Beth Andrews - About That Night

She knocked again, louder this time. Shifted her weight from her right side to her left. The attraction between them was undeniable and mutual. There was nothing to be afraid of.

As long as she was the one in control.

The door opened and there he stood, in all his six-feet-plus glory. And my, my, my, what glory it was. Heaven had blessed the man, that was for sure. His shoes, coat, tie and hat were gone, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up, the top three buttons undone. His hair was shorter than she’d realized, the conservative cut highlighting the strong line of his jaw.

She missed the hat. Wondered if she could talk him into putting it back on.

He skimmed his cool, green gaze over her, his lips curving into a cocky smirk. It took all her willpower not to bolt down the hall as if the hounds of hell were chasing her.

But then his lips flattened, his gaze lingered—not on her boobs or her hips, but on her mouth—before he raised his eyes to hers.

Not so cool, not so disinterested, after all.

Silly man. Did he really think he could one-up her?

She smiled. Oh, she was going to enjoy this.

“I didn’t order room service,” he said, nodding toward the champagne in her hand.

“On the house. Looks like it’s your lucky day, cowboy.”

“That so?” he murmured, the huskiness in his voice causing her scalp to prickle. “Funny, but it doesn’t feel that way.”

Ivy waved her free hand in the air. “All of that is changing. You, my friend, are about to have a reversal of fortune and in the very best way possible.”

“Because I get free champagne?”

“Even better.” She tipped her head to the side, her lips curving in an unspoken invitation. “You get to have a drink with me, after all.”

“Just you?” he asked drily. “Or you and that healthy ego you’re carrying around?”

Her smile was quick and appreciative and completely unembarrassed. “We’re a package deal.”

But when she stepped forward, he leaned against the door frame, all casual grace and stubbornness, blocking her. “To what do I owe this reversal of fortune?”

“Good karma?” She shrugged, didn’t miss the way he glanced at her breasts before yanking his focus back to her face. “Clean living, perhaps?”

He studied her. Looking for whatever answer he needed to hear to let himself get over her earlier rejection. Let him look. She kept her thoughts and her secrets well hidden.

“If you’re waiting for me to beg,” she said, her tone threaded with humor and a hint of nerves she prayed he couldn’t detect, “you’re going to be very disappointed.”

“I’ve never been into making people beg,” he told her. “For any reason. I’m waiting for you to tell me why you changed your mind.”

“Does it matter?”

“Yeah,” he said slowly. “I’m afraid it does.”

“Most men wouldn’t question their good fortune. They’d either accept it as their due or run with it before that luck turned again.”

“Well, now, darlin’, here’s the thing.” Leaning toward her, he spoke directly into her ear, his words quiet, his breath warm against her skin. “I’m not most men.”

“I guess you’re not. But since it’s not enough for you that I’m here, that I’ve changed my mind, which is a woman’s prerogative as I’m sure you know, maybe I should just...change it again.”

A dare. A challenge. One meant to inspire him to let her off the hook. To accept what she was willing to give, no matter what her reasons.

Or watch her walk away again.

He shifted, bringing their bodies close but not touching. The urge to move back was as strong as the one to step forward. Doing neither, she tipped her head to maintain eye contact.

“I’m not asking for a lot,” he said. “Just the truth.”

Her laugh was part snort of disbelief, part oh-you-simple-man-you. “Ah, but the truth is the most powerful thing out there.”

Their gazes locked. She didn’t know whether to laugh or shout in frustration. They were at an obvious impasse. And how had that happened? Men didn’t argue with her, for God’s sake. They didn’t question her motives. Didn’t care about those motives, as long as they got what they wanted in the end.

I’m not most men.

That was why she was here, she reminded herself. What attracted her to him.

And wasn’t that coming back to bite her in the ass?

It didn’t matter what he decided, she told herself. Didn’t matter that she was holding her breath waiting, that her palms were growing damp. If she walked away, he’d be the one kicking himself for letting her go.

Her pride nudged her to get moving already. Reminded her that she wasn’t some pathetic woman in need of a man’s approval or his attention. She was strong. Independent. Brave enough to go after what she wanted.

Of course, her pride was also what had pushed her to come to his room in the first place.

Stupid pride.

“Your loss, cowboy,” she said, though she wondered if she wasn’t losing, as well. She turned, but before she could take a step, he snatched her wrist, held it loosely.

“Don’t.”

It wasn’t an entreaty, more like a command.

Looked as if she wasn’t the only one who refused to beg.

Ducking her head, she indulged in a small, triumphant grin before facing him. She flicked a glance to his hand on her, then back up to his eyes. “You have a choice here, cowboy. A very simple one. You can spend the night alone, holding on to your grudge. Or,” she continued, sliding closer until her knee bumped his leg, her breasts inches from his chest, “you could spend the night holding on to me.” She lowered her voice to a soft, seductive whisper. “What’s it going to be?”

Her breath was caught in her chest. Anticipation and nerves warred inside her. His mouth was a grim line, his chest rising and falling steadily as if he were completely unaffected by her nearness. Her words. The image she’d invoked of them together.

As if he really was going to send her on her way.

She needed to leave. To make her exit with as much dignity as possible.

To make it before he took the choice away from her.

But when she tried to tug her wrist free, his grip tightened. She swallowed. Her hand trembled.

He stepped aside and pulled her into his room.

* * *

THE WAITRESS SMILED, a small, self-satisfied grin that was incredibly sexy, as she brushed past him. “I guess your mama didn’t raise any fools, after all.”

C.J. forced himself to let go of her. Shut the door.

He didn’t compromise. Didn’t negotiate. And he sure as hell didn’t give in.

And yet, the fact that she was standing here said otherwise.

“My mother would punch me in the throat if I dared call her mama,” he said. “Plus, she helped raise my brother, and he’s an idiot.”

The waitress tipped her head to the side, making all that abundant hair slide over her shoulder. “Ah, yes, the groom-to-be.”

“You know Kane?” He wasn’t sure if that was a point in her favor. Or against it.

“We’re not acquainted, if that’s what you’re asking. Although I did go to school with Charlotte.”

“Then how did you know he’s my brother?” Another thought occurred to him, one he would have considered much earlier had she not scrambled his thoughts so easily. Too easily. “How did you know which room is mine?”

“Oh, I have my ways,” she said with a wink. Then she turned and walked farther into the suite, as if expecting him to trail after her like some sort of puppy, eager for her time. A pat on the head.

His eyes dropped to the sway of her hips, the way her skirt hugged her ass.

And he followed.

Not his fault. He was, underneath the wealth, a simple man.