And even if I couldn't see him, I swear, I would've felt his gaze, burning into my skin, making it grow warm and tingly – and not just on my face.
Into my silence, he said, "What I see is the girl who's been keeping me up at night."
What? I turned to look. Our gazes locked, and his lips parted. Mine, too. I felt my tongue brush against my teeth as I studied his face. He looked nearly enthralled, and I was suddenly finding it hard to breathe.
I'd been keeping him up at night? Seriously?
After a hard swallow, I asked, "Why?"
His gaze flicked briefly to the nearby image. "You've gotta ask?"
"Oh, please," I said with an embarrassed laugh. "You can find photos a lot more suggestive than this."
"I know," he said. "But they wouldn't be of you."
Again, I swallowed. "Me?"
"I wasn't lying," he said. "You are a trouble-maker, you know." His voice was smooth and silky in the quiet car. "Of the highest order."
Woah.
He couldn’t mean it, or at least not the way he made it sound now. Probably I was imagining things.
I tried to smile. "Yeah. But I'm trying to do better." Forcing a laugh, I added, "I mean, no more fighting with fans, I promise."
"Don't."
I blinked. "Don't what?"
"Don't pretend you don't know what I mean."
"I wasn't pretending," I said. "I just don't want to read too much into this." I looked again to the photo. "Like, you're probably just being nice or something."
He lowered the phone, setting it face-down between us. "If you think I'm being nice, you've got the wrong guy."
Once again, I turned to face him. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, if I were being nice, I'd keep my thoughts to myself."
I considered the hours we'd spent together so far. Most of the time, he'd been reclusive, distant, and impossible to figure out. I heard myself say, "You're good at that, you know."
"With you?" he said with a scoff. "Not as good as I should be."
"Why do you say that?" I asked.
"I'm supposed to be looking out for you, not taking advantage."
Taking advantage? It was such an old-fashioned concept. This shouldn't have been a surprise, considering that his books dealt with things long-forgotten – chivalry, justice, honor, and so much more.
I leaned closer to him and asked in a breathless whisper, "How do you know it's not me taking advantage of you?"
He gave me a wry smile. "Trust me. I know."
"But I'm serious," I said. "Look at you. You're rich and famous. Everyone wants you."
His eyed filled with mischief. "Everyone, huh?"
I drank in the sight of him. Oh, yeah. Somehow, I managed to say, "You know what I mean."
"I don't want 'everyone,'" he said. "You want the truth?"
Utterly entranced, I felt myself nod.
"That's not my style."
I wasn't following. "What's not your style? You mean like quickies with fans?"
That look in his eye was still there. Very slowly and deliberately, he said, "I don't do quickies."
Oh, wow. My pulse quickened. I really liked the way he'd just said that. And I actually believed him, too. Still, I was curious. "And what about the fan part?"
"Starfuckers?" he said. "Not my thing."
This, I also believed. During the book tour, I'd seen the way women looked at him – and the way they propositioned him. Sometimes they were subtle, hinting that they'd love to show him around, personally. Other times, they weren't so subtle, whispering things in his ear that I could only imagine.
It was funny in a way. I was a huge fan of his work, and I'd done my share of drooling over him. But I never would've jumped in bed with a total stranger regardless of who they were or what they did.
But now, I simply had to know. "So crazed fans, huh? Am I in that category?"
"You?" Slowly, and without breaking eye-contact, he shook his head. "You're in a category all your own."
Chapter 42
Jack
I wasn't just a cad. I was a bastard – because when her lips parted, and she leaned closer, I didn't stop myself.
Instead, I pulled her close and kissed her like I meant it.
And I did mean it. Somehow, she'd managed to burrow under my skin, itching and scratching, tempting and teasing, warming and willing, whether she realized it or not.
I was done trying to hide it.
Her lips were sweet and warm. Her body was small and tight. Her sounds, light and muffled, were music to my ears. My cock was so hard, I wanted to take her right here and now.
Still, I wasn't so big of a bastard that I wouldn't give her the chance to rethink it.
Me? I'd been thinking of her all day, watching as she worked the line of people – smiling and talking like she knew them personally.
She had a good heart and a contagious smile. She had a way of making people feel comfortable, whether they were eight or eighty. No pretense. No games. No pretending to be something she wasn't.
She was a real girl in the real world – and yet, so different from anyone I'd ever met, especially lately.
And I loved the way she looked. Her ass – it had looked so sweet in that little black skirt, the one she was still wearing. I wanted to yank it up around her waist and explore her body like I'd been doing in my thoughts.
And then, I wanted to make her mine.
But not here. And not without giving her some time to catch her breath.
I pulled back and said, "You realize what you're doing, right?"
"What do you mean?"
"I'm your boss. And your brother's best friend."
Her skin was rosy, and her voice was breathless when she said, "I don't have a brother."
"You know who I mean – Flynn. And your sister. They might not like it."
"I don't care," she said. "Do you?"
"No." I meant it, too.
But I should care. I'd started out caring. There was a code when it came to these things. Those codes – they were there for a reason, to keep people from devolving into animals, from taking what they wanted just because they could.
And I did want her – even if that hadn't been part of the plan.
Her chin lifted. "And besides, they don't have to know."
They'd know. Of this, I was certain.
Becka – she wasn't good at hiding things. She was too honest, too straight-forward, and too likely to jump first and think later.
I wanted her, and not just for the night. But there was something I didn't want – her waking up to regret it in the light of day.
And what the hell? Was I supposed to take her here in the car? Or not much better, to some local hotel, where I'd fuck her silly without so much as a dinner together first?
I was an asshole for even considering it.
I said, "Just think about it."
She frowned. "Think about what?"
"What you want." I smiled. "For dinner."
Chapter 43
Becka
I didn't want dinner. I wanted him. I asked, "Are you giving me the brush-off?"
He shook his head. "No. I'm giving you time to think."
I didn't need time. I didn't even want time. By now, I wanted him so badly, I didn't even care that I hadn't eaten since breakfast. Who needed food when a fantasy was yours for the taking?
Not me, that's for sure.
But Jack was insistent, so in the end, I told him to pick a restaurant, and I'd be happy with whatever.
Still, I had to give him credit. He picked exactly what I might've picked for myself – a cozy local place with an amazing mountain view.
As the hostess led us to a candlelit table by the window, I looked to Jack and smiled. He smiled back, making my heart flutter and my knees go weak.
Wow.
No wonder he didn't smile very often. His smile was dangerous, like an airborne opiate. And I was feeling intoxicated already.
One glass of wi
ne later, and I was a total goner. We spent the first part of dinner talking about our favorite books, and I was glad to discover that we had similar tastes.
It was the same when it came to movies and just about everything else. Actually, it was pretty uncanny, and I was just in the middle of telling him so when I suddenly realized something.
I felt my gaze narrow. "Hey, you know what?"
"What?"
"You're the real trouble-maker here."
"How so?"
"You never did tell me the whole story of that ugly shirt."
He grinned. "Didn't I?"
Oh, God. He looked so sexy. And now, there was something in his smile that was just a little bit wicked.
But I refused to be distracted. "No. You didn't. Or at least, I'm sure you didn't tell me all of it."
Without breaking eye contact, Jack took a slow drink of his wine. When he finished, he said, "You don't miss a thing, do you?"
If only that were true. Still, I smiled. "You're one to talk. It's like you have eyes on the back of your head."
"Me? Nah."
I persisted. "But about the shirt thing, you are planning to tell me, right?"
"I might," he said with a gleam in his eye.
"And start from the beginning," I said, "meaning when you first left the powder room to get me a shirt. What happened after?"
"All right," he said. "So when I go out, most of the crowd's still there. And I see a couple of guys checking out each other's phones." His tone darkened. "And it wasn't hard to guess what they were looking at."
It wasn't hard for me to guess either. Still, there was at least one bright spot, or at least it sure sounded like it. "So there were just two of them?"
"At first glance," he said. "But then I pull the security footage—"
I blinked. "What?"
"Video from the convention center cameras."
"That's what I thought you meant," I said. "But how would you be able to get it?"
"The footage?" He shrugged. "It was digital and routed through an outside connection."
"So?"
"So it's not hard to get if you know where to look."
"Oh, please," I said. "I don't believe that for one minute."
He leaned back in his chair. "It's true."
I studied his face. He looked absolutely serious. But there was a catch. There had to be.
And then it hit me. "Do you mean it's not hard for everyone?" I paused. "Or not hard for you?"
His lips twitched. "No comment."
"I knew it!" I said. "So tell me, does the convention center know that you looked at the footage?"
"Probably not."
I studied his face. There was still something that he wasn't telling me. I said, "But…?"
"But if they tried to pull it up, yeah, they'd know that someone was in there."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because a few minutes are missing."
It wasn't hard to guess which footage he meant. "Do you mean the footage of me?"
"Exactly."
"So you erased it?"
"Erased, deleted – either way, it's gone."
I stared across the table. "And you didn't even have their permission?"
He gave a low scoff. "Permission takes time."
"And how about the deleting?" I said. "Does that take time, too?"
"Not as much as you'd think."
I was flabbergasted. "But you did all of that just to delete it?"
"It wasn't just the deleting," he said. "I needed to see who was watching you with their phones out."
Ohhhhh. Right. Finally, I knew what he meant. Obviously, he'd looked at the footage so he could see exactly who was taking pictures or video.
Jack continued. "And once I knew who they were, the rest was easy."
Not to me, it wasn't. "So what'd you do next?"
"What else? Track them down."
"Seriously?"
"It wasn't hard," he claimed yet again. "They were still at the convention center."
"And then…?"
"So then I go up, say hi, and buy the photos. Piece of cake."
He made it sound oh-so easy. But I knew it wasn't. It couldn’t be.
"So then what?" I said. "You just hand them some cash, and they send you the images? Is that what you're saying?"
"More or less."
"Oh come on," I said. "It can't be that simple. Like what if someone doesn't want to sell?"
"Then I talk them into it."
"But how?"
"It depends on the person. With some people, you ask nicely." He reached out and took a sip of his drink. "With others, you might have to get creative."
"Creative how?" I asked.
"Don't worry," he said, returning his glass to the table. "It wasn't necessary."
I wasn't quite sure I believed him. But then again, the entire thing beggared belief. I considered everything he'd done from beginning to end. "So you did all of this in forty minutes?"
"Thirty-five," he said, "including firing the guard."
"What guard?"
"The security guard," he said. "I found him whacking off in the men's room."
My jaw dropped. "Please tell me you're joking."
"I could say it," he said, "but it wouldn’t be true."
"So he really was?" I shook my head. "But wait, how could you fire him? He doesn't even work for you."
"It doesn't matter," he said. "The guy's gone."
Desperately, I wanted to know more. And I wanted to forget everything I knew. Talk about mental whiplash.
Trying to focus, I said, "Okay, so you did all of these things? In thirty-five minutes? Seriously?"
Jack nodded. "Plus five minutes to get the shirt. So there you go. There's your forty."
Stunned, I sat back in my seat. What could I say to that?
I hardly knew.
Still, there was something he hadn't yet explained. "So about that shirt," I said. "I don't want to sound ungrateful, but why'd you pick that one?" I tried to smile. "Be honest. You wanted to make me look ridiculous."
Again, he leaned back in his chair. "Right…The Shirt of Shame." He gave a slow nod. "I might have to use that in a book."
I couldn’t tell if he was joking or not, but knowing his plots, I could almost see it. Still, I had to know. "So was it?" I made little air quotes. "A Shirt of Shame?"
"No," he said. "It was a shirt of convenience."
"What do you mean?"
"By then, I'm running low on time, and there's this vendor going by, late to set up. And he's selling costumes for participants or whoever."
I almost laughed. "And I suppose he was selling only ridiculous costumes? There was nothing cute or fun?"
"Hey, I thought the jester one was fun."
"Fun for you," I accused with a laugh. "Not for me."
"Hey, it was the only two-piece costume he had. The rest were one-piece only."
"So?"
"So I was supposed to bring you a shirt, not a whole outfit."
"What kind of outfit?" I said. "Give me an example."
"My favorite? A serving wench." His gaze dipped briefly to my torso, and he smiled. "Low cut. Not good for the signing though."
I almost snickered. "Oh, really?"
His tone grew speculative. "But if you wanted to wear that in private…" He finished with a shrug and let his look speak for itself.
Holy hell. He was definitely flirting with me. And he wasn't being subtle about it either. Beyond flattered, I just had to ask, "What's gotten into you, anyway?"
"The truth? I'm tired of fighting it."
"Fighting what?"
"You don't know?"
"No. Actually, I don't," I admitted. "Honestly, I wasn't even sure you liked me."
He gave me a wicked smile. "Me neither."
"I'm serious," I said. "You were so cool and distant. Do you realize, this is the first time we've even eaten together?"
"Not true," he said. "We had pastries on the plane,
remember?"
"That doesn't count."
"I know," he said. "But we're here now, aren't we?"
I smiled. "Yes. We are."
"Speaking of which," he said, "there's something I need to say."
"What?"
"We can't do this. You know that, right?"
Chapter 44
Becka
I wasn't quite sure what he meant. From across the table, I said, "Sorry, I'm not following."
"This trip," he said. "It was a mistake."
And just like that, all of the warm, fuzzy feelings went straight out the window. I asked, "What do you mean?"
"I mean, I saw the warning signs. I should've paid attention."
"Warning signs?" I shook my head. "What warning signs?"
"Like your roommate," he said. "I wanted to kill him."
I frowned. At that moment, I could hardly recall my roommate's name. "So?" I tried to laugh. "I can't say I blame you."
But Jack wasn't laughing. Unlike me, he wasn't even trying to. "Yeah, but I blame myself."
"For what?" I asked. "The way you treated him?"
"Hell no."
"Then what?"
Slowly, Jack reached out and smoothed a stray lock of hair from my face. His touch was electric, and I couldn't stop myself from leaning into it.
In a low voice, he said, "I don't want you as an employee."
His words were a caress, and I smiled in spite of the earlier tension. "What does that mean?"
"It means I want to see you, but not like this." He pulled back and said, "You shouldn't be here."
Suddenly, I was no longer smiling. "Here? At the restaurant? Or on the book tour?"
"The tour."
I was staring now. "So what are you saying? You're firing me?"
"Don't worry," he said. "I'll pay you for the full thing, make sure you get college credit, too."
What was this? A dismissal? I gave him an expectant look. "But…?"
"But you should fly home. Or better yet, go see your sister. I'm betting she'd love to see you."
What the hell?
So not only was he firing me, he was sending me away?
I didn't believe it.
Beyond confused, I asked, "What's gotten into you, anyway?"
"Nothing." His gaze didn't waver. "I'm being smart."
"No you're not," I said. "Because if you were, you wouldn’t be sending me all these mixed messages."
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