One Night, White Lies. Jessica Lemmon
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She watched in horror as he studied her, his eyebrows drawn. She waited for recognition to hit, her own fear and worry a toxic mix. He’d recognize her, reject her—and possibly apologize for kissing her back, which would be worse than the other two combined.
Turned out he did that first.
“Apologies for that,” he said, his accent thick, his voice tight with what she hoped was lust and not disappointment.
“Don’t be sorry. I’m the one who kissed you.” She licked her lips, needing another drink of her champagne like her next breath. She reached for the flute, but he beat her to it, handing over her glass. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”
A deep chuckle brought her eyes to his, and she held his gaze and silently asked the question she wouldn’t dare ask aloud. Did you figure out who I am yet?
“All seven minutes you’ve known me, Christina?” His lips twisted temptingly. If that didn’t answer her question soundly, nothing would. He still had no idea who she was.
She polished off the remainder of her bubbly. Disappointment had no place in the moments following kissing him, but it was there anyway, making her chest tight and causing her to feel something else. Sad, if she wasn’t mistaken.
Beggars can’t be choosers, Drew. You wanted to kiss him, and this was your only opportunity. Did you expect more?
More.
She blinked, the rogue thought so far from her good-girl tendencies she instinctively wanted to shut it out. Reid’s throat moved as he swallowed a sip of scotch. His Adam’s apple bobbed, and she chased the line of his neck to the scant bit of chest hair visible where his shirt gaped open—just below where she’d touched him seconds ago.
Lie or confess?
“I’m an impatient woman. That’s why I kissed you.” Lie, it was.
She wanted more. She wanted to run her tongue along his neck and kiss his bare chest. She wanted to kiss the firm, flat plane of his belly and trace that trail of hair down to the promised land. She wanted his mouth on hers, and lower. On her breasts and body, between her legs where she knew he’d be incredibly attentive and pleasing.
Although, if she walked out of this party without him—without telling him who she was—she’d be off the hook completely. She didn’t hang around online and chat with old friends or new. She wouldn’t cross Reid’s path again unless Gage invited them to the same party—oh, shit.
Her brother’s wedding!
Reid would see Drew at the wedding because he’d be there, obviously. Hell, he’d probably be the best man. He’d recognize her then, now wouldn’t he?
That narrowed her options to an unfortunate one: confessing her real identity.
Reid tucked her hair behind her ear, then rested his arm over the back of the sofa. Leaning close, he watched her carefully. “I like impatience in a woman. And not to sound like a complete nutter, but I feel as if that kiss was inevitable. That even if you’d have waited seven more minutes, and seven more after that, it would’ve happened eventually.”
Or maybe if I’d waited nine years. Ha ha ha...sigh.
He traced his finger along her jaw, his eyes following the path. Her heart rate was erratic. Could he see her pulse point thundering at the side of her neck? Then another, more devious, thought occurred. If she didn’t tell him the truth just yet, how far could she take this night of fantasy? He’d forgive her. He’d have to. Gage and Reid weren’t going to stop being friends because Drew told a white lie. Although one had to wonder if her own identity would be considered a “white” lie. Maybe off-white. Light gray...
“Like fate?” she whispered as he traced the scoop neckline of her shirt. This felt like fate to her.
“Bold word, but why not?” He continued touching her exposed skin, barely any pressure, the tickling sensation bringing forth goose bumps. “I also imagine that the evening will end with more than kissing if you’ll allow it.”
The skipped beat of her heart caused her breath to catch. “M-more?”
He trailed his hand to her palm and wove their fingers together. “A night together would amp up this conference to best-ever territory. I know you don’t know me, Christina, but while I’m a man who enjoys a woman in my bed, I rarely mix work and play.”
He lifted their entwined hands and kissed the top of hers, his stunning blue irises burning into her. She’d known Reid well enough to know that he didn’t hold back in the physical affection department, but she’d never label him a player. That was too crass a word for him. He was simply a physical guy, acting on his instincts and his, she assumed, amazing skill. She couldn’t imagine a single woman leaving his company being disappointed in his performance. Though many of them probably felt like she did: full of longing and worrying he wouldn’t return her affections.
If ever there was a “seize the day” moment, this was it.
“What do you say? My room or yours? I’ll let you choose, but mine is a suite with a kitchen, a balcony and a soaking tub.”
“No piano?” She wanted to shout “yes!” but her nerves—or maybe her habit of always doing the right thing—had her stalling.
“No piano.” His glorious chuckle might be the death of her. She wasn’t a swooner, but she was close. “Room service and I are acquainted. I arrived two days before the conference started, and there wasn’t an after-party with a beautiful woman in gold waiting to share my steak and movie.”
“What movie?”
He grinned, maybe knowing she was stalling and not caring. “Jaws.”
“Jaws!” His answer startled a laugh out of her. “How did you sleep?”
He let go of her hand, charm dialed to eleven as he swept his hand to her nape. He said one word—“fitfully”—before covering her lips with his and drinking her in for a kiss that lasted long enough to turn her brain to mush.
“Christina.” His warm breath coasted over her lips.
Drew’s eyes were closed, the pretending still in play. She could carry on this farce, let him seduce her for real and agree not to regret the sex. It wasn’t as if she would’ve had a prayer of seducing Reid as herself, but as “Christina” she had a chance.
“Let me make your dreams come true,” he said. “Come to my room.”
It was everything she wanted to hear, but guilt niggled at her.
“Isn’t that a secondary location?” she breathed. “I learned never to be moved to a secondary location.”
Another light press of his lips, and she opened her eyes. It was like seeing him for the first time, that angled jaw, those entrancing eyes, the full mouth slightly pink from her recent attention. How could she say no?
She couldn’t.
“That was a joke.” She gripped his shirt and kissed him. He let her, which was thrilling. “I’d like to see your room, Reid. I’d like to see much more than your room.”
Her heart was tapping out a salsa, her palms sweaty, her stomach a Tilt-A-Whirl of excitement. This was happening—really happening—and since Drew was a woman accustomed to setting goals and achieving them, she decided to stop justifying and embrace the moment. This moment.
“That might be the yes of my life, Christina.”
She didn’t know if he said that to all the girls, but she wanted to believe that it was just for her. They stood, leaving their glasses on the low table by the sofa, and then he led her away from the thumping bass of the speakers and out of the room.