Underfoot. Leanne Banks
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Trina. “Oh, no. You’re kidding.”
Trina shook her head and shuddered. “It just got worse after that. She confessed that she didn’t have a degree. Alfredo Bellagio turned purple with rage and fired her on the air.”
Swearing, Walker raked his hand through his hair. “Oh, what a mess. Poor kid.”
“I felt sorry for her. She’s nice. Very talented with or without a degree.” She glanced at her watch, wondering if she should leave him to nurse his misery by himself. “I should probably go home.”
“Must be nice,” he said. “I’m sure as hell not going back to my condo. You can bet there will be reporters camped outside. Even if I made it inside, the phone would be ringing off the hook or friends would be pounding on the door to check on me.”
She made a face. “Yeah, that wouldn’t be fun.” She looked at his shoulders hunched toward the bar. He usually stood so straight, everything about him confident. Not tonight. Another shot of pity stabbed at her.
“My apartment’s right around the corner if you’re willing to take the couch,” she impulsively offered.
He glanced up at her and looked at her, really looked at her. She felt his gaze take in her face then skim over her body and back up to her eyes. “You sure?”
Something in his greenish hazel eyes made her stomach take a dip. She shook it off. It was probably just the second mojito. “Yeah.”
“Okay, I’ll take you up on your kind invitation,” he said. “Let’s just have one more for the road.”
“I haven’t finished my second,” she said.
He took a long drink. “Swallow faster,” he said and motioned again for the bartender.
Two more mojitos later, she might have been fuzzy-headed, but she had enough sense to let the bartender call a cab. She supposed they could have walked, but her coordination wasn’t at peak level.
Neither was Walker’s, but he helped her out of the car. “You’re really nice to let me have your sofa, Trina. I always thought you were nice,” he said, his voice slurring slightly.
“Thanks, Walker. I always thought you were nice and very intelligent,” she said, feeling wobbly on her Bellagio heels as they walked to the elevator.
“Which floor?” he asked.
“Six,” she said, aiming for the right button and missing. “Oops.”
He chuckled. “Let me do it,” he said, and he missed, too.
For some reason, that struck her as hilarious. They both reached for the button and finally pushed number six. The elevator, however, stopped on floors four and five due to their misses. By the time they arrived at her door, she and Walker couldn’t stop laughing. She managed to find her keys in her purse. He managed to take them from her hand and eventually found the one for her door.
Trina tripped as she stepped inside, but Walker caught her against him just before he closed the door. “Whoa,” he said. “No falling. You’re not allowed to fall.”
Grabbing his shoulders for balance, she took a deep breath and caught a draft of his aftershave. “You smell really good,” she said.
“Do I?” he asked and grinned. He ducked his head into the crook of her shoulder and inhaled noisily. “You do, too.”
“Thanks,” she said, liking the way he felt against her. She liked the way his hair looked when it was messed up, not so smooth and perfect. And he had really sexy eyes and one dimple. “Did you know that you have a dent right here?” she asked, lifting her finger to the dimple that added charm to his hard jaw.
“Yeah, I probably got it fighting with my brother or sister,” he said, his voice growing a stronger Southern drawl.
“Where are you from?”
“All over the South,” he said. “Lived in too many houses and trailers to count. That’s what happens when Dad doesn’t pay the bills.”
She shook her head in sympathy, the movement blurring her vision. “Before he died, my father spent a ton of money on a court fight for his business principles.”
“Ouch,” Walker said. “Fighting for your principles in court can be very expensive.”
“Yeah,” she said, and got distracted by his thigh pressed against hers. She studied his eyes. “Did you know that your eyes change colors?”
He shook his head. “No. I haven’t looked at them much lately.”
“They look very dark green right now, but they don’t always look green,” she said.
He leaned closer. “Yours are brown. Like cocoa. Or hot chocolate. I always liked hot chocolate.”
Her heart tripped at the husky sound of his voice. “Oh.” His mouth was inches away, she thought, and wondered what it would be like to kiss him. She’d wondered more than once before, but had always pushed aside her thoughts.
As she should push them aside right now. “I should get a blanket and pillow for you,” she said.
“Yeah,” he said and she felt his green gaze drop to her mouth. “Why do you think Brooke dumped me?”
Trina’s heart squeezed tight. Her chest hurt. “I have no idea.”
He met her gaze. “Really? How was I not enough? Not smart enough? Not good-looking enough? Not exciting enough?”
“I’d have to say no to all the above,” she said.
“Really?” he asked and she knew the combination of liquor, his wounded ego and heart were talking. He would croak when he realized he’d discussed this with her.
“Really,” she said, because she believed it and she felt sorry for him. “You’re smart, entirely too good-looking, and plenty exciting.”
One side of his mouth tilted upward and he pulled her against him in an embrace. “You’re really nice, Trina.”
“I’m not just being nice,” she told him. “I’m telling you the truth.”
“You’re nice. You feel really nice, too,” he murmured against her hair.
She heard a change in his voice and felt her sense of gravity shift. A muted sense of warning pushed through her muddled mind. She should back away. She did, looking up at him. “I should get your blanket,” she whispered again.
He nodded, but lifted his hand and slowly rubbed his finger over her lips.
Trina was surprised but mesmerized by the soft touch.
“For such a nice girl, I’ve always thought you had a bad-girl mouth.”
Surprise bumped at her again. “Why?”
“Your lips are puffy,” he said, still rubbing her mouth. “And pink. Except when you wear red lipstick. Makes a guy wonder all sorts of things about your mouth.”
He was saying things he shouldn’t, but his voice was low and sexy and the darkness surrounded them like a cocoon.
“Would you mind if I kiss you just once?” he asked.
It was just a kiss, her liquored-up brain told her. One little kiss, and heaven knew she’d been curious about him. What could one little kiss hurt?
“Just one,” she said and he immediately lowered his mouth to hers. He surprised her by taking his time. He rolled his lips against hers as if he wanted to feel every bit of her. Every bit of her lips, she reminded herself.
When he increased the pressure, she automatically opened her mouth and he slid his tongue just inside, just for a second. Then he flicked his tongue over her lower lip and back again.
She felt heat rise. Alcohol flush, she told herself,