He grabs the portfolio and is gone before I can try and say… what? What’s your last name? Where do you live? Can we see each other again?
But as I’m signing the check, I notice his phone on the bar. Grabbing it and my purse, I sprint for the elevators. When I turn the corner, a tall, dark-haired man is about to step into a car. “Sam!”
He turns, a confused look on his face until he sees the phone I’m holding up. Knocking on his skull, he says, “That thing I said before about leaving my head behind? I wasn’t kidding.”
As I step closer, right in front of my eyes, he goes from golden retriever to German shepherd, searching the lobby. “Damn, I should’ve walked you to the elevator, just to make sure that jerk wasn’t hanging around.”
The lobby is practically empty, and we have the bank of elevators to ourselves, but the minute I push the call button, the air shifts between us. When a car arrives and he ushers me in, it intensifies. It’s a chemical thing, of course. His pheromones meet mine and want to party. I’m not one to deny myself simple pleasures, so the minute the doors slide closed, I face him. “How about a goodnight kiss as a concession prize?”
He frowns slightly, but he doesn’t budge when I step closer. We’re right back to that moment at the bar, but this time I’m not letting him get away without a taste. When our lips meet, the rest of my senses get on board, jumping in the deep end. The vibration under my feet tells me the elevator is going up, but I’d swear I’m in freefall. Hanging on to reality, I focus on what I feel. Strong fingers scrape my scalp and warm palms grip my jaw, tilting my head just so. The rough scrape of his five o’clock shadow contrasts with the downy softness at his nape. His musky scent is like rich loam ready for planting.
Suddenly, I’m parched by a thirst that could only be slaked by this tall drink of water. When the bell dings, we separate instinctively, panting like we just boxed a full round. The pull is elemental, but some part of my frontal lobe kicks in to operate my legs and feet and remove my hormone-drunk self from his orbit.
It’s satisfying to see him look equally gob smacked as the elevator closes between us, but instead of strutting back to my room in triumph, I stare at the doors, second-guessing myself. Should I have asked him to join me? Or not have kissed him at all? A quiver of lust pings through me in answer.
Better to have kissed and lost than never to have kissed at all, as the poet said.
No use standing here in the hall letting the regrets pile up. Too late to change things. So I stumble in the direction of my room and dig for my key card.
CHAPTER 2SAM
I’m not sure how many floors it takes me to realize that I missed mine. I’m not even sure what floor we were on when Diane stepped out of my arms. The only thing I’m completely sure of? I haven’t taken a full breath since the doors closed between us. It feels like all the oxygen left when she did.
At some point, my hands take over, slapping the spots where I may have stashed my keycard. It probably wouldn’t hurt to slap myself in the face, but before I can, I find the card, blessedly still snuggled inside the little envelope with my room number written on it.
Then I slap my face. That may have been the best kiss of my life. But I can’t afford to take the relationship train right now. I don’t have time to fall for a girl who will inevitably dump me. I’m not equipped to deal with the emotional fallout when I’m left alone, yet again, for being too much of a workaholic, too boring, too distracted, too absent-minded. You name it, I've had a girl break up with me for it.
Not that I’ve even been with that many women, but every single one has found some deal breaking habit or behavior that sends me packing, whether we’ve been together for a couple weeks or a couple years.
And I can’t do one-night stands. I get too connected too fast, usually for the wrong reasons. I especially can’t do a one-night stand tonight. My boss warned me that tomorrow’s hearing will be boring as hell, so I need to get a good night’s sleep if I’m to be on tap to answer any scientific or technical questions the state assembly members might have.
I keep up this mantra—adding in the fact that I don’t know Diane’s last name, let alone which room she’s in, so seeing her again isn’t going to happen no matter how much I wish I could—all while tossing my portfolio on the desk and shucking off my suit jacket. Even after I roll up my sleeves, the room is unbearably stuffy, so I crank up the AC, grab the ice bucket, almost leave without my keys—the number of times I’ve had to beg a desk clerk to give me another key because I’ve locked myself out is embarrassingly high—but remember at the last second, and then go looking for the ice machine.
I can see another person scooping ice through the small window, and when the door creaks, she looks over her shoulder. My eyes skip over the petite, brown-eyed beauty I never thought I’d see again, from the fine strand of honey-blonde hair draped over a freckled cheek to the plump lips surrounding an ice cube.
An entire X-rated movie flashes through my mind starring those lips, my dick, and all the other things we could do with a bucket of ice.
Diane sucks the ice into her mouth to ask, “You following me?”
I shake my head, “No, no, I promise, I—”
“Kidding.” She grins, tipping her chin at my bucket. “Machine out on your floor?”
“No. Uh… this is my floor.”
Her brows come together. “Then why didn’t you get off the elevator when I did?”
I snort. “I had no idea where I was when you stopped that kiss. If you’d asked me the date, who the president is… heck, I doubt I’d have been able to tell you my middle name.”
She tips her head to the side. “That was some kiss, huh?”
“How about another one?”
She presses her lips together and shakes her head. “I don’t think so.”
When I deflate, she laughs. “You kill me, Sam. I swear when you go from guard dog to defeated dog, you shrink six inches.”
“You should see what else is shrinking.” I adjust the ice bucket in my arms. “But I know how to take no for an answer.”
She smiles and holds out her hand to make a little give it over motion. “Trade you. It took me forever to figure out how to get this guy to spit out the ice. Hate to see you waste all that time.”
I hand over my bucket and watch as she does a little maneuver involving pressing a button while shoving the bucket under a dispenser before hip checking the hulk of a machine with a growl. Wondering if this is a dream, wondering if I could handle a one-night thing after all, I can’t tear my eyes away from her.
“He’s stubborn,” she says, “but once you get him going, he gives it good.”
Sounds like me.
“Oh really?”
Shit. I said that out loud.
“Yes you did.”
I did it again.
“Still talking, buddy.” She straightens, holding up the full bucket. “Was that a threat or a promise?”
