stands up slowly, his body trailing up mine in the narrow triangle of space created by the two chairs where we were sitting on one side and the large desk on the other. “Oh, I trust you.”
I watch with a strange detachment as his right hand reaches up to my face and traces the line of my jaw. I hold my breath. That touch sends a wave of heat right through me. My chest tightens; my lips gape slightly.
“Where should I get you?” he whispers as his finger trails down my neck, so slowly.
“Uh . . .” I pretty much lose the power of speech. “Uh . . .” My reptile brain is screaming, There! You should get me right there! Where your finger is! And lower!
“Where are you sleeping?” he asks. The low roll of his voice coats every word with sexual tension.
Of course he doesn’t say, “ What hotel are you staying at? ” No, he says, “ Where are you sleeping? ” I am lost.
“A-at the Astoria,” I manage. It is so difficult to concentrate when I want to lean into him and inhale him. The grief. The sleep deprivation. I don’t know what it is, exactly, but the ever-practical Miki Durand has obviously left the building.
“Me, too. Let’s go.” He reaches his strong fingers around to the back of my neck and rubs at the tension there. The stiffness in my muscles from my night at the desk begins to ebb.
“God, that feels great.” I lean back into the strength of his hand at my neck and let my eyes slide shut, which is a pity because I was enjoying the view of his lips a few inches away.
“Let’s get your things and get out of here.” He finishes rubbing my neck, then puts both of his hands on my upper arms. “You okay?”
I open my eyes slowly. “I’m good.” I shiver. “Let me just grab my computer, and we can go to the hotel together. I mean—”
“I know what you mean.” He steps away from the narrow space where we were standing to let me pass.
I put a Post-it note on the Segezha file for Alexei. My hands are shaking, and I feel like my fingers are swollen and inept. I power down my laptop.
Rome is standing by the door with his arms folded across his broad chest.
I take a deep breath. What the hell am I doing? A last hurrah? A little fling before settling down with one of LA’s most eligible bachelors? It doesn’t have to be anything destructive, I keep telling myself. I can just be Audrey Hepburn on the back of Gregory Peck’s scooter, I keep telling myself. I exhale slowly, then slip my laptop into my bag and sling it over my shoulder. I look around one last time. “Okay. I guess all of this will keep for . . . one day.”
“And one night.” He smiles and opens the door.
CHAPTER SIX
I let the hot water of the shower wash away my insanity. What in the world am I doing? Or thinking of doing? Maybe I’m going through some sort of post-traumatic stress, doing something crazy and irresponsible so soon after my father’s death. Or maybe I just want to have sex with Rome de Villiers.
I convince myself that it can be that simple, an isolated incident, nothing to do with my real life. An interlude.
I turn off the shower and scrub myself with one of the enormous white towels. I am trying to apply all sorts of statistical analyses to the facts, but the bottom line is, I want to get into bed with that man, and that fact pretty much trumps any other variables for or against. I brush my long blond hair with firm strokes, then weave it into a thick braid down my back. I look at my face in the mirror to make sure I got rid of any residual mascara, then brush my teeth and put on a bit of lip gloss. I rarely wear makeup during the day, and I am not about to start now. If my messy appearance earlier didn’t scare him off, maybe the circles under my eyes will.
I put on a pair of jeans and a gray cashmere sweater, then slip into a pair of heeled boots. I pull my laptop out of my bag and store it in the safe in the closet. I grab my leather jacket and head to the lobby.
When the elevator
I watch with a strange detachment as his right hand reaches up to my face and traces the line of my jaw. I hold my breath. That touch sends a wave of heat right through me. My chest tightens; my lips gape slightly.
“Where should I get you?” he whispers as his finger trails down my neck, so slowly.
“Uh . . .” I pretty much lose the power of speech. “Uh . . .” My reptile brain is screaming, There! You should get me right there! Where your finger is! And lower!
“Where are you sleeping?” he asks. The low roll of his voice coats every word with sexual tension.
Of course he doesn’t say, “ What hotel are you staying at? ” No, he says, “ Where are you sleeping? ” I am lost.
“A-at the Astoria,” I manage. It is so difficult to concentrate when I want to lean into him and inhale him. The grief. The sleep deprivation. I don’t know what it is, exactly, but the ever-practical Miki Durand has obviously left the building.
“Me, too. Let’s go.” He reaches his strong fingers around to the back of my neck and rubs at the tension there. The stiffness in my muscles from my night at the desk begins to ebb.
“God, that feels great.” I lean back into the strength of his hand at my neck and let my eyes slide shut, which is a pity because I was enjoying the view of his lips a few inches away.
“Let’s get your things and get out of here.” He finishes rubbing my neck, then puts both of his hands on my upper arms. “You okay?”
I open my eyes slowly. “I’m good.” I shiver. “Let me just grab my computer, and we can go to the hotel together. I mean—”
“I know what you mean.” He steps away from the narrow space where we were standing to let me pass.
I put a Post-it note on the Segezha file for Alexei. My hands are shaking, and I feel like my fingers are swollen and inept. I power down my laptop.
Rome is standing by the door with his arms folded across his broad chest.
I take a deep breath. What the hell am I doing? A last hurrah? A little fling before settling down with one of LA’s most eligible bachelors? It doesn’t have to be anything destructive, I keep telling myself. I can just be Audrey Hepburn on the back of Gregory Peck’s scooter, I keep telling myself. I exhale slowly, then slip my laptop into my bag and sling it over my shoulder. I look around one last time. “Okay. I guess all of this will keep for . . . one day.”
“And one night.” He smiles and opens the door.
CHAPTER SIX
I let the hot water of the shower wash away my insanity. What in the world am I doing? Or thinking of doing? Maybe I’m going through some sort of post-traumatic stress, doing something crazy and irresponsible so soon after my father’s death. Or maybe I just want to have sex with Rome de Villiers.
I convince myself that it can be that simple, an isolated incident, nothing to do with my real life. An interlude.
I turn off the shower and scrub myself with one of the enormous white towels. I am trying to apply all sorts of statistical analyses to the facts, but the bottom line is, I want to get into bed with that man, and that fact pretty much trumps any other variables for or against. I brush my long blond hair with firm strokes, then weave it into a thick braid down my back. I look at my face in the mirror to make sure I got rid of any residual mascara, then brush my teeth and put on a bit of lip gloss. I rarely wear makeup during the day, and I am not about to start now. If my messy appearance earlier didn’t scare him off, maybe the circles under my eyes will.
I put on a pair of jeans and a gray cashmere sweater, then slip into a pair of heeled boots. I pull my laptop out of my bag and store it in the safe in the closet. I grab my leather jacket and head to the lobby.
When the elevator
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