Kickin' It (Red Card #2)(37)

“That’s it, huh? You’re not pissed? Shocked? Angry?”

“I’m all of those things, but none of them are directed at you.” I stared at the remote for a few brief seconds as I felt her walk toward me. She set the drinks on the table.

Our eyes locked.

I saw disappointment there.

I felt it in my own gaze too. We both knew that the invisible line we’d been dancing around was firmly back in place because right now she needed the professional relationship more than she would ever admit.

And that’s all I could be for her.

I gave her a sad smile and then sat on the cushy leather couch and grabbed one of the blankets provided by the hotel.

She sat down next to me.

We enjoyed our drinks.

We laughed.

And when she began to drift to sleep against my shoulder, I squeezed my eyes shut and forced myself to stay in control. “Parker . . .”

“Hmm?” Her eyes flickered open. “What time is it?”

“Past midnight,” I murmured with a smile. “We should go to bed.” Separate beds.

“Okay.” She frowned up at me and looked around. “Is mine through some weird hidden door or something?”

“Bedroom.” I pointed to the opposite end of the penthouse. “I’m taking the couch.”

“Wait, why are you on the couch?” Her heavily lidded gaze was slowly killing me inside, right along with her swollen lips and puffy cheeks. She was beautiful, so beautiful . . . My fingers trembled with the need to reach out and cup her face, trace her chin, kiss down her neck.

“Because apparently the hotel was at capacity, so Willow only booked us one room,” I grumbled. “You need a good night’s sleep. Let me take the male species’ punishment tonight and wake up with a pain in my neck.” I flashed a grin. “I don’t mind, go relax. At least we have two bathrooms.”

“God forbid we have to share and you find a hair by your toothbrush again,” she said with a smirk.

“Very funny.” I glared playfully, and before I realized what I was doing, I reached out and twisted her hair around my finger.

I swallowed slowly and looked away as the sound of our joint breathing filled the room.

“Thanks, Matt.” Her voice was quiet, trusting. Damn it. Keep it under control!

“Not all men are like him,” I said as I stood and helped her to her feet.

“I know.” Her eyes locked onto me so hard I couldn’t look away. “And you promise you’re not mad?”

I sighed. “I don’t know whether to lock you up away from men like him, or kiss you and prove that we aren’t all monsters.”

Parker’s eyes widened a bit.

“Night,” I said firmly, struggling to hold onto my resolve.

“Good night,” she parroted and slowly backed away then turned and walked toward the hall.

I watched her go, then I grabbed my suitcase and wheeled it toward the other bathroom. I stripped down into pajama pants and brushed my teeth, then flicked off the lights and made my way back to the lonely couch with the TV’s light casting a glow across where I’d spend my night.

Without her.

Why the hell was I fixating on what I couldn’t have?

“Hey, Matt?” Her voice was going to slowly kill me, wasn’t it? Burn me from the inside out, taunt me with everything that was off-limits for a very severe reason.

“Yeah?” My voice was gravelly, aroused. Perfect. Fucking perfect. She could probably hear the strain.

She made her way down the hall, hair hanging past her shoulders, tank top showing off a bit of midriff, and my eyes drank in her short red shorts, hips, and muscular thighs. I wheezed out an exhale.

“I forgot toothpaste.” She made a face. “If I promise not to spit in it or put an eyelash on the cap and screw it back—can I borrow yours?” Her grimace widened into a grin.

I tossed a pillow at her. “Bathroom, and if I see any hair that’s foreign, I’m waking you up every hour on the hour to do push-ups.”

“Yeah, okay.” She winked and breezed past me, smelling like flowers and a warm summer day.

I groaned into my hands, walked over to the little liquor cart, and poured a shot of whiskey.

“Got any more of that?” she asked behind me.

“Brave girl, taking a shot after toothpaste.” I handed her a glass. “You should be in bed.”

“Same goes for you.” She took the shot and winced. “Yeah, that wasn’t a good combo.”

I took her glass and set it down. “No.”

“I’m ready.”

“For?” I smirked. “A bedtime story?”

“Wait, you have bedtime stories? Have you been holding out on me?”

“You’ll never know.” I jerked my head toward the hall. “Bedtime.”

“Bedtime,” she repeated, licking her lips.

I took a deep breath as she brushed past me, then curiosity got me. “What were you ready for?”

“Your kiss,” she called over her shoulder with a confident smile.

“Bed.” My voice shook.

She nodded her head once, defeat clouding her eyes.

I wiped my hands down my face as I watched her make her way down the hall, and then my feet were carrying me toward her and I was hauling her into my arms. Refusing to corner her in any dark hallway, I pulled her back into the living room. And there . . . I pressed my mouth against hers. She opened for me so perfectly that the ache in my chest worsened, needing more than I’d realized I needed. I parted her lips with my tongue and explored. She tasted of whiskey and toothpaste. She dug her fingers into my hair and then wrapped her arms around my neck as I pulled her against me. Seconds passed, I prayed for, wished for, more minutes, hours. Instead, I sucked on her lower lip, I memorized the feel of her body pressed against mine, I mourned the loss of it before she was even gone. And I gently pried myself away. And because I couldn’t help it, I kissed her cheek, and then I trailed down her neck with kisses and whispered, “Real men don’t force a woman.”