His heart skipped a few beats at the longing he saw in her face. He pressed her into the bed, needing to feel as much of his body covering hers as possible. He shuddered as her long legs wrapped around him, and he captured her lips in another mind-bending kiss, drinking in the little noises she made deep in her throat.
Then she pulled back, studying him, and he wondered what the hell she saw when she looked at him like that, like maybe he was the best thing that had ever happened to her. Which was gratifying since he was starting to come to terms with the fact that he felt the same. She was definitely the best thing to ever happen to him.
Something he thought about every morning when he dragged himself out of her bed and left her before she woke and saw it all over his face.
As he thought this and let it sink in, it suddenly took everything he had to not tell her. But he wanted her to be the one to make the decision about where to take things next, if they took things anywhere at all. He was starting to realize what his feelings were, but she needed to do the same—in her own time.
He thought maybe he’d see it in her eyes, but he wanted the words, and then, as if she could read his mind, she opened her mouth—but what came out wasn’t anything he expected.
“Oh my God, wait!” she gasped and wriggled out from beneath him.
“What’s wrong?”
“I forgot!” She sat up. “I forgot to tell you something. I can’t believe I forgot but there were the brownies and then you naked . . .” She tugged the sheet up to her chin. “Sorry, I’m so sorry.”
Since her voice was very serious and also very panicked and he couldn’t see enough in the dark room to suit him, he reached across her and turned on the small lamp by his bed.
She’d been wearing a soft, warm glow when she’d first drifted off but right now her eyes were wide, dark, and full of haunting secrets.
Shit.
With his gut sinking hard, he watched her slide out of bed and grab the first thing she came to on the floor.
His shirt.
It looked good on her, falling to her thighs, open to expose a strip of creamy skin he knew tasted like heaven. He caught a glimpse of some whisker burn between her breasts and low on her belly before she yanked the shirt closed and started buttoning herself in.
“I’m really so very sorry,” she said, head bowed to her task, her fingers fumbling. “I meant to tell you before we . . .”
Because her fingers were shaking, he got up and moved her hands aside, first undoing what she’d done since she’d lined the buttons up to the wrong holes, before starting anew. As the backs of his knuckles brushed over her flesh, she trembled.
Which killed him. What the ever-loving hell?
When she was buttoned from throat to thigh, he let out a breath and stepped back and pulled on his jeans. “What is it?” he asked quietly.
She chewed her bottom lip. A tell. She did it whenever she was trying to hide an emotion, be it humor, arousal, or in this case, dismay.
“Okay,” she said. “But I want you to know that I promised myself I’d tell you before we . . . we were intimate again. I was going to tell you tonight at dinner, only . . .”
“You ate brownies instead, got high, and then jumped my bones.”
He meant for her to smile, but she didn’t. She looked unsure of herself, kind of the same way she’d looked right after Daisy Duke had sent her swimming. It’d melted his damn heart then, and it did so now, even if he didn’t want it to.
“I may have left you with the wrong impression of who I am and what I do,” she said and hugged herself.
He stared at her and then sank to the bed. “Tell me you’re not a reporter.”
“No.” She paused. “It’s . . . worse.”
Shit. Elle had been right, and oh how she was going to love that. “I need a minute.”
“Now?”
“Yeah.” He shook his head and got to his feet, walking out of his bedroom. Only there wasn’t enough air in the living room either, so he went out the front door with the intention of going up to the roof, where he could sit in peace and quiet on the ledge and stare out at the world until he felt his blood pressure come back down from stroke level.
But he’d forgotten his keys.
Instead of going back inside his place, he pounded the elevator button with enough force to hurt his finger. It opened immediately. He stepped on and hit the basement floor.
Twenty seconds later, he walked into the large room and halted an ongoing poker game. Sitting at the table were Elle, Caleb, Joe, Archer, Finn, and Pru.
They were all smoking cigars, the ones that Luis—Trudy’s three-time husband—had brought back from his trip to Cuba.
The entire table froze at the sight of Spence. Finally, Archer pulled the cigar from his mouth and jabbed it at Finn, sitting across from him. “Hey, remember the time you came out of the dumbwaiter with that same look on your face?” He jerked a thumb at the wall behind him, where the dumbwaiter door was currently closed. “Only you were in just your skivvies.”
Pru grimaced. “That was my bad. I shoved him in the dumbwaiter after we—”
Finn grinned when she broke off. “Oh, do finish that sentence,” he told her. “But make sure and tell them how I rocked your world—”
“I just needed a minute to think,” Pru said, blushing. “I never thought you’d end up down here. And besides, this is about Spence, hello! He’s standing there in just his jeans. Where are the rest of his clothes?”
All heads swiveled back to Spence.
“Tell me you just got some,” Joe said.
Elle went brows up in question.
Spence ignored them both. “It’s freezing down here. Someone give me a jacket.”
“Maybe you’re freezing because your button fly’s undone,” Pru said casually and laid out her cards. “Flush.”
“I’ve got a royal flush,” Elle said.
Everyone groaned while Spence buttoned up his Levi’s.
Pru sighed at her loss. “Damn. Well, back to Spence. Does he have another hickey?”
Spence slapped a hand to his neck.
“Bite marks, because sometimes it’s important to mark your territory,” Archer said.
Elle smiled and blew him a kiss as she gathered up her winnings. She scooped it all into her bag before pushing back from the table and moving across the floor to the far end of the room. Next to the washers and dryers was a closet. She pulled it open and rifled around in there before coming back toward Spence, holding out something pink.
“From the lost and found,” she said. “It’s only a medium, but that’s the best I’ve got.”
“It says Princess on it.” The cold concrete floor was seeping up through his bare feet and he was shivering, but he stared at the sweatshirt dubiously.
“Put it on,” Joe said. “Your nipples could cut glass.”
Spence shot him a look that threatened death and Joe mercifully shut up. Not, Spence knew, because he actually feared death, but because Spence had stuff on the guy. He’d kept Joe’s secrets but he wasn’t feeling all that charitable at the moment.
Elle waggled the pink sweatshirt.