Need You Now (1001 Dark Nights)(2)

“What for?” I ask, feigning ignorance.

“Come on, Danny. I know you were behind my raise today.”

“Your dedication was behind that raise.”

“Meredith Brooks never recognizes anyone’s dedication,” he says of the CEO and my direct boss.

“She’s not the witch you think she is. She’s just...busy.”

He grimaces and ignores my protest on Meredith's behalf. “You did this. I know you did and my family thanks you.”

I give him an awkward nod. “I’m just glad it came through for you,” I say, thinking I owe him a thank you as well for reminding me there are a few good men out there. I just seem to have my mother’s curse of crossing paths with all the rest.

“I’ll get the cake,” he says, cutting his gaze before I can see what I think is an emotional response.

He turns away and I sigh, settling onto the edge of a barstool. I both dread and revel in the day my savings will complement my trust fund enough to allow me to go to med school and I’ll leave this place. Six more months after three years of struggling, if my calculations prove on target. But the employees here need a buffer between them and Meredith, and one that understands her enough to fight for them without being fired. I seem to have that certain something that resonates with her for whatever reason. And I do get her. I do. She’s stressed and running a family-owned business in a family that all hate each other, but it’s the employees that keep this place afloat. She forgets that too easily.

I rotate to check on Katie and suck in a breath as my gaze collides with that of the man now standing beside me, blocking the view. And not just any man. This one is tall and dark, with waves of lush hair, his lips full, his mouth close. Really kissably close. And, oh God. My hand has somehow come down on the dark-blue fitted suit covering his impressively fit chest, a tingling sensation climbing up my arm.

“Sorry,” I say, jerking my hand back, my heart racing about ten million miles an hour, and I’m not sure how, but it’s like he’s touched me all over and warmth is spreading...everywhere. And maybe Katie is right and it’s been too long since I’ve touched a man because I’m looking at his deliciously masculine mouth again.

“I’m not,” he says.

He’s not? I can’t remember what we were talking about. “You’re not?”

“I’m not sorry for our little...encounter.”

Encounter? We’re having an encounter? “I didn’t know you were standing there.”

“But you do now.”

Oh yes. Oh yes, I do. “Yes,” I say, repeating the word again, and somehow it trails into the stream of soft elevator music, and nothing else comes from my mouth.

His eyes, dark in the dim lighting, heat, or maybe it’s my imagination. Maybe it’s simply the dim lighting but then he repeats the word, “Yes,” and there is this raspy warmth to his tone that has the muscles low in my belly flexing.

I’m not even sure what he’s saying “yes” to. All I know is that there are butterflies in my belly, and I’m flustered when I don’t get flustered. I deal with hot, often rich and arrogant men in my job all the time and never stumble left or right, most certainly not forward, as I am now.

“Are you staying in the hotel?” he asks.

“Yes,” I say again, as if I have no other word in my vocabulary, and when “no” should be the answer. “Are you?”

“I am,” he says and holds his hand out. “I’m Jensen.”

“Jensen,” I repeat, hesitating to touch him again, afraid of how out of control the tequila has made me. It has to be the tequila. It’s the only thing that explains this crazy sensation of sinking into a warm, wonderful, hazy enclave where no one but this man and me exist.

Seeming to sense my hesitation, he arches a dark brown brow, and while the light is dim, I guess him to be older than me, at least in his early thirties, and confident. A man who knows who he is and makes no apologies. It’s sexy as hell.

I slip my hand into his, intending to make it a quick shake, but the heat of his palm seeps into mine, his strong fingers closing around me. Suddenly, I am swimming in his stare, feeling the touch of his palm in places he is not touching but I want him to be.

“Jensen,” I start again, trying to distract myself from what can only be called “lust.” “It’s a unique name.”

“Uncommon,” he replies. “Like your eyes.”

“You can’t see my eyes. It’s dark.”

“But I feel them.”

Oh, Lord help me. I melt like chocolate in the sun, gooey and rich with the sweet seduction of the moment. He’s still holding my hand. I’m still holding his. I look down and back up. “We should—”

His lips quirk again. God, I love this man’s lips. “Yes,” he concurs. “Yes, we should.” Only I’m not sure he’s talking about what I’m talking about. But then he releases me and it’s such a contrast to his words I find I want to step closer to him, to feel him again. But I don’t. I won’t. He’s a stranger. I do not act like this with a stranger in my prim and proper blue suit at my place of work. And yet...we stare at each other and he arches that brow again, as if he’s challenging me to do exactly what I’m thinking. I sway toward him, trying to fight the urge to act out of character.