“I’m Josh,” he said. “We met in the mayor’s office.”
She nearly choked on a laugh. As if she would forget. “Yes,” she said, hoping she sounded calm and completely unaffected by his presence. “Earlier this week. You took over my meeting, then closed the deal. I remember.”
“You’re not pissed about that, are you?”
She was many things—confused about why her body had to react to him the way it did. Annoyed that he’d had access to information she couldn’t get and had therefore done a better job than her at the presentation. Hungry and tired. But she wasn’t pissed.
“I’m fine,” she assured him. “We needed to get the university to sign and that’s what happened. I should probably thank you.”
She paused, hoping he would excuse himself to get back to whatever…or whoever…brought him to the hotel. Instead he continued to look at her.
She tried not to feel his gaze, or react to it. A task that took way more effort than it should have.
After a few seconds of staring at him and watching him stare back, she said, “I don’t want to keep you from your evening.”
“You’re not.” He pointed to the stairs. “Shall we?”
“Shall we what?”
“Climb. We’re neighbors. You’re 301, and I’m 303.”
He put his hand on the small of her back, as if to guide her up the stairs. Instinctively, she moved with the pressure, refusing to acknowledge the bolts of electricity zigging and zagging in every direction. There was heat radiating from each of his fingers—a heat that made her desperately long for bare skin on skin, an unused closet and fifteen minutes alone with Josh.
Blood sugar, she told herself. She had low blood sugar.
“Why do you live at a hotel?” she asked, mostly to distract herself.
“Why not? It’s centrally located, there’s room service and someone else makes my bed every morning.”
“The ultimate in not taking responsibility for your life?” she asked, then wished she hadn’t. So much for a flip answer.
Instead of getting annoyed, Josh chuckled. A low, sexy, appealing sound that made her break out in goosebumps.
“Because taking responsibility is the height of perfection?” he asked.
“It’s a sign of maturity.”
“A quality that’s highly overrated.”
For him, she thought grimly. She’d been responsible for taking care of herself since she was nine or ten years old. She’d always envied those who were carefree enough to not have to worry. Those who knew they would be looked after by others. That hadn’t been an option for her. Her mother had been the free spirit in the family, leaving Charity to make sure their world ran smoothly.
Charity had always loved her mother and wished she was different in equal measures. Sure it was fun to have a parent who never said you had to go to school or do homework, but there were also times when a kid wanted structure and rules. Charity had learned to provide those for herself.
They reached the third floor. She hurried ahead, wanting to reach her room and escape inside. Some how, though, he got in front of her and leaned against her door.
“We should have a drink sometime,” he said, his hazel-green eyes gazing into hers and making every cell in her body sigh in appreciation.
“I’m not sure spending time with a man who cheerfully declares himself to be immature and irresponsible is a good thing.”
The low chuckle came again. “I’m not as bad as all that.”
“Aren’t you?”
He turned in a slow circle. “Look. I’m completely normal. Practically boring.”
He was many things, but boring wasn’t one of them.
Before she could point that out, his door opened. A beautiful blonde wearing one of his shirts and nothing else looked at him.
“Hello, Josh. I thought I heard your voice.”
Josh straightened. Charity took advantage of the distraction to slip into her room and carefully lock the door behind her. She leaned against the wall for a few seconds before bending over and turning on a lamp.
As light flooded the small but elegantly furnished living room, she ignored the sense of defeat knotting in her stomach and told herself she wasn’t even surprised. Of course a guy like Josh would have a woman waiting in his room. They probably came in shifts. From everything she’d heard, he loved women and they loved him back.
She squared her shouders. Even if she couldn’t control her physical reaction to him, she could control what she did about it, which would be exactly nothing.
BY FRIDAY CHARITY was more comfortable in the old City Hall building and had learned the name of nearly everyone who worked there.
Her eleven o’clock meeting was with Pia O’Brian, something she’d been looking forward to ever since Sheryl had put it on her calendar.
Pia arrived right on time, her brown curly hair tumbling past her shoulders, her well-cut suit emphasizing her long legs.