Crave (Billionaire Bachelors Club #1)(25)

I definitely don’t do one-night stands with sexy-as-hell men who know just how to touch me to make me go off like a rocket. No man has ever been able to make me go off like a rocket. Ever.

Until now. Until Archer.

“He wasn’t selfish,” I say primly, pressing my lips together to keep from saying what I really want to.

He’s amazing. Hot as hell. The best kisser ever. Oh, and his hand . . .

A slow smile curves Wendy’s mouth. “Meaning he was all right.”

Better than all right. “He knew what he was doing.”

“Quit being so vague.” Wendy sounds irritated. Not that I can blame her. I’m being vague on purpose.

“I’m not about to give you any more detail than that. Sorry,” I say chirpily, sipping from my water glass. “I don’t kiss and tell.”

“Since when? We’ve dished about plenty of men. Now I want details about the one who was actually decent in bed and you’re not talking.” Wendy’s eyes narrow as she contemplates me. “What gives?”

I squirm in my seat. I don’t want to admit that my night with Archer is . . . special. She’ll probably make fun of me. She should make fun of me. I deserve it. I’m thinking like an idiot. “I really don’t want to relive what happened between Archer and me. It’s too weird. We’ve known each other for too long.”

I’d have hoped he would call but he hasn’t. We agreed it was a mistake, what happened. I walked away from him. The subject was closed, in both my mind and his.

But I lied to myself. Since I came home from Napa, he constantly invades my thoughts. I’m trying my best to focus. I throw myself into my work, which is easy considering how busy we are. Sharon Paxton is one of the most coveted interior designers in the city and her clientele keep her—and me—busy. Learning from her, working with her is a privilege, one I take very seriously.

I’ve lost concentration more than once, though, since the Archer incident. I missed an appointment with a very important client. I brought the wrong fabric samples to another one. I was acting so out of character, Sharon sat me down yesterday afternoon and asked what was wrong. I made up some sort of excuse, promised I would do better and escaped her hawk-like gaze before she asked any more questions.

This is what Archer’s done to me. Turned me into a terrible employee. I can’t sleep. I sit around on the couch at night and watch really bad reality TV. All the while I stare at my cell phone, willing him to call me, text me, something.

Yes. I’ve turned into one of those girls. God help me.

Our waiter magically appears with our lunch, setting our salad orders in front of us before he takes off, leaving me alone once again with my too nosy, too perceptive friend.

“You like him,” she says, stabbing her fork into her salad with relish. Like she’s killing the lettuce.

“No way,” I reply too quickly. I’m such a liar. “He drives me crazy. He always has.”

“Because you like him. You just didn’t realize it yet. Now you do. The two of you have sex and it’s like roses and romance and you want more,” Wendy says, full of logic.

The sex between us was definitely not roses and romance. I can’t begin to describe what it was like, but not soft and sweet like I was used to. It was hard and fast and immensely satisfying. “No, it wasn’t quite like that.”

“But it was good.”

“It was amazing,” I admit softly, earning a giant smile from Wendy.

“Knew it.” She munches happily on her salad while I sit and watch her, my appetite having fled a while ago. “Call him. Tell him you want to do it again.”

“No way.” I shake my head, jealous of Wendy’s hearty appetite. I’ve hardly eaten since my night with Archer. He’s all I can think about and it’s so stupid, I don’t know why I’m acting this way. “I don’t want to do it again.”

“Liar.”

“Okay, your smug, short answers are starting to bug,” I say, grabbing my fork and stabbing the lettuce much like I saw Wendy do a moment ago. Damn it, I’m going to eat even if it kills me. “And they’re totally not helping my situation.”

“Well, what are you going to do then? You and Archer Bancroft have a past. A history. There’s tension there and it finally resulted in the two of you having hot, amazing, outrageous sex.”

I don’t answer. I’m not going to give her the satisfaction of an acknowledgement.

“Now you’re all mopey and sad. Wishing you could see him. Well, go see him then. Call him up. Greet him with, ‘Hey sexy, let’s do that again.’ See what he says.” Wendy smiles. “I bet he’d take you up on your offer.”

But what if he didn’t. “I would never call him and say something like that.”

“Maybe that’s half your problem.”

I glare at her and she bursts out laughing. “It’s not funny,” I insist.

“I think you like him more than you want to admit, and you don’t know how to deal with it. I’m trying to tell you how to deal.” Wendy offers me a sympathetic smile. “Maybe you need to fess up to your feelings. Why are you acting this way? Is it because you’re disappointed in yourself for doing something so crazy?”

“Partly.” I shrug. “I don’t know why I’m acting like this. Why he has me all twisted up in knots.”