Two to Tangle. Leslie Kelly
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whom she dearly loved, but who couldn’t really be counted on for anything.
He once caressed a lock of her hair under the guise of pushing it off of her face, which had set her heart racing for several moments. He didn’t talk much about himself, seeming to really want to focus on her, as if his own life was completely boring and she the most fascinating person on earth. That was an unusual feeling for Chloe, who was well used to sitting in the background while her flamboyant mother soaked up all attention like a paper towel soaked up spilled milk. She even finally decided she was ready to handle a second rum punch.
“You’ve got to be sick of hearing about my family, phobias, video collection, or the various lists of do’s and don’ts by which I run my life,” Chloe said.
He shook his head. “I don’t think I could ever get tired of hearing anything you say.”
This time Chloe was the one to break their stare first. Confusion washed over her. This wasn’t quite the way she’d envisioned the evening. She’d been all set to be mysterious. To play along with his “strangers in a bar” suggestion.
But they’d gone well beyond playing sexy games. Well beyond seductive flirtation. She’d known she was attracted to him. She’d never expected to like him.
“I want to know more about you now,” she finally said. “Do you really like to do dangerous things like skydiving?”
He tilted his head to one side and lifted his hands up in helpless resignation. “Uh, yeah. I do.”
“Yikes,” she murmured, unable to picture the smooth, polished store businessman doing anything so impulsive. Trent, his alter ego, however? Well, yes, she could picture that.
“I don’t really skydive very much anymore,” he admitted. “No time, no money. I do still like to hang glide whenever I visit my folks out west. You really should try it, it could help you get over this problem you have with heights.”
“If I’m more than ten feet off the ground, I’d better have a floor or a fully operational Boeing 747 underneath me,” she countered. “Hang gliding, ha! It should be called strapping paper-framed wings on your back and pretending you’re not attempting suicide.”
He let out another laugh, and Chloe noticed, not for the first time, that every pair of female eyes in the place turned to look at him. Approvingly. Hungrily.
She reached across the table and touched his hand, sending a not-so-subtle message—he’s mine—to the overhormonal bar bimbettes in the room.
He immediately responded by taking her fingers and entwining them with his own, sending shards of heat rushing up her arm. Chloe stared at their hands, marveling again at the darkness and strength of his against her own pale, soft skin. When she finally lifted her gaze to his face, she found him studying her, a half smile on his seductive lips.
“You ready to get out of here?” he asked softly, leaning close and lowering his voice to a more intimate level.
Chloe waited for the length of two heartbeats but felt like two hours for him to continue. And go where?
“The storm’s over. We could go for a walk on the beach.”
Chloe released the breath she’d been holding. “Sounds lovely.” She meant it—a walk on the beach did sound perfect. But she still somehow felt a stab of disappointment. She told herself not to be an idiot. Even if he had issued a much more suggestive invitation, as she’d half feared—okay, half hoped—she wouldn’t have taken him up on it. Absolutely not. Uh-uh, no way, never gonna happen.
Well, probably never gonna happen.
Remembering the quick stop she’d made in the hotel store before dinner, and thinking of the condom right now burning a hole in her small black purse, Chloe acknowledged the truth.
Okay. Maybe gonna happen.
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