Nice try, but he refused to take the bait. The level of excitement in his life wasn’t the issue, and while he might win a debate over which one of them should have known better, he’d lose in the long run. The situation called for a little humility on his part. He dug deep to find some. “As much as it obliterates my ego to admit it, I know I wasn’t the intended recipient of your attention. You thought I was somebody else.”
Her lids lowered, shuttering her eyes, but her chin came up. “Reason number two for my departure,” she said quietly. “I’m sure by now you’ve heard all about Paul and me.”
He knew enough, and not just Barrington’s one-sided explanation. A hotel like Las Ventanas functioned as its own small, self-contained world. Gossip circulated like oxygen, particularly when it involved the sudden departure of a popular member of the team. “I heard a few things, but I prefer to get my information from the source.”
She shook her head, and the lights splashed auburn tones in her sable hair. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
He stayed silent, because experience taught him when a woman said, “I don’t want to talk about it,” it was exactly what she wished to discuss. The tactic paid off.
“Why in God’s name were you wearing the costume? I ordered the suit for Paul. I never dreamt he’d gotten someone else to play Santa.” She shook her head again. “How’d he talk you into it?”
“Paul didn’t. Someone on my team saw the costume and came up with the idea. Santa generates instant goodwill. Employees of an acquired property always fear layoffs. Since nobody gets pink-slipped by Santa during the holiday party, we thought me dressing the part to announce the acquisition offered a quick and effective way to shortcut people’s worries.”
“Oh.” A little stiffness drained from her shoulders. “That makes sense, I guess.”
“By the time I realized you thought I was Paul, you’d already joined the party. I’m sorry I didn’t react more quickly.” And that was the only thing he was sorry about, so the apology would have to do.
She winced. “Forget about it. Please.”
Well, there was the problem. He couldn’t forget about it. Or her. He leaned in until her sweet, mouthwatering scent teased his senses. “Can you forget?”
A little shiver danced along her shoulders, but she drew back and gave him what she probably considered a don’t-mess-with-me look. He wondered if she knew the dimple appeared in her cheek when she twisted the corner of her mouth. He also wondered what she’d do if she knew it made him want to mess with her all the more. “Can you?” he repeated.
“Yes. What happened was a mistake. I take complete responsibility, but I need to put my mistakes behind me, and focus on the future. So, no offense, but it would be best if our paths never crossed again.”
He thought about the offer he’d made to the Templetons earlier in the day. “I may disappoint you there.” At her irritated glare, he shrugged. “It’s a small world, after all.”
“Not for a man with your resources. You can go anywhere. Do anything. There’s nothing in my little corner of Maui to interest you.”
He lowered his head and brought their faces closer, just to rattle her cage. “Sometimes the little corners hold the biggest surprises. I think we proved that at Las Ventanas.” Against his chest her heart beat hard and fast. Her cage was definitely rattled. “Are you telling me you never think about our adventure in the closet?”
Pink invaded her cheeks. “I don’t.”
“You do, you just don’t want to admit it. You know what else you don’t want to admit?”
“Your time is up, Mr. St. Sebastian.” She said the words, but didn’t move out of his embrace. If she expected him to release her before they’d finished this, she was going to be disappointed.
“Don’t you think we can drop the formalities, Miss Wayne? Our association has been extremely personal, after all.”
“There is nothing personal between us.”
“I beg to differ. In fact, I’m fairly certain I know your deepest, darkest secret.”
“I sincerely doubt that.”
He brought his mouth to her ear. “You knew I wasn’t Paul.”
“No.” The denial, though immediate, sounded slightly breathless, slightly desperate.
She had to have at least suspected, at some point. He refused to believe otherwise. “Not at first. But when I had you clinging to the tables, trembling so hard you could barely stand? You knew.”
“You-you’re delusional. If I’d realized you weren’t Paul, don’t you think I would have stopped you?”
“No. By the time you realized, you didn’t care.”
The crowd around them erupted into a countdown.
Ten… He cupped her jaw in one hand…
Nine… and slid the other down her back. Then lower.
Eight… “You didn’t care about anything except my tongue tracing the path of your thong”—he let his fingers do the honor now—“all the way down until I could taste your sweet, throbbing little—”
“I thought you were Paul!” Her wide eyes darted to his, pupils huge.
Five… “Remember how you used your body to beg for more? There’s no fucking way you’ve ever begged like that for Paul Barrington. No fucking way. I could have you begging again.”
Her breaths came in quick, shallow pants. The hands she’d rested lightly on his shoulders tightened, bunching his jacket in a white-knuckled grip. She shook her head. “Not going to happen.”
Three… He was risking getting his face slapped in the middle of a dance floor on New Year’s Eve, but he didn’t care. For some inexcusable reason, he needed to know she wanted him, not Barrington.
Two… He spread his palm over the perfect curve of her ass and hauled her against him, so she’d feel just how well he remembered every damn detail of their last meeting.
One…
“It’s not?” he challenged, and then crushed her lips under his.
Cheers of “Happy New Year” echoed around them over the strains of “Auld Lang Syne.” A flotilla of black and silver balloons sailed down from the ceiling. Guests laughed, and sang, and jostled them while he kissed her. Sparkly, star-shaped confetti rained over everyone and everything, and he kept right on kissing her. Her arms twined around his neck. Her lips parted. She flattened one hand against the back of his head and held on. When he bent her over his arm and swept his tongue into her soft, yielding mouth, she wrapped her leg around his hip. The heat of her body practically seared his thigh through his tuxedo pants.
He trapped her lower lip between his teeth and nibbled. There went his no biting promise, but her shuddery moan told him she didn’t mind.
The song ended. The house lights came up a few notches. He slowly drew her upright, and even more slowly relinquished her mouth. She stared up at him, dazed, her lips plumped from their kiss.
“You’re a terrible liar, Miss Wayne.”
Giving her a grin he hoped didn’t reveal how much the move cost him, he walked away.
Chapter Seven
Jan. 1
4:37 p.m.
Chelsea,
The McIntyre bachelorette party wants the waiters to wear grass skirts—and nothing else. Do we need a special permit for that kind of party?
Thx.
Lynette
Chelsea turned away from her computer and forced her attention back to her conference call. The Templetons’ banter flowed from her speakerphone, but she couldn’t concentrate on the words.
Where the heck was the happy in her Happy New Year? She slumped at her tidy, blond-wood desk in her tidy office and stifled a yawn. Bad enough to have spent the first seconds of the new year in a lip-lock with Rafe St. Sebastian, and then the next several hours tossing and turning in bed, too stirred up to sleep. When she’d finally dropped off, her dreams had hardly qualified as restful. They’d featured Cindy, hugely pregnant, cornering her at the Las Ventanas holiday party and informing her Paul wanted to speak with her right away. Then came Paul, in his office, with a crib where his desk should have been, calmly telling her he was in love with Cindy. She’d run, only to stumble across Rafe in the hallway, wearing a tuxedo and a knowing grin. He’d called her a liar, pulled her into the supply closet, and proved his point. She’d woken sweaty and aching, with his name on her lips.