Asking for Trouble

His thumb found her clitoris once more and applied a perfect amount of pressure. A whimper of pleasure stuck in Hayden’s throat. She struggled with the desire to let him release the tension he’d built inside her, give him relief in exchange. With her thighs shaking, her sex clenching, walking away now seemed impossible. Surely she wouldn’t survive it. But his words rang in her head, warning her that staying would be a mistake. Twice a day. You’ll get used to it. Brent was speaking in the long-term. This attraction between them was quickly graduating to something more serious and she couldn’t allow it. Once a man like Brent decided something or someone belonged to him, she pitied anyone who stood in his way. With her responsibilities weighing down on her shoulders, Hayden had to stop this or she would never be able to.

“No, Brent. Stop.” When the words left her mouth she nearly broke down and cried. As she’d known he would, Brent ceased all movement as soon as her plea got through. He removed his hand slowly, reluctantly. It made her want to cry all the more. He let her slip down to the floor, but stayed flush against her back. She could feel every inch of him pressed against her and knew he had to be close to his breaking point. In that moment, she hated herself. Hated the obligations preventing her from exploring her intense physical yearning for this man.

“Why, dammit?” He spoke hoarsely at her neck. “We want each other. Tell me why.”

When Hayden answered, her throat felt so incredibly tight, it hurt to speak. “It’s complicated.”

“Try again.”

What could she say? I might marry someone else, someone for whom I feel nothing, in order to retain the wealth you so greatly resent? He would never understand. Furthermore, he wouldn’t hesitate to tell Story and Daniel, who would never let her go through with it. And to top it off, the news would ruin what should be a happy weekend for her friends.

She reached for the doorknob. “I don’t want this. Stop trying to force something that isn’t there.”

When he flinched at her use of the word “force,” she felt a painful surge of guilt. Thankfully, she was able to keep it hidden as she yanked open the door and entered her own room. She remained there with her back pressed up against the locked door for long moments, hearing no movement on the other side. Just as she pushed off, heading toward the bathroom, she heard something heavy crash and break in Brent’s room.

Chapter Twelve

As all four friends sat down at the round, candlelit table for dinner, an irritable Brent watched Hayden choose the seat farthest from him. He didn’t want to look at her, didn’t want to care about what “complication” she’d been referring to earlier. In fact, the afternoon spent away from her had given him time to think.

After he’d hurled the Yellow Pages at the wall, accidentally knocking the hotel phone across the room. Along with a coffeemaker.

The girls had gone swimming at the hotel pool and he’d convinced Daniel to join him at the poker tables. Turns out, poker required you to sit quietly for hours on end, something that would normally make him break out in a cold sweat, but he had embraced it wholeheartedly after the scene with Hayden. While he’d waited for strangers to play their hands, he’d resolved to stay away from her. She’d f**ked with him for the last time. If she ever decided to stop pretending they didn’t set each other on fire, she’d seriously have to woo his ass. And no, he didn’t care if that made him sound like a chick.

Now, however, his raging thoughts simmered down from a mighty roar to a pitter-patter of little elves’ feet when he saw her in the flesh. All soft and glowing, dressed in her Vacation Hayden getup, he could think of nothing but how she’d looked that afternoon in her bra and panties, skin flushed from the way he’d dirty-talked her in the backseat. She’d fallen through his door looking like sex on a platter and he’d thought, Christmas came early. Guess I’ve been a good boy. They’d been seconds from soul-screaming, mind-blowing, hair-pulling sex. She’d kissed him. She’d worked her barely covered ass all over him, showing him what he was about to get. Then something he’d said caused her to put the brakes on.

Something about her words, her actions afterward, continued to eat at him all afternoon. He hadn’t needed to see her face to see the conflict taking place in her. Her shoulders had been bunched, breathing erratic. Even her verbal parting shot didn’t strike him as convincing. So what the hell was the problem? It’s complicated. If he could go back in time, he’d ask her what the hell in this life isn’t complicated. Sure, they’d spent the first few months of their acquaintance as enemies. Could that be the extent of it?

No, something else was in play. But as bad as he wanted to put a name to it, his pride wouldn’t allow it. He refused to interrogate her. She would have to come to him. He didn’t take her accusation of “forcing” himself on her lightly. He suspected she knew that, too.

Determinedly, he tore his gaze from soft, glowing, light-blue-vacation-dress-wearing Hayden and gave his drink order to the hovering waitress.

Across the table, Daniel stared into the candle’s flame in front of him, looking as though he might puke.

Enough was enough. Since Story and Hayden were distracted pointing out menu choices to each other, Brent snapped his fingers in front of Daniel’s face.

“Hey, shithead. Look alive,” Brent whispered harshly, giving him a disgusted look. “Honestly, I don’t even know you anymore. Since when do you worry about getting the girl? Grow a pair, man. You’re Daniel f**king Chase. He who gets the girl, remember?”

Daniel gaped at him for a moment before rapping his fist on the table. “You know what? You’re right.”

“You’ll have to be more specific,” Brent returned. “I’m right so frequently.”

“About me. I get the girl.” He looked at Story, whose gaze connected with his at the same time, her mouth parting slightly at whatever she read there. “I’ll get my girl.”

“Great, now that your pu**y-whipped-ness is settled, let’s eat.”

Brent spent the next half hour, as they drank wine and ate appetizers, doing his best not to stare at Hayden. She made it incredibly difficult when every once in a while, just when he thought she’d dismissed him completely from her mind, her increasingly heavy-lidded brown eyes would find him across the table, causing everything below his belt buckle to tighten. He thought of how her mouth would taste after drinking red wine. The red wine she continued to sip in such ladylike fashion. He knew better. If he took her mouth right now, she’d fight him for control. Dig her fingernails into him and rob him of sanity. He wasn’t the only one who felt this way. No, the more she relaxed and drank her wine, the more he saw. Not just desire. Vulnerability. The combination pummeled him.

A thought occurred to him. Perhaps his pride wouldn’t let him pursue Hayden after this afternoon’s latest blue-ball extravaganza, but he could provoke her into coming to him. Their first night together had been triggered by a challenge. Whether or not she could teach him a lesson. Whether or not she could handle him. Maybe he’d made it too easy for her today. That ended now. No more Mr. Nice Brent.

Just as he had the idea, Hayden glanced up at him and frowned a little, cluing him in to the fact that he needed to hide his thoughts a little better.