Wherever It Leads(40)

“Yeah,” I say, traipsing over to him. “And nobody likes a thief.”

“You know what else nobody likes?” He shoves off the frame and wraps his hands around my waist lacing his fingers together in the dip at the small of my back. “Girls that can’t listen.”

“I’ve never been a good listener,” I sigh dramatically. “I just make things happen . . . like calling the concierge and having them bring me another one up. And I charged it to your room since you stole my others. Thief.”

He smacks my ass, making me yelp.

“What was that for?” I laugh.

“Did you really have them bring you another one?”

“No. But I hadn’t ruled it out.”

He chuckles, a sinful smirk on his face. “You’re going to make me crazy, you know that?”

He drops his lips to mine, and in a split second, has me forgetting all about the bikinis and focused solely on getting him out of his suit. He breaks contact way too soon.

“Any plans for the day?” I ask.

“Yeah. I’m taking you somewhere.”

“You are?”

“Yeah. So get changed. The car is probably downstairs.”

My mind starts racing. I’m not close to being ready to go anywhere. “Where are we going?”

“Just something fun and away from this bullshit.” His shoulders stiffen as he spits out the last word.

I run my hands over his shoulders and roll them around. He exhales harshly, sighing.

“Bad day?” I ask

“You can say that.”

“No fire extinguishers again?”

He laughs, swiping my dress off the counter. “There are too many fires, rudo. Is this what you were going to wear?”

“Yeah,” I mock, taking it from him, “with my yellow bikini.”

He turns and walks out of the bathroom. “It’s under the kitchen sink. Now get ready.”

“Oh, now you tell me!”

Wheeling around, he gives me a look of complete seriousness. “Yes. Now I tell you. Because you’ll be with me.”



“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?” I ask, watching the city slip away from view. The landscape turns into an arid, flat picture with no fancy billboards or flashing lights. It’s hard to believe we are just barely outside of Las Vegas.

I glimpse over my shoulder to the other side of the car. Fenton is scribbling on a notepad, the pen flying back and forth across the page. His attention is trained on whatever he’s writing, his jaw pulsing as he gets whatever he’s thinking down on the yellow legal pad.

A purple Polo shirt stretches across his chest, constricting just a bit at his biceps. His legs are clad in steely grey swim trunks that hit just at the end of his toned thighs. My mouth waters at the mix of businessman and playboy and if some hired hand wasn’t driving us a foot away, I’d be unable—and unwilling—to resist temptation. He catches me admiring him and grins.

“We’re almost there. It’s not too much longer,” he says.

“Good. Because I don’t know how much longer I can sit this close to you looking like that and not touch you.”

He glances quickly at the driver and then back to me. “Want to make a pit stop?”

“Can we?”

Laughing, he puts his notepad on the floor and unbuckles my seatbelt with a deft hand. I slide into the middle, his lips meeting mine in a soft, slow gesture. He winds a hand through the side of my hair, pulling me closer to him. His supple lips feel so comfortable against mine, and when I finally pull back, I’m breathless.

That kiss wasn’t a reset button kiss.

The thought strikes a bit of terror in me. My fingertips fly to my mouth and I gulp back a sliver of fear that this f*ckfest, for lack of a better word, is starting to evolve. My emotions, which are supposed to be cut and dry in a rebound kind of way, are now feeling like they’re being strangled by a grapevine with a killer body.

I’m not supposed to feel things when I kiss him. I’m not supposed to look in his face to see if his worry lines are forming around his eyes. I’m not supposed to care.

But I do. The realization that my time with him is going to end, and probably soon, slithers into my consciousness and chokes me.

Fuck my life.

His brows pinch together as he takes me in. “Are you okay, rudo?”

“Yeah,” I profess as lightheartedly as possible. “I’m great.”

He doesn’t believe me. I don’t believe me either.

Being great would mean things were going according to plan and this little adventure would give me a swift kick in the butt to refocus. Why couldn’t he be the cool, * alpha type? Or a hot mess in his private life? Why did he have to go be all kind and swoony and tender?

Fenton surveys me, the greyness of his irises sweeping across my features. “You know, I thought I had you figured out. Now I’m not so sure.”

“You’ll never figure me out. I’m a woman.”

“Why do I think you go out of your way to make sure I don’t figure you out?”

“Where’s the fun in having things figured out?” I tease. “I’ll keep you on your toes. Make you work for it.”

“For what, exactly?”

A zip races through me at the timbre of his voice, the huskiness that’s brimming with an innuendo I’m afraid to pick up. I can’t let myself fall for this man with no safety net and he’s made no qualms that he doesn’t want more than a fling.