Sweet Sinful Nights(12)

The three of them left.

Brent watched Shannon as she weaved her way through the tables to the exit. The black dress looked as if it had been painted onto her luscious body. Those red shoes, with the crazy, crisscross straps, were a beacon, guiding him home to where he wanted to be—between those absolutely, f*cking perfect legs that he was dying to feel again. Her soft, smooth skin. Her toned muscles. Her curves. Most of all, the way she used to wrap her legs around him. His hips. His back. His shoulders. His face.

He scrubbed a hand across his jaw as his cock rose up.

Down boy.

Neither his dick nor his heart had forgotten Shannon Paige-Prince. They both worked overtime when she was near.

She turned the corner to the elevator banks. Out of sight. He leaned back in his chair, trying to catch one final look at her. No such luck.

He hated that he had to let her walk away, but if he was going to talk to her again—the way he wanted to—he had to play it smart. After three minutes, he figured she was down the elevator and walking across the lobby, but not yet gone. He texted her.

You left your scarf. Want me to bring it by your office tomorrow or do you want me to bring it down to you now?

He waited.

She might not respond. She might text him now or in the morning. She might simply send a messenger service to pick it up.

His phone buzzed. He slid open the message.

Hold onto it for me.

He stared at the screen for several seconds. What the hell was that? That answer was not in the multiple-choice rubric. He squinted as he reread it, as if that would translate her words into a clue what would happen next.

Ah hell. Maybe tonight wasn’t the best time to talk to her.

He stood up, pushed away from the table, and grabbed the scarf from under his leg. If she wanted him to hold onto it, that was what he’d do. He’d figure out how to meet her alone and talk to her without her brothers being around. Hell, he could probably benefit from some time to plan what he wanted to say to her. She was the last person he’d expected to see tonight, so he hadn’t scripted his lines. How do you apologize for the kind of idiocy he’d perpetrated when he was twenty-one? He’d been young and selfish—he’d wanted everything that was in front of him.

He went to the bar to close out his tab and plot his next steps. He should sit down with his good friend Mindy and ask for her advice. Mindy was as solid and straightforward as they came, but she was diplomatic, too. She’d guide him through this unexpected reunion.

But when he tucked his credit card into his wallet and turned around, he came face to face with his own lack of planning. Time to improvise.

Shannon held out her hand. “My wrap please,” she said, her tone even, her face unreadable. “It’s my favorite.”

“I didn’t think I’d see you again tonight.” He clutched the fabric, as if that would tether her to him for longer. It felt like a lifeline as his heart sped up just from being so close to her. The bar was filling up with patrons, the tables packed, the stools taken. But the hum of the busy Mandarin faded into the background with Shannon there again.

“I’d like the wrap,” she said crisply, the meaning clear. She only wanted the scarf.

“Have a drink with me, please,” he said, opting for honesty first. The last time he’d seen her, he’d played with words. He’d manipulated and twisted them. He’d lied, hoping the lie would win her for good. He’d lost her instead.

She sighed and shook her head. “Brent, I would like to go home. And I would like my scarf.”

“One drink.”

She licked her lips and exhaled but said nothing. In her silence, he sensed an opening. A chance to earn a laugh or two. With complete honesty.

He inched closer. They were less than a foot apart. He could smell her, and her scent was intoxicating—she smelled like honey and spice, completely different than how she’d smelled in college. This was more sultry than the jasmine lotion she wore then. It was heady. It made him high in seconds.

“Please.” It was all he had. “I held onto the scarf to see you again. I saw it on the floor, took it, and hid it. I’m a thief, I’ll admit it,” he said, holding his arms out wide, one hand still gripping the silvery fabric. He wasn’t letting go of the only thing he had that she wanted.

She furrowed her brow. “You took my wrap?”

He nodded. “Yes. You always left them behind when we were together,” he said, stopping briefly when she winced at those words—when we were together. “When I spotted it on the floor, I grabbed it when the guys weren’t looking, and I hid it. I sat on your scarf.” He kept his eyes fixed on her, admitting the full truth even if it made him look like a complete ass.

Her lips quirked almost imperceptibly, but it was enough for him to think that he was gaining ground. He tried to build on it. “It’s a nice scarf. Do you think I could pull it off for a meeting tomorrow with my real estate guys?” He tossed it around his neck and adopted a pouty stare.

She rolled her eyes, and he was ready to declare victory. “You’re the worst,” she said, laughing. “Stop it.”

“You don’t like the way it looks on me?” he continued, deadpan.

“It looks ridiculous on you, Brent,” she said, but she couldn’t stop smiling. “And by the way, it’s a wrap. It’s not a scarf.”