Sweet Sinful Nights

The tension that radiated from him.

Her nerves were frayed thin from the battle inside her, from the tug of war waged between heart and body. She was comprised of two opposing desires. Something soft and needy and desperate in her wanted to throw her arms around him and ask how he’d been and where the years had gone. Something hard and angry and bitter wanted to lift a knee and kick him right in the balls, then to slam her fists into his chest and tell him how everything hurt so goddamn much when he’d left her behind.

There was another side, too. A curious one. The one that still wondered what could have been.

Finally, he answered her question. “No, it’s not a problem. I want the best for my business. James tells me you’re the best.”

My business.

Everything inside her snapped. That tight line of tension was severed. Like when a tightrope is chopped in half and the acrobat tumbles wildly to the ring, she let loose. “Guess comedy worked out really well for you,” she said harshly, wanting to slice him with words. “It’s a good thing you put your career first. Since you’re not even doing what was so fucking important to you ten years ago.”

She turned and pushed hard on the ladies room door. But she felt his hand around her wrist, and he yanked her back, spinning her in one quick move, so she was chest to chest with him. She felt his breath on her.

“It did work out well for me. I’m also not the same person I was ten years ago,” he said, then did that thing again—that thing where he undressed her with his eyes, where he fucked her completely with his hot, dirty stare. “And you obviously have become a different person, too.”

He tugged her, pulled her closer. His heart pounded against her breasts. His hand gripped her lower back.

He felt so good that she didn’t resist because her stupid body was stuck in the past, was living ten years ago when he alone was the one who could help her, who could free her, who could erase all the pain in one touch. Then he took away the one pure, true thing in her life in his cruel exit. He took away himself.

She jammed a hand against the strong, firm chest that she knew intimately. The fucker. “I had reasons. Real reasons. Life and death reasons,” she said in a low hiss.

He shut his eyes briefly, then somehow his arms were around her, and this time his touch wasn’t sexual. It wasn’t lustful. It was an embrace. From someone who knew nearly everything about her.

“Are you okay? Are you safe?” he asked in a whisper into her hair.

A tear had the audacity to slip out of her eye. To slide down her cheek, and fall onto his shoulder. It was a Pavlovian reaction. Too many tears had fallen on that shoulder.

“Yes,” she said quietly, with a nod. “I am. It’s fine. It’s all fine.”

He pulled back, tucked a hand under her chin, and lifted her face. She was so close to him she could trace the outline of his jaw, could run the pad of her finger over his stubble, his unbearably sexy eight-o-clock shadow. She could drag her fingernails through the soft, thick strands of his hair that belonged between her hands. She could look in his eyes as he moved in her, those deep, soulful eyes that understood her. Somehow, he was rough and gentle, he was charming and fierce, and he was funny and dirty. He was the man she’d wanted to spend the rest of her life with.

“Are you sure?” he asked, so much tenderness and worry in his tone.

She gathered herself, and willed that obstinate organ in her chest to stop beating in double time. She ordered her traitorous body to cease trembling just from being near him. “Yes. I’m sure.”

He let her go, and tipped his forehead back to the bar. “I should get out there. They’ll start wondering. See you in a few.”

And he walked away. Like the last time she’d seen him, when he had so easily disconnected from her.

She pushed open the ladies room door, walked to the sink, dropped her hands onto the cool tile and let out the longest, hardest breath. She hoped to hell this was the only time she’d have to deal with Brent Nichols.

When she was near to him like that, she couldn’t think straight. She could only feel. And that was far too dangerous for her heart.





CHAPTER FIVE


Brent couldn’t let her leave.

Now that she’d reappeared in his life and was within the same fifty-foot radius, he had to secure time alone with her. Without James. Without Colin.

A few moments outside the restroom weren’t enough.

On the return from the hallway encounter, he pressed his fingertips to his temple, weighing options.

Then he spotted a shimmer of silver on the floor under the table. A long shot, but it was his best opportunity so he grabbed the edge of the fabric as James and Colin were focused on business matters.

An hour later, the four of them held glasses and raised them high. The deal was done—all that was left was the signing of it.