“What the hell are you doing?” She spun to face him, hands clamped to her hips.
“Me?” He let out an explosive huff.
The rhythmic sounds of their labored breathing filled the strained air between them. Layers of feelings, abandoned and painful, clawed their way toward the surface. Ancient feelings she swore she was over ten years ago.
She unloaded, spewing years of pent up emotions. “You don’t get to just step back into my life! Have you lost it? You have the nerve to think we’re going to pick up…”
“Yes, I’ve lost it.” His heated stare fixated on her bottom lip. Overhead lighting shadowed the dimple on his chin. “And I’ve decided I want it back.”
“What?” She balked, wrinkling her nose. Her chest propelled forward in defiance. “Why the hell are you looking at me like that?”
“I’m just wondering—“One brow lifted and a sexy grin deepened on one side. “—if your mouth is gonna taste as good as I remember.”
“You’re out of your mind!” She drilled her index finger to his forehead.
A long pause.
Without taking his eyes off her, Summer took two wary steps back, repositioning himself out of her reach. He leaned against the desk, half sitting on the edge. Her senses heightened witnessing something she hasn’t seen in some time, his full lips curving into a genuine heart stopping smile. An electric spasm struck low in her abdomen.
“What do you think, Red? Hmm?”
Hearing him ask the double question, her thighs tensed. Every time he followed a question with Hmm, his fingers were usually thread through her hair for one reason or another. Each recollection zipping through her mind led her back to some seriously pleasurable memories of discovery. Memories so clear, she could damn near feel the imprint of his hand in her hair.
“Do you think I’ll taste as good as you remember? Hmm?”
Muscles in her face screwed tight in annoyance.
Arrogant. Cocky. Mother. Fucker.
“One date, Red. I just want one night.”
Shaking with frustration and several other very identifiable sensations, she snapped.
“One night?” she shrieked. Waving her hand aimlessly at the desk, brash tenacity flew from her mouth, “I suppose you think I’m just going to lay back and let you fuck me right here?”
A smirk of surprise tipped his brow. Carrie Ann cringed inwardly at her crudeness. He remained calm, exuding a sureness she hadn’t seen him wear before.
“As tempting as that sounds, no Carrie Ann, that’s not what I meant. I want to take you on a date. I want talk. Dinner, wine, a walk on the beach, Broadway, New York, Paris…I don’t care what we do.” Taking quiet observation, he continued, his voice turning soft and wishful. “I want another shot, Red.”
Her mouth gaped open in dismay attempting to filter the bullshit from the truth. Catching a glimpse of hunger behind his eyes as they drifted over her lips, she snapped it shut.
“And if you’re still inclined…” He glimpsed down at the desk, curling his fingers firmly around the edge. “I’d love nothing more than to lay you back on a desk and fuck you till you make that noise—” His eyes, glassy and rapt in time, rolled behind the lid. “—that sexy little groan you make.”
Carrie Ann stiffened from head to toe. Before she had time to fire back a list of coherent rhetorical remarks, a rap on the door stopped both of them in their tracks.
“Hello?” Tommy called out quietly as the door creaked open.
Entering the office, he shot Summer a look. A straight forward, cautionary look of unsaid mandatory advice. Summer met his gaze squarely. To her surprise, he acknowledged Tommy with some sort of reverent code-of-ethics. Neither man without respect.
“Press is looking for you.” Wisdom streaked his tone and his temples.
“I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Maybe it’d be a good idea if you handled this… situation somewhere else.”
“It’s okay, Tommy. We’re all done here.” Carrie Ann brushed past Summer, making for the door. He was at her back before she could finish her sentence.
“Not hardly.” The surety delivered in his low baiting tone, drew chill bumps to her flesh and molten heat to her center.
Tommy moved inconspicuously, gliding between them as they entered the hall. He’d been in the industry long enough to know better and he wasn’t about to let his star player jeopardize the evening’s event.
Weaving through the crowd, Carrie Ann’s heel-digging strides quickened to a brisk march. Nearing the table, she spotted Jason, straightening his tie…again. Taking notice of her escorts, the creases near his smiling eyes deepened, warranting question. She dragged her attention to the concerned faces flanking each side of him. Shayla looked beyond her shoulder, shooting silent daggers at Summer as they approached.
“Thank you, Jason,” Carrie Ann said, grasping the tall glass of ice water.
Jason buttoned his suit jacket, before reaching out to introducing himself. “Jason Calver. Nice to meet you. Loved the movie.”
“Ryan. Glad you enjoyed it.” His tone flat. “Great of Carrie Ann to bring a date. Do you work for the HAHF too?”
Fuck. Fuckity-fuck! This can not be happening. Her lips pressed into a thin line. The moisture from her sweaty hands fogged the tumbler. Ice sloshed over the rim bringing the cup to her lips. Conversations carried on around the table, however everyone kept one ear on the nightmare unfolding. Shayla and John seemingly waiting to join in while analyzing the discussion.
“No. I don’t work for the foundation. I’m a broker for Prestige Exclusives. We’ve been doing some work together.” A short but uncomfortable fissure of stillness followed. “I’ve known Carrie Ann’s father for years. We share interests in a few projects.”
Dear God.I should’ve asked for vodka.
Jason tossed that little nugget of information out fully expecting to make an impression. Any ambitious business man would’ve. However, the only thing Summer shared with her father was a large taste of loathing. Her father never approved of him or their relationship. Mr. Lowell constantly tried to impede in them, which was pointless and unjustified, bashing Summer every chance he could. He vowed Summer would never be good enough and never amount to anything but trouble. He expected better for his daughter. And by better…he meant better blood line. Jason’s grandfather was the largest land developer in California in the seventies.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Summer stiffen. Tension between the two men simmered. She could practically feel the steam coming off him. “Well, you be sure and give my regards to Mr. Lowell the next time you see him.”
“I’ll do that. I’m golfing with him tomorrow.”
Jason raised his rock glass to his lips. Curiosity tucked neatly between his manicured brows as he took a long draw of what appeared to be scotch. “How do the two of you know each other?”
“We went to college together.” Carrie Ann replied hastily.
“Yeah, the three of us attended USC,” Shayla exclaimed. “We were—”
“Carrie Ann and I dated for two years.” Summer slid his wide hand over hers as it rested on the table in a clenched fist. Giving it a squeeze, he added, “We had a lot of good times together.”
Shayla attempted to intervene, but fumbled, letting out a poorly executed, pathetic imitation of a laugh that sounded like a yelp. “Yeah, we sure did.”
A rush of blood flooded her cheeks. The underside of the tablecloth was becoming more appealing by the second. She wanted to say a hundred different things, most included some choice, not so pleasant words. She considered stepping on his toe, or kicking him in the shin, or reaming him a new asshole right there in front of everyone. Unfortunately, there also seemed to be a little white flag flying at half-staff inside her panties. Plus, the stinging of her nose indicated tears might be a possibility as well. Not gonna happen! Not ever again.