10. The Alcove
THE ALCOVE
CHELSEA
Idon’t stop until I’ve ducked through the burgundy velvet curtains of one of the little alcoves tucked along the main corridor of the Grand Meridian. I whirl around, yanking Brett inside with me, wrapping my arms around his neck and capturing his wicked mouth with mine.
I’ve surprised him, and his forward momentum carries us hard against the wall, though he manages to get an arm up to save me from the brunt of the collision with the cream-and-gold striped wallpaper, never breaking our kiss. One thing I have to give Brett credit for, he’s a hell of a multi-tasker.
And our mouths fit together as perfectly as I remembered.
Brett leans in, one hand braced against the wall, the other buried in my hair, holding my head where he wants it as he claims my mouth with a long, slow kiss that brings me to the edge of sanity and has me running my hands down his body in a quest for his belt buckle.
As if by mutual agreement, we break the kiss, foreheads pressed together as we watch my progress.
“I jacked off in the shower this morning remembering how fucking sexy you looked when you came, the way you sounded. How it felt when you melted all over me.”
Oh God. The words light me up.
What is it about this man that has me losing my mind? He turns me on like he has a switch. My hands are shaking with need by the time I breach his waistband, and he swears rough and low as I palm his erection.
Power flickers along my skin when he growls, this animalistic sound of pleasure that makes me wet and needy.
His hips start to rock, and I tighten my grip on him.
The rasp of our breathing and the thunder of my pulse echo in my ears.
Brett lowers his head, drags his lips along my neck.
“She couldn’t have gotten far. I found her clipboard on one of the tables.”
Shit.
We both freeze at the sound of the voice in the hallway I know is Shanna’s. Usually, I appreciate my friend’s eagle-eyed attention to detail, but tonight, not so much.
Brett pulls his marauding fingers from my hair and my elegant low side bun plops drunkenly onto my shoulder.
“Go back and do another sweep of the ballroom. If you can’t find her, grab Jenny to help with the dessert issue. I’m going to see if she’s gone to talk to the coat check staff.”
Hiccup. Just like I wanted earlier. Now, I wish it would go away. I want to forget the party, the problems, the promotion. I want to recapture some of that heat, some of that freedom from last night.
“Chelsea?”
The sound of my name on his lips startles me, a forceful reminder this isn’t last night. We’re not strangers anymore.
“You’re gonna need to unhand the merchandise, or this catering trouble won’t be the only mess you’ll have to clean up tonight.”
At the reminder I still have my fingers wrapped around his erection, I snatch my hand back, but he looks insufferably unruffled even as he tucks himself back into his pants and zips up.
“They know we’re missing.”
His shrug is offhand. “Well, they know you’re missing. My cover’s still intact.”
I start pulling pins from my hair so I can restore some semblance of order. “Well, it won’t be for long. You have to go back to the party. I have to fix my hair before anyone sees me or they’ll suspect. And we can’t walk back in together.”
“I am in no condition to go out there.”
I pause in my task, frowning at him. “Your hair looks fine.”
“It’s not my hair I’m worried about.” The sardonic raise of his brow makes me cringe as his meaning sinks in.
My attention drops to the bulge still straining against his pants.
I swallow. I am not turned on, I am not turned on.
“I’m gonna need to hang out for a few more minutes, here in the... What is this place anyway?”
I look away from his situation, taking in the tiny, oddly-shaped space that features an ornamental mirror, an uncomfortable but lovely chair and the bust of some mustachioed hotelier of yore. “It’s an alcove.”
Brett makes a similar perusal of the space. “Why?”
“No idea. Maybe fancy businessmen need a curtained-off area to read the Wall Street Journal?”
“Well if that’s all fancy businessmen are doing in alcoves, they’re missing out.”
The joke hits like a bucket of cold water. I’m suddenly and uncomfortably aware of the compromising position I just put us both in. Last night was a one-off. A perfect moment that existed outside reality, where neither of us worked for my dad.
“Oh, God. I just molested you in an alcove during a work function.” I drop my head against his shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”
Brett runs his hands up and down my bare arms in a soothing reassurance I don’t deserve.
“Hey, I know you can’t see my face right now, but trust me, this is my not complaining expression.”
That startles a laugh from me, but it’s bittersweet. I lean back and slide down the wall until I’m sitting on the carpet. I look up at him. The heat still crackles between us, but reality seeps in through the seams of my resolve.
“We can’t do this.”
“I would say our track record proves the opposite. This is pretty damn good when we do it.”
Too good.
“You know what I mean.”
Brett sighs, confirming he does. Turning his back to the wall, he mimics my actions, sliding down until he’s sitting beside me, long legs almost spanning the width of the alcove.
“So, uh, why did you do this, anyway?” His voice is curious, not cocky. “You don’t seem the hit-and-run type.”
I bite my lip. “That was kind of the point.”
His brows lift.
“I wanted to be someone else. Just for one night. And it was the most irresponsible thing I could think of.”
To my surprise, Brett chuckles at that, and the rough, low sound of it rumbles through me. “I think there’s an insult in there somewhere.”
“If there is, it’s self-directed,” I confess. “I found out my brother got the promotion I wanted, the one I worked my ass off to earn, and I was just so angry. I wanted to go out and forget.”
“So you found out yesterday?”
I shrug, but shame gnaws at my gut.
Brett scratches his eyebrow with his thumb. “And that’s the big announcement your dad was about to make? The one we ducked out on?”
I squeeze my eyes shut, but force myself to nod through the humiliation. I used him. Twice. I’m such an asshole.
When I dare a peek in his direction, I expect him to be at least as disgusted with me as I am with myself.
“That’s so hot.”
A bubble of mortified laughter escapes. “Oh, yeah. I can tell me being jealous of my brother turns you on.”
“Are you kidding? I’m super into hot chicks with wildly successful brothers,” he teases, bumping my shoulder with his. “It’s totally my kink. Ask anyone.”
My chest loosens at his kindness, and my smile is wobbly.
But as the moment stretches, our smiles fade.
That spark that seems to simmer in my belly whenever he’s near flares up.
“I mean, there’s a chance there’s some other reason I’m turned on,” he offers, and that gray-blue smolder reflects the heat rushing through my veins.
“Like the fact you make that dress look good. You might not know this about me, but I’ve got a thing for the color red.
Gets me all hot and bothered thinking maybe you wore it for me. ”
“How could I do that when I thought I’d never see you again?
” The question’s weak, a little breathless even, and I think of the blue dress draped across the foot of my bed.
The one I’d put on, then discarded, remembering the way his husky voice had reverberated in my chest whenever he called me Red.
The confidence our tryst gave me as I donned the scarlet fabric.
In a way, I guess I did wear it for him.
For the memory of the best sex I’ve ever had.
“Did you think I was the one-night-stand type last night?”
Brett looks up from my mouth. “What?”
“You said I didn’t strike you as the hit-and-run type, and I was just wondering if that was based more on meeting me today and seeing me in my natural habitat or—”
“It was based on everything.” He doesn’t even pause to consider. “From the minute you bumped into me at the bar until now.”
I narrow my eyes, dissecting that. “So you didn’t get, like, a bad girl vibe at any point?”
“I did not.”
“Not even while I was seducing you?”
“When you seduced me?” Brett grins, smug. My frown deepens. “Well, I mean, I guess you did, but—”
“There is no but.”
“But,” he repeats, still grinning, “the reason it worked is because you weren’t good at it.”
Excuse me? “I’m not following.”
“You were cute.”
“I was trying for sexy.”
“Sure, yeah. That’s what I’m saying. You were sexy in a cute way.”
I cross my arms. Cute. Good. Punctual. Why do I always get the sensible-adjective package? “That’s a terrible thing to say to someone.”
“What? No, it’s not. What’s wrong with cute?”
“Cute is for baby animals. I want to be sexy. Dangerous.”
He leans in a little, amused. “You might be the only woman I’ve ever met who doesn’t know how to take a compliment.”
“Or maybe I’m just the first one who’ll tell you you’re bad at giving them.”
He laughs, full-bodied and shameless. “Yeah, that actually checks out.”
I regret saying it almost instantly.
Because suddenly, I’m picturing all the sexy, dangerous women who’ve probably fallen at his feet without needing compliments. Women who seduce on purpose. Who don’t second-guess themselves afterward. Women who don’t spend the next day wondering if they were just a pity lay.
How depressing. With a sigh, I shoot him a sidelong glance. “We should get back to the party.”
“Probably.”
There’s a note in his voice—not dread, exactly, but something adjacent—and it pokes at my pride. It’s a good party. Not perfect, but solid. There’s no reason he should be acting like it’s a death sentence.
“You’re not having a good time?”
He shrugs. “It’s not my favorite part of the job. I suck at small talk. Always feel like I’m one wrong comment away from getting benched again.” He flashes a smile, sharp and crooked. “I’m not at my best when I’m expected to behave.”
I can’t relate.
Sexy. Dangerous. Rebellious.
Those are his adjectives.
And they’re three good reasons why this should have stayed a one-time thing.
For a woman who schedules her orgasms and color-codes her closet, it’s sobering to have my foray into debauchery implode so spectacularly.
I planned for everything.
Except running into him again.
Brett catches the end of one of my curls between his thumb and forefinger and gives it a gentle tug. His voice drops to a low murmur. “Now, when I’m not on my best behavior?”
I lean in, involuntarily drawn to the heat in his tone.
“That’s when things get interesting.”
I only have a second to process the approaching peril before he cups my jaw in his big hand. His touch burns with promise, and my brain mutes the alarm my good sense is trying to sound.
Why shouldn’t I have this? One more kiss won’t hurt anything, I assure myself, even as my eyelids flutter shut in anticipation. Brett’s fingers slide into my hair.
Such an innocent touch and I’m on fire for him.
But the kiss doesn’t come.
I open my eyes, surprised to find Brett staring at me, his gaze roaming my face with a ferocity that steals my breath.
“Definitely sexy,” he breathes, his thumb tracing the bottom curve of my lip, and I jerk at the jolt of the connection. “Definitely dangerous.”
He kisses me so softly, with such restraint, that I sigh at the perfection of it.
Drugging, open-mouthed kisses, soft and exploratory, the way I dreamed about being kissed in high school but never was.
He keeps the pace leisurely, restrained and coaxing, not aggressive.
The sweetness of the kiss catches me by surprise, like fruity umbrella drinks that go down smooth.
I shoot right past lust-tipsy and straight to lust-drunk.
When he pulls his mouth from mine, I have to stifle a cry of disappointment. He presses his forehead against mine. “You were not the plan,” he tells me, and it kind of sounds like a compliment to my kiss-drugged mind. Which is weird, since I usually hate anything that ruins plans.
Brett sits back and runs a hand through his hair. “Okay. You’d better get back to your party or I won’t be responsible for my actions.”
I can’t stop the grin that splits my face. “Ha! Because I seduced you! And not in a cute way. In a sexy way. Admit it.”
Skepticism crumples his face, and I realize maybe cute-sexy isn’t such an awful thing to say about someone, because it’s working for Brett in a big way right now.
“I don’t know if I’d go that far. You’re being pretty damn cute right now. And we’re both still wearing all our clothes.”
I lever myself up onto my hands and knees, bringing our mouths into tantalizing proximity. “But you kind of wish we weren’t, right?”
He swallows. “Since the first second I saw you.”
The sincerity lacing his deep voice shakes me to my core.
Brett presses a swift, hard kiss to my lips, pulling back right when I decide to let it spiral to its inevitable conclusion. “Now, get out of here before you seduce me anymore than you already have, and I’m doomed to spend the rest of the night in this damned alcove.”
The speedy change between seduction and laughter has me a little off balance as I push to my feet and the forgotten hairpins spill from my fingers.
“Oh! My hair.”
“It looks good the way it is,” he says. “I like it down. Falling over your shoulders.”
The compliment warms me as I get to my feet.
I could leave it. They’ll be announcing the winners of the silent auction soon, so that will take most of the focus. People have a few drinks in them. I can leave the heavy schmoozing to Andrew and just worry about taking care of the background details and no one will even notice.
“Before you go…”
“Yes?” The word comes out too eagerly, letting me know that, for all my bravado, he’s definitely the one in charge of the seduction right now.
He pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Can I have your number?”
The digits spill out of my mouth like I’m under hypnosis.
What kind of tacit agreement have we just entered into?
He wouldn’t ask for my number if he wasn’t planning to use it... right?
It’s a mistake. I know it is.
He’s a hockey player. I work for the team. This has conflict of interest written all over it.
I should shut this down and walk away. But—
“Chelsea?”
My gaze snaps to his at the sound of my name. Those gray-blue eyes are staring up at me so intense and focused.
“I’m sorry about the promotion. That really sucks.”
The whole world turns upside down in that alcove.
Because the sexiest man I’ve ever touched—the one I’ve spent the last twelve hours convincing myself is best left a fantasy—is officially the first person in my life to say those words.
Shanna ranted with me.
My dad and brother probably don’t even know I’m gutted.
And me? I just keep pushing it down. Telling myself to move on.
But Brett…
I swipe away the tear that escapes and stare up at the ceiling, willing the others to stay put.
“Thank you,” I say softly, before I push the heavy curtain aside, and hurry back to the ballroom.