swallowed. Her hand trembled.
He stepped aside and pulled her into his room.
* * *
T HE 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.
“When I stay at a hotel,” he said as she set the champagne on the wooden bar next to the window, “I expect my privacy to be respected.”
“Not much privacy in Shady Grove, I’m afraid. Or, I’d guess, in small towns in general. Pretty much everyone knows everyone else. If you don’t, you can still get the information want. You just need to pay attention.” She bent, searched under the bar for a moment, then straightened with a cloth napkin in her hand. Unwrapped the foil from around the bottle and loosened the wire cage. “People say all sorts of things in front of—as your mother so charmingly described me— the help . When a guest needs something or has a complaint, we get all the attention. But most of the time, we’re invisible, just ghosts delivering drinks and cleaning up messes.”
She didn’t sound bothered by it, more as though she was stating a fact.
He skimmed his gaze over her face. No hardship there. He’d spent the greater part of his evening wanting to get another close-up look at her. He wasn’t going to waste one moment of it. Not when he’d given up hope of seeing her again.
“You could never be invisible,” he told her, his voice gruff. “And you know it.”
A small smile playing on her lips, she inclined her head as if in thanks. Or agreement. “Either way, I hear plenty. Probably more than people realize. And you, Clinton Bartasavich Jr., were a hot topic of conversation.”
“Is that so?”
He got enough gossip in Houston. He sure as hell didn’t need it following him to this Podunk town.
“Now, don’t be getting all sensitive,” she said, obviously detecting the irritation in his tone. She covered the cork with the napkin, pressed the bottom of the bottle against her hip and neatly twisted until there was a soft pop . “If you hadn’t wanted people to talk about you, you probably shouldn’t have worn that hat.”
“I like my Stetson,” he said easily.
She made a humming sound. Pulled out two wineglasses from the shelf. “Yes. So did plenty of the women at the party. Trista Macken’s grandmother wondered what you would look like in it...and nothing else.”
The back of his neck warmed with embarrassment. He glanced at his hat, sitting on the desk next to his open laptop. “Someone’s grandmother imagined me naked? I might never wear the damned thing again.”
“If it helps, I think the only reason she said it was because all the chardonnay she was guzzling loosened her tongue and
He stepped aside and pulled her into his room.
* * *
T HE 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.
“When I stay at a hotel,” he said as she set the champagne on the wooden bar next to the window, “I expect my privacy to be respected.”
“Not much privacy in Shady Grove, I’m afraid. Or, I’d guess, in small towns in general. Pretty much everyone knows everyone else. If you don’t, you can still get the information want. You just need to pay attention.” She bent, searched under the bar for a moment, then straightened with a cloth napkin in her hand. Unwrapped the foil from around the bottle and loosened the wire cage. “People say all sorts of things in front of—as your mother so charmingly described me— the help . When a guest needs something or has a complaint, we get all the attention. But most of the time, we’re invisible, just ghosts delivering drinks and cleaning up messes.”
She didn’t sound bothered by it, more as though she was stating a fact.
He skimmed his gaze over her face. No hardship there. He’d spent the greater part of his evening wanting to get another close-up look at her. He wasn’t going to waste one moment of it. Not when he’d given up hope of seeing her again.
“You could never be invisible,” he told her, his voice gruff. “And you know it.”
A small smile playing on her lips, she inclined her head as if in thanks. Or agreement. “Either way, I hear plenty. Probably more than people realize. And you, Clinton Bartasavich Jr., were a hot topic of conversation.”
“Is that so?”
He got enough gossip in Houston. He sure as hell didn’t need it following him to this Podunk town.
“Now, don’t be getting all sensitive,” she said, obviously detecting the irritation in his tone. She covered the cork with the napkin, pressed the bottom of the bottle against her hip and neatly twisted until there was a soft pop . “If you hadn’t wanted people to talk about you, you probably shouldn’t have worn that hat.”
“I like my Stetson,” he said easily.
She made a humming sound. Pulled out two wineglasses from the shelf. “Yes. So did plenty of the women at the party. Trista Macken’s grandmother wondered what you would look like in it...and nothing else.”
The back of his neck warmed with embarrassment. He glanced at his hat, sitting on the desk next to his open laptop. “Someone’s grandmother imagined me naked? I might never wear the damned thing again.”
“If it helps, I think the only reason she said it was because all the chardonnay she was guzzling loosened her tongue and
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