Chapter 13
HARRISON
“Ithink we deserved that,” Gwen said to me, falling back in her chair in my hotel suite and letting her eyes drop to half-mast.
“Agreed. And now I want more.”
We both glanced at the few bites of the room service molten lava cake.
I wasn’t usually a dessert person, but Gwen had a way of making me do things that were totally out of character—like inviting my employee, who I was trying very hard not to touch, up to my suite for a room service feast. We’d mutually decided we didn’t have the energy to deal with a Manhattan restaurant for dinner.
The After Dark taping had been the kind of triumph that called for a celebration, but this wasn’t the one I should have chosen.
It felt too intimate. Too real. And way too similar to some of the nights we’d shared in Aspen.
We’d sampled a few desserts in bed during that magical week, between the lovemaking.
I’d even sucked melted chocolate off her nipples.
I felt myself stirring at the memory. Whoa. Down, boy.
“The goo-to-cake ratio in that thing was perfect,” Gwen said, nodding toward the dessert. “Mine always come out too cakey.”
“Hold on, you bake?” I asked.
I loved learning more about the mystery that was Gwen Ackland.
“Oh, you bet I do. And I’m damn good at it.” She paused. “Or I would be, if I had a kitchen that worked.”
“What’s wrong with your kitchen?” I asked. I tried to ignore the way she was absentmindedly rubbing her calf.
“Let’s just say I live where I live for the vibes, not the space. Our kitchen is a crap-hole. Finicky stove, wonky fridge, no real counter space, but I make it work.”
“That seems to be your MO.”
“Aw, thanks bossman,” she smiled at me. “Another half compliment. I’ll take it!”
“It’s a full compliment,” I assured her.
“Full throated, even. After the miracles you’ve pulled over the past few days, I’m ready to sing your praises from the top of this hotel.
Unless they kill me in the edit, which I don’t think is possible, the After Dark appearance is a victory lap for me. ” I paused. “No, for us.”
Gwen flipped over her phone. “It’s on in ten minutes. Is that enough time for me to run down to my room and change? Because this dress is really uncomfortable. The zipper feels like it’s made of barbed wire.”
“Seeing as you’re three floors below me, I doubt you could get there and back that fast. But I’m not the first guest on the show, so if you don’t mind missing Claire Deegan, you’re good.”
“No, I’m not missing a second of it,” she reached back to fuss with her zipper. “If I could just…unzip it…a couple of inches…”
I strode over to her. “Let me.”
She shot me an assessing look, then moved her hair away from the back of her neck. Even that simple gesture was enough to get me thinking about the sweet expanse of bare skin I’d covered with kisses.
I don’t think there was an inch of her body I hadn’t explored.
I pulled the zipper down and moved closer to examine her nape. “You’re all red back here.”
Before I could stop myself, I was pressing my thumbs against the marks, trying to soothe the angry patches.
Of course, the irritation didn’t rub away that easily—but touching her back made me realize how tight the muscles were there.
I pulled the zipper down all the way to where it stopped just above her bra strap and then started to massage her shoulders.
“Oof,” she said softly, arching her back a little.
I paused. “Does that hurt?”
Gwen giggled. “No, it feels incredible. I might have to hire you as my massage therapist.”
I let my hands run along her shoulders. It took every ounce of my strength to keep them from skimming lower.
“Mmm,” Gwen murmured. Her head fell forward.
I’d heard that satisfied noise before. I knew how to get her to make even louder sounds.
The memory of her screaming my name made my cock press against my pants. Why the fuck was I torturing myself like this? Touching her this way just made it harder to resist the urge to touch her in other ways. I finally managed to pull my hands off of her and moved away to make myself a drink.
“Scotch?”
Gwen looked flushed. She shook her head. “I’m good.”
Yeah, she was. And that was a huge problem for me. I flicked on another light on my way to the bar, as if brightness would keep me from thinking filthy thoughts about her. But no, we’d also made love beneath the window in Aspen, our bodies bathed in the bright morning sunshine.
The news moved on to sports, which signaled the broadcast was almost over. Gwen squealed and clapped at something the reporter said, and I refocused on the show as I sat down on the couch a safe distance away from her.
She pointed at the TV. “My dad played for the Twins, and they won today!”
“Your dad was a pro player? Now that’s impressive,” I said. “I had no idea. I don’t really follow sports…”
“No time, I get it,” she replied, still focused on the screen.
“He’s been retired for ages, so unless you’re into stats from thirty years ago, I wouldn’t expect you to recognize his name.
He’s still a local celebrity, though, and he gets to relive his glory days at his restaurant, Sluggers. Nice place—great onion rings.”
“Well, the next time business takes me to…” I gestured to her to fill in the blank.
“Minneapolis.”
“Minneapolis,” I repeated, “I’ll have to stop by Sluggers. I love a good onion ring. Battered or breadcrumbs?”
She pulled a face. “Battered. Obviously.”
“Good, that was a test,” I chuckled.
The news cut to a commercial for a police procedural and Gwen groaned.
“What?” I asked. “Not a fan of cop shows?”
“Not a fan of that cop in particular,” she jabbed her finger at the screen and grimaced when a handsome guy pulled a gun overdramatically. “Ben Simon. Let’s just say I know firsthand that he’s, uh, not a man of his word.”
I snorted at her. “Are you in one of those old-timey romance novels? Did he refuse to sign your dance card? Or get scandalized by your bare ankle?”
She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. “I was trying to be discreet, but I suppose that ship has sailed after everything I told you and Scarlet about Ian.”
I frowned. “Wait, are you saying that Ben is another—”
“Another ex?” She gave me a wry smile. “Kind of yes, kind of no. What he started out as was a client.” She fiddled with the hem of her dress, avoiding eye contact.
“This was years ago, back when I was new at the job. I was really gung-ho about helping him with his PR crisis, you know? I wanted to prove myself. But I may have gotten a little overinvested. And he was…charming and good-looking and grateful for my help, and it started to feel like there was something more there. It didn’t go very far.
Mostly, we just flirted. He might’ve kissed me once or twice. Our texts got…intense, shall we say.”
“So what went wrong?” I asked, straining to sound and look normal and not to scowl at the thought of her with that pretty-boy actor.
She scoffed. “He was what was wrong. He had a girlfriend the whole time. He told me they’d broken up, but she was just in Bali filming her latest movie. Once I found out they were still together, I realized he’d just been using me the whole time.”
“Idiot,” I said.
She flushed. “It definitely wasn’t my smartest move, but—”
Shit, that was not what I meant. “No, not you. He’s the idiot. He had a shot with you, and he screwed it up so he could hold on to some actress?”
“Not just any actress—his girlfriend is Kate Caruthers.”
“Please,” I frowned. “She’s beautiful, sure, but it seems like that’s all she has to offer. You’re the total package.”
It slipped out, and Gwen’s cheeks went pink.
“I mean, there’s more to you than just your looks.”
Damnit, I was making it worse.
Gwen grinned at me. “Thank you?”
“The problem is your taste in men,” I blustered. “You seem to be attracted to assholes.”
She snorted out a laugh. “Oh, you think so, huh? Well, you’re one of them, mister.”
I paused. She was right.
“Please. I have nothing in common with either Ben or Ian,” I insisted. “I’m an outlier.”
“Eh, not so fast,” she countered. “There actually are a few similarities. They’re both very attractive, and…” she gestured up and down my body as if stating the obvious.
“And they excelled in their careers, which goes without saying for you. But I don’t have much dating data from you to work with. It’s not like you and I had a real relationship. I have no idea if you’re possessive like Ian was. Or if you’re a love bomber like Ben.”
I’d never been possessive because I’d never felt all that invested in any of my relationships—not even my marriage. Miranda and I had made it to the altar, but my motives for proposing hadn’t been true love but obligation, even if I hadn’t consciously realized it at the time.
Mom had been dying, and she’d been so desperately sad about all the things she’d be missing—like seeing her sons settled and happy.
My relationship with Miranda had been new, but she’d been amazing about being there for me after Mom’s diagnosis, and things got serious in a hurry.
I’d thought I could see a future with her, and I’d known the wedding would make Mom happy…
Which, in retrospect, was nowhere near a good enough reason to get married. No wonder our marriage fell apart. We spent way longer divorcing each other than we did having a functional marriage.
“Anyway, I’ve learned my lesson,” Gwen continued. “My heart was too trusting. From now on,” she mimed locking up her heart and tossing the key over her shoulder.
I understood how she got to that point, and honestly, after my shitshow of a divorce, I felt the same. But Gwen vowing to keep her heart under wraps left me feeling…moody? Angry? I couldn’t define the emotion; I just knew I didn’t like it.
My phone rang and my immediate reaction was stress. A call after ten usually meant something was wrong. Gwen furrowed at me.
“My friend Kevin,” I explained. “Excuse me for a minute.”