If she only knew what those words coming from her while dressed in that outfit did to him. As he’d done for too many years to count, he bit back his desires and walked her back to her room. He pulled her room card from his pocket, and it dawned on him that he always carried Amy’s stuff. Her keys, her wallet, her phone. At some point, his pockets had become her pocketbook.
Tony held the door open for Amy and kept one hand on her hip as she walked unsteadily past him.
He closed the door and took in her hotel room. Standard upscale fare, it looked like his room, with a king-size bed, a long dresser and mirror, and a decent-size sitting area. Amy’s perfume and lotions were lined up neatly on the dresser, along with her birth control pills, which made his gut twist a little. He didn’t want to think about Amy having sex with anyone. Well, except maybe him, but—
“Hey.” Amy reeled around on him, stepping forward in those sky-high heels. He didn’t need to inhale to know that she smelled like warm vanilla, a scent that haunted him at night.
She wobbled a little, and instinct brought his hand to her waist. He’d held Amy in his arms a million times, comforting her when she was sad, carrying her when she was a little too drunk to be steady on her feet. He’d cared for her when she was sick and sat up with her after each of her girlfriends had fallen in love, when she simply couldn’t handle being alone. He had a feeling those nights were their little secrets, because he’d never heard Bella, Jenna, or Leanna ever make reference to them, and those girls talked about everything. Now, as she stepped closer and touched his stomach with one finger and looked at him like she had years ago, not like the sweet, too-good-to-be-true Amy that she never strayed from around him unless she was drinking, he found himself struggling to remain detached enough to keep his feelings in check.
He forced himself to act casual. “What’s up, Ames?”
She trapped that lower lip of hers again, and his body warmed.
Amy stumbled on her heels and caught herself against his chest. She slid her hands up the front of his shirt, and his body responded like Pavlov’s dog. Amy had that effect on him, but he’d always been good about keeping it under wraps. What was happening to him? Was it the romance of the impending wedding? Watching his best buddies whisper and nuzzle their fiancées while he had walls so thick around his heart that he didn’t know if he’d ever be able to move forward and love anyone else again?
She gazed up at him with naive curiosity in her eyes, and it was that innocence that threatened his steely resolve. It almost did him in every time they were alone together. Only this time she had the whole hips-swaying, chest-pushing-against-him thing going on.
He covered her hands with his and breathed deeply. With those heels, they were much closer in height. A bow of his head and he could finally taste her sweet mouth again.
With that selfish thought, he pressed her hands to his chest to keep them from roaming and to keep himself from becoming any more aroused. She gazed up at him, looking a little confused and so sexy it was all he could do to squelch his desire to take her in his arms and devour her.
“What do you need, Ames?”
“I’m pretty sure you know what I need,” she said in a husky voice as she pressed her hips to his.
You don’t mean that. You’re just drunk. He clenched his jaw against his mounting desire. She was all he ever wanted, and she was the one person he knew he should walk away from.
“Amy.”
“Tony.” Her voice was thin and shaky.
“You’re drunk.” He peeled her hands from his chest. She got like this when she was drunk: sultry, sexier, eager. As adults, she’d never taken it this far. She’d made innuendos over the years, but more in jest than anything else. He wasn’t an idiot. He knew Amy cared about him, but he also knew she sometimes forgot things. Important things. Life-altering events that were less painful if forgotten. He was certain it was why she drank when they were together and why he’d spent years protecting her. Not that she needed protecting often. Drinking was a summer thing for Amy, and really, she rarely drank too much. She didn’t drink when she wasn’t at the Cape. He knew this because over recent years, after Amy had graduated from college and settled into her business, he’d begun texting her more often. He’d been unable to ignore his need for a connection to her any longer. He could count on one hand how many times she’d made reference to drinking.
“I might be a little drunk.” Her sweet lips curved into a nervous smile. “But I think I know what you want.”
What I want and what I’ll let myself have are two very different things.
He exhaled, took her hand, and turned toward the bed. “Sit down and let me help you get out of your heels and then I’ll go back to my room. I don’t want you to break your ankle.”
She swayed on her heels and attached herself to his side again. “I don’t want you to go to your room.”
Tony stepped back. The back of his legs met the dresser. “Amy—”
“Tony,” she said huskily, taking him by surprise.
“Ames,” he whispered. She was killing him. Any other man would have silenced her with a kiss, carried her to the bed, pushed that sexy dress up to her neck, and given her what she wanted. But Tony had made a career out of resisting Amy, protecting her. He respected her too much to let her make a mistake she would only regret when she sobered up.
He gripped her forearms and held her at a safe distance.
She narrowed her eyes and reached for him.
For a breath he let himself fantasize about her touching him in ways he’d only dreamed of. Every muscle in his body corded tight as he reluctantly gripped her wrist.
“Amy, stop.” He’d learned his lesson with her when he was a teenager, and he was never letting either of them go back to that well of hurt. “We’re not doing this.”
The dark seductiveness that had filled her eyes when she was touching him was gone as quickly as it had appeared. Her shoulders rounded forward, and hurt filled her eyes.
“Why?”
He felt like a heel. Like a guy who should have taken her to bed, if only to love her as she deserved to be loved. Even if she might not remember or appreciate it in the morning. He draped an arm over her shoulder and pulled her into a hug.
“Come on, Amy. You’re drunk and you won’t remember any of this tomorrow. Let me help you get ready for bed.”
“Don’t you want me?”
Her broken voice nearly did him in, and when her arms went limp, he tightened his grip on her. “Amy,” he whispered again.
In the space of a few seconds she pushed away from him, determination written in the tension around her mouth and the fisting of her hands.
“Tell me why you don’t want me. What is it? Am I too flat-chested? Too unattractive?”
“No.” You’re the sexiest woman I know. Anger felt so wrong coming from her that it momentarily numbed him.
“I know I suck at seduction, but don’t these take-me heels or this stupid dress turn you on? Even a little?”
“Your take-me heels? Boy, you are drunk. You don’t realize what you’re saying. Come on.” He reached for her hand and she shrugged him off again.