity, did you think about me?” It was the million-dollar question. The one he’d wanted to ask her for ten years. He stared into her eyes and waited for a response.
She blinked several times. Closed her eyes.
He waited. Not breathing.
Nothing. Had she passed out?
He exhaled. “Are you going to answer me?”
She opened her eyes. They were full of distress. “Do you care if we talk about this tomorrow…? I think I’m going to be sick?”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Kinley woke—unfortunately. Her head felt like a garage rock band was practicing in between her ears, and the poison thorns from a thousand cursed rose bushes were poking her in the eyes.
“Rise and shine, superstar,” Ian said, drawing the curtains open.
She placed her hands over her eyes. What did he call her? “Don’t.” Her voice sounded like hell. A bottle-of-tequila hell. How many margaritas and shots did she consume? She forced one eye to open and peeked out between fingers.
Ian strolled toward her, an evil smile on his face, and yanked off the covers.
The sensation of cold air over bare skin told her she was naked except for her panties. What happened last night? Did he spank her? Did they have sex?
She couldn’t remember beyond him carrying her to the bed—maybe because her head was full of remembering what they’d talked about before that point. It’s like they’d had “the talk” and then everything else was a blur. “Did I pass out?” She moved her hands and cringed her way through the opening of her eyes.
“I’m afraid so. How is your bottom this morning?” He was fully dressed. Professional casual. Black slacks, long-sleeve, v-neck, gray sweater that fit his torso snugly, showing off his body.
She squirmed—once, twice—against the sheets. Her ass felt fine. But if she said that, he might be tempted… “Sore. Very sore.” Were there do-overs if the spanking didn’t hurt?
A smile lifted his sexy lips. “Did I spank you too hard?”
Her gut told her not to reply. To roll over and go back to sleep. “Of course you did. You’re a beast.” She had to whisper. Anything above that decibel made her want to cry.
“You’re lying,” he said quietly.
“How do you know how my bottom feels? Was yours spanked last night?”
“No, and neither was yours. Although you richly deserved one.”
She stilled—not that she’d been very active to begin with. Even breathing hurt. “You can’t blame me if my memories are foggy this morning.” She gently sat up and pushed her hair out of her eyes. “Please tell me the things I do remember about last night aren’t real.”
He sat on the edge of the bed. “What do you remember?”
“Did I sing in front of people?” Her cheeks burned at the sketchy memory.
He gave her a wide grin. “I’m afraid so.”
Her breath quickened, and that hurt so much she lowered herself back into the soft mattress. “I can’t go to sessions today. Everyone will be talking about me.” How would she ever live through this humiliation?
“If they are talking about you, and I doubt that they are, it will be about the handsome guy who carried you off the stage. It’s much more gossip worthy than your terrible singing.”
She shivered. Not that she would tell him, but his carrying her off the stage had been the hottest thing that had ever happened to her. Worth getting up there and making a fool of herself.
She threw the pillow at him. “Why did you turn on the vibrator?” she whispered. She wanted to yell,
but that wasn’t happening anytime soon.
“Why did you tell some guy I was gay? And give him my number?”
She giggled. The guy had actually called him. “I didn’t tell him you were. Just that there was a rumor you were. So that’s why you turned on the vibrator? As revenge?”
“Yes. And I couldn’t get the damn thing to turn off.”
She rolled her eyes at him. “You are…an idiot.”
He nodded. “If it makes you feel better, before I came into the Karaoke Lounge, I witnessed the piano player in the piano bar making out with a publishing editor last night.”
“That doesn’t make me feel better.” A faint memory surfaced. “Aren’t we supposed to meet with an editor this morning?” How had she lost track of that? Why didn’t she quit drinking the minute she found out? There was no way she could function as an author this morning. Just lying still made her feel woozy. When she felt better, she was really going to hate herself for last night.
“I cancelled.” He got up and walked out of the room.
She closed her eyes, relieved and disappointed and queasy.
He came back and set a tray with a coffee pot and a bottle of aspirin on the bed and then climbed onto the bed beside her. He leaned against the headboard, put the tray on his lap and poured them both a cup of coffee. “Coffee with too much sugar?”
“You remember?” She wanted to be mad at him. But anger took energy, and energy required her brain to work, and her brain was wearing a do-not disturb sign.
“I could lie and say yes. But, I watched you make yourself a cup the other morning. Although, I remember a lot of things about you.” He poured the sugar into her cup and stirred, handing the china cup and saucer to her along with two aspirins.
She took a sip. A sigh of appreciation slipped past her lips. “Like what?” Other than she used to be: bucktooth and chubby.
“Like how pretty you are without any makeup. How your eyelashes are incredibly black and long. Like how smart you are. Like how uncoordinated you are on the dance floor.”
“I am not uncoordinated on the dance floor. That was you.”
“Are you kidding me? When you get your moves on it’s like watching someone trying to pat their head and rub circles on their stomach at the same time.”
