Read Online KISS AND MAKE-UP by Leslie Kelly - Free Book Online
Authors: Leslie Kelly
Tags: Romance
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fool to risk spending any more time with a woman who made him stupid and crazy with lust.
So why in the hell, just twenty-four hours later, was he pulling into the parking lot of her hotel, having agreed to meet her for a drink?
“Because you’re a masochist,” he said aloud as he got out of the car and pocketed his keys.
Cassie had called him earlier in the day, and something had forced him to accept her invitation. Wyatt had been prepared to refuse when he’d suddenly realized a Pandora’s box had opened up inside him. So many crazy, tangled memories had come soaring out last night, he now felt he had to see her again, if only to figure out what she was really doing in Boston. Because the whole excuse of her wanting to hire him had been bull. She had another reason for being in town, he knew it down to his bones. She wasn’t telling, but he’d seen the averted gazes, heard the occasional mumbled excuse, and knew there was more to this story than she was letting on.
He needed to find out what it was.
He also needed to prove something—to her? To himself? He had practically run away because of some salad memories last night, which was ridiculous. Seeing her again, proving to himself that he could resist her, and was entirely over his feelings for her, was a necessity not only for his self-confidence, but for his pride.
Entering the pricey hotel, he glanced around and immediately saw Cassie sitting on an overstuffed couch. She spied him and rose, smiling as she approached. “Hi. I’m glad you came. A drink is the least I owe you for last night’s dinner.”
“Honestly, I have no idea why I agreed to this.” The words had left his mouth before he’d even considered them. He couldn’t regret the statement, though. It was, after all, only the truth.
Taking her arm, he led her through the lobby toward a nearby lounge, noting the attention she received from the hotel staff. She’d obviously made her presence felt already, because everyone—from the concierge to the bellhop, to the waitress—greeted her with a genuine smile.
Once inside the bar, they sat at a quiet table in the corner. Only a few other people were around. A bored-looking middle-aged man sat at the piano. His fingers danced lightly over the keys as he plucked out quiet standards—inoffensive background music that covered all other conversation in the place, leaving them cocooned in their own private bubble.
“So when are you going back to New York?” he asked after they sat down and ordered their drinks.
“Not sure.” She shifted in her seat—which was beside his, not across from it—and crossed her legs. He was so tuned in to Cassie that he could hear the scrape of the fabric of her slacks. Even, he believed, her slow, deep breaths.
Their eyes met and held for a long, electric moment. It was as if both of them had suddenly realized they were completely alone in a hotel bar. At night. With only the clink of glasses and some quiet music to disturb them.
The waitress returned with their order, breaking the silent connection, and then disappeared again behind the bar.
“Tell me why you’re really here.”
Her reply was just as challenging. “Tell me why you want me to leave.”
Maybe because your pants highlight that glorious ass and those amazing legs and my will-power is down to zero?
“I’d think that would be obvious.”
“Not to me. So say it, Wyatt.” As if she knew exactly what he was thinking, and was determined to increase the pressure, she leaned close and dropped her hand onto his thigh.
Her touch burned. Fried him until he had to drop his hand to cover hers on his leg. Still, he managed to draw a response out of his gut. “I’m here to prove to myself—and to you—that I’m over you. That we can be friendly and cordial, and absolutely nothing else.”
And that there would be no repeat of the wild, intense, sensual dreams that had been tormenting him for the past few nights. Not that he was about to tell
So why in the hell, just twenty-four hours later, was he pulling into the parking lot of her hotel, having agreed to meet her for a drink?
“Because you’re a masochist,” he said aloud as he got out of the car and pocketed his keys.
Cassie had called him earlier in the day, and something had forced him to accept her invitation. Wyatt had been prepared to refuse when he’d suddenly realized a Pandora’s box had opened up inside him. So many crazy, tangled memories had come soaring out last night, he now felt he had to see her again, if only to figure out what she was really doing in Boston. Because the whole excuse of her wanting to hire him had been bull. She had another reason for being in town, he knew it down to his bones. She wasn’t telling, but he’d seen the averted gazes, heard the occasional mumbled excuse, and knew there was more to this story than she was letting on.
He needed to find out what it was.
He also needed to prove something—to her? To himself? He had practically run away because of some salad memories last night, which was ridiculous. Seeing her again, proving to himself that he could resist her, and was entirely over his feelings for her, was a necessity not only for his self-confidence, but for his pride.
Entering the pricey hotel, he glanced around and immediately saw Cassie sitting on an overstuffed couch. She spied him and rose, smiling as she approached. “Hi. I’m glad you came. A drink is the least I owe you for last night’s dinner.”
“Honestly, I have no idea why I agreed to this.” The words had left his mouth before he’d even considered them. He couldn’t regret the statement, though. It was, after all, only the truth.
Taking her arm, he led her through the lobby toward a nearby lounge, noting the attention she received from the hotel staff. She’d obviously made her presence felt already, because everyone—from the concierge to the bellhop, to the waitress—greeted her with a genuine smile.
Once inside the bar, they sat at a quiet table in the corner. Only a few other people were around. A bored-looking middle-aged man sat at the piano. His fingers danced lightly over the keys as he plucked out quiet standards—inoffensive background music that covered all other conversation in the place, leaving them cocooned in their own private bubble.
“So when are you going back to New York?” he asked after they sat down and ordered their drinks.
“Not sure.” She shifted in her seat—which was beside his, not across from it—and crossed her legs. He was so tuned in to Cassie that he could hear the scrape of the fabric of her slacks. Even, he believed, her slow, deep breaths.
Their eyes met and held for a long, electric moment. It was as if both of them had suddenly realized they were completely alone in a hotel bar. At night. With only the clink of glasses and some quiet music to disturb them.
The waitress returned with their order, breaking the silent connection, and then disappeared again behind the bar.
“Tell me why you’re really here.”
Her reply was just as challenging. “Tell me why you want me to leave.”
Maybe because your pants highlight that glorious ass and those amazing legs and my will-power is down to zero?
“I’d think that would be obvious.”
“Not to me. So say it, Wyatt.” As if she knew exactly what he was thinking, and was determined to increase the pressure, she leaned close and dropped her hand onto his thigh.
Her touch burned. Fried him until he had to drop his hand to cover hers on his leg. Still, he managed to draw a response out of his gut. “I’m here to prove to myself—and to you—that I’m over you. That we can be friendly and cordial, and absolutely nothing else.”
And that there would be no repeat of the wild, intense, sensual dreams that had been tormenting him for the past few nights. Not that he was about to tell
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