Maid of Dishonor Page 9

  She tugged her hand free, cursing the heat shimmying up her spine. ‘Because Marnie doesn’t need to know.’

  ‘That doesn’t answer my question,’ he said, an annoyingly astute look crossing his face.

  ‘Please, as a favour to me, Carter,’ she said, trying her best puppy-dog pout. ‘Don’t tell Marnie about us. I said some pretty hideous things to her when this happened the first time. And I really don’t want to revisit that situation in any shape or form.’

  He shrugged. ‘Okay, I guess it’s no skin off my—’

  ‘Pinkie swear,’ she begged, keen to get a commitment out of him. But when she demonstrated the technique by crossing her own pinkie over her heart and kissing the tip, his brows lowered ominously.

  ‘Don’t push it, Carrington. I don’t do pinkie swears.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because it’s girlie and I’m a guy.’ His lips lifted into a sly grin. ‘You want me to prove it?’

  ‘Absolutely not.’ She stepped out of his reach, before he could kick off yet more sizzles and shimmies. ‘I have to shower. Alone,’ she added for good measure when he chuckled.

  She needed to make a quick getaway now—no matter how much she might be tempted to stay. Sleeping with Carter again had been a mistake, on a lot of levels, however great it might have felt at the time. Not least of which was that he was a man she didn’t seem to be able to wrap around her finger as easily as every other man she’d ever dated. Getting him to say he wouldn’t mention this to Marnie was the best she could hope for. They wouldn’t be doing this again. As he would be safely back in Savannah by the end of the week, and she would be steering well clear of him—and his addictive pheromones—until then.

  ‘Aren’t you forgetting something, sugar?’

  She swung round at the laconic question. ‘No, I don’t think so.’

  ‘My little sister’s not as clueless about carnal relations as she used to be.’ His gaze dipped pointedly to her bare bottom. ‘I’m guessing she may well figure out something’s up when you show up with no panties on.’

  He laughed, obviously enjoying her distress immensely.

  ‘Oh, go to hell...’ she huffed, waltzing back towards the bathroom.

  ‘Your butt looks real cute when you’re mad.’

  She shot him the finger and slammed the bathroom door to cut off the sound of his full-bodied laughter. But as she dropped the dress and stepped into the enormous power shower her whole body started to shake.

  Last night’s activities had the potential to be a disaster.... Not just because Marnie might find out—but because she was going to have to keep well away from Carter for the next seven days. And after the night they’d just shared, that was going to be a very tall order.

  ‘What were you thinking?’ she snapped at herself as the hot water hit her full in the face.

  This didn’t just have the potential to be a disaster, it already was one. And like every other disaster in her life so far, it was entirely of her own making.

  * * *

  Carter’s laughter subsided as he picked up the hotel phone. ‘Give me the concierge.’

  Damn, but she fascinated him. She got worked up about the weirdest things. Marnie wouldn’t care about them now. His sister was hardly the starry-eyed little romantic she’d once been, any more than he was the big brother she’d once looked up to. And while he’d always regretted her finding out he wasn’t the man she thought he was the way she had—he didn’t see why he, or Gina, should have to tiptoe around Marnie’s sensibilities now.

  His kid sister had been living in New York for five years—making her own way in the big bad Yankee city and steadfastly refusing to let him have any kind of foothold in her life. He was proud of Marnie and what she’d achieved—even though he’d never tell her, because she’d only accuse him of patronising her. But the point was, she’d moved on, made a life for herself away from Savannah, and she sure as hell didn’t care about his love life any more. So why was Gina so hung up on Marnie finding out about them?

  He shrugged off the thought as he got patched through to the concierge. Women. Who knew why they got hung up on half the stuff they got hung up on?

  He made the request to the concierge and included a powerful incentive if it could be fulfilled in the next twenty minutes. He figured if Gina was like all the other women he’d ever dated, it would be a miracle if she was out of the bathroom before then.

  Listening to the sound of running water, he imagined that lush body slick with soap suds. Heat pooled in his groin, and his morning erection perked right up.

  He had to head off to The Waldorf for a lunch meeting with some Chinese investors, so it was probably a good thing he hadn’t been able to persuade Gina to blow off her friends.

  Resigned to the fact that he’d have to take a rain check for their next booty call at least until tonight, he hunted up a pair of sweat pants and a T-shirt from his suitcase. Dialling room service, he ordered breakfast and coffee and then stood by the glass wall to contemplate the awesome view—and the low-level hum of endorphins still cruising through his system.

  He rubbed his palm across his midriff. He hadn’t felt this sated and well rested and energised in years. Despite the fact that at a rough estimate he’d totalled about three hours’ sleep in the last twenty-four.

  And he gave Gina credit for that.

  She really was his ideal sexual partner. He’d thought he’d been imagining how good they’d been together that night. But that night had only been a taster.

  She was as wild and insatiable in the sack as he was, and even more wary of commitment out of it. He’d heard the caution in her voice when he’d asked any personal questions, felt her discomfort when he hugged her after sex, could tell she’d been reluctant to fall asleep in his arms, until he’d exhausted her—and himself. And he had a feeling this dumb notion about Marnie finding out was just another of her tactics for keeping a safe distance. She might even have persuaded herself her friendship with Marnie was a good excuse to call a halt to things.

  Not gonna happen, sugar.

  It was just plain dumb to throw a physical connection this perfect away over something so insubstantial.

  The two of them were the perfect match. Last night had proved it beyond any reasonable and several unreasonable doubts. Having spent five torturous years suppressing his more basic sexual urges so his wife wouldn’t freak out on him—and then five more trying to find someone who was happy to satisfy those needs without demanding more—he knew how rare Gina was.

  He’d found her once and lost her, because of some dumb notion that he was a better man than his daddy. That he could be the marrying kind if he put his mind to it. Well, he’d been there, done that, and now had the decree absolute and a few thousand dollars a month in alimony payments to show for it.

  He didn’t plan to make the same mistake twice. He wasn’t the marrying kind. But he did have a healthy sex drive—which he now had the chance to indulge in for a whole week with a woman who enjoyed sex as down and dirty as he did.

  So he didn’t plan to let Gina go so easily a second time. Not until they’d gotten their fill of each other while he was in New York. And whatever weird notions Gina had about Marnie—she could forget trying to persuade him they’d got their fill of each other in one night.

  Something he would have to make clear to her, when she finally stopped hiding out in his shower.

  Of course, he should probably ask her nicely instead of telling her. That would be the polite Southern thing to do. Especially as he knew how ornery she could be.

  He saw the slow smile forming on his lips reflected in the glass.

  Forget it.

  He wasn’t a gentleman. And he’d stopped asking nicely when he’d figured out that nice wasn’t part of his nature.

  And anyhow, taming Gina a
nd that quick-fire temper of hers was all part of the attraction. She might have a history of wrapping men round her perfectly manicured pinkie—him included, once upon a time—but he was more than man enough to take her on today.

  And harnessing all that fire and passion would make this wild ride even wilder.

  * * *

  Gina dashed into the bedroom of Carter’s suite almost an hour later to find him flicking through The Wall Street Journal with the remains of his breakfast in front of him.

  It had taken her longer than she’d planned to shower, wash and dry her hair, put on a semblance of decent make-up from the inadequate emergency supply in her purse and steam out the wrinkles in her dress—not to mention formulate exactly what she was going to say and how she was going to say it so that she could end her night of madness as quickly and cleanly and with as little fuss as possible. She had to pitch the brush-off just right. Most of all, she didn’t want Carter getting any ideas that her refusal to see him again was in any way a challenge. Because if there was one thing she’d learned during their epic sex session last night, the new Carter, not unlike the old Carter, was a man with a sizeable ego and a well-honed competitive spirit—who was not a good loser.

  Unfortunately, the fact that she’d spent an extra twenty minutes in the bathroom than she’d bargained for meant she was going to have to do all that in ten minutes flat—if she didn’t want to turn up for her fitting more than half an hour late, and encourage even more probing questions from her friends.

  ‘There you are.’ He folded the paper on his plate. ‘I ordered you up some breakfast, but it arrived a while back. It may be a mite cold now.’

  He lifted the silver dome on the plate opposite to reveal a splendid assortment of freshly cut fruit, waffles and syrup. Saliva pooled under her tongue. ‘I’m sorry, I really don’t have time to do that justice. Maybe just a quick cup of coffee?’

  ‘Sure thing.’ He plopped the dome back over her breakfast, apparently unconcerned by her refusal, and picked up the silver pot next to his plate.

  Maybe this was going to be easier than she had assumed. The heady aroma of fresh coffee filled the air as he poured her a cup. ‘Cream and sugar, sugar?’ he teased.

  ‘Black’s fine.’ She took the cup, gulped the bitter liquid down, not quite as pleased with his nonchalant tone as she probably should be.

  After fortifying herself. She popped the cup back on the table and toed on her stilettos. ‘Well, I guess this is goodbye, then?’ she said, feeling stupidly nervous all of a sudden. ‘It was quite a night.’

  ‘It sure was,’ he said, his gaze roaming over her and making all the sizzles and shimmers buzz like alarm bells.

  ‘Right, I’ll just...’ She shot a thumb over her shoulder. ‘Leave.’

  She headed for the door. She hadn’t given him a single word of her carefully planned speech. Because she obviously hadn’t needed to. Clearly she was just another of the many, many notches on his bedpost.

  ‘Hold up, Gina.’

  She swung round, the odd leap in her heart completely counterproductive, but there nonetheless. ‘Yes?’

  ‘I got you something.’ He lifted a pale blue paper bag off the bed with the logo of an exclusive designer boutique on the front and handed it to her.

  She took the package, somewhat dazed by the intensity of his gaze. Why had he bought her a gift? And why was her heart practically beating its way through her chest wall?

  Opening the bag, she lifted out a pair of exquisite red lace panties—and laughed. ‘Oh...’ She didn’t know what to say—at once touched that he would have thought of it, and turned on, as she suddenly became one hundred per cent more conscious of her current lack of underwear. ‘Thank you. That was very thoughtful of you.’

  ‘Not really.’ His lips curved into a tempting grin. ‘More like a necessity. That’s a mighty short dress. I don’t want anyone else getting a load of your naked butt but me.’

  The blush fired up her neck. As heat swelled in her sex. Dropping the bag, she slipped her shoes off, and shimmied the red lace up her legs to cover her naked butt before she got any ideas about that teasing grin and the husky tone of his voice.

  Not gonna happen, Gina. You’re wearing your big girl panties now.

  Grabbing her purse, she pressed her palm to his cheek, rubbed it over the rough stubble and gave him a quick kiss on the lips—keeping it short, but sweet.

  She fluttered her eyelashes as she drew back. ‘Why thank you, Rhett. My naked bum is now safe from unwanted attention.’

  But as her hand dropped from his face, he snagged her wrist, and the light in his eyes darkened. ‘How about I give it some wanted attention? Back here. Tonight?’

  Even though she’d prepared herself for the request, her breathing slowed, her heart thumping harder against her ribs as his thumb stroked her wrist. ‘We can’t, Carter. This isn’t going to happen again.’

  ‘That’s a shame. When we both enjoy it so much.’

  She could hardly argue with that, given that her pulse was currently doing the foxtrot under his stroking thumb.

  His eyebrow lifted. ‘Do you have a reason, or am I gonna have to guess what it is?’

  She pulled her wrist free, and gripped the strap of her bag. ‘I just don’t want this turning into a...a...’ What? ‘A thing.’

  ‘A thing, huh?’ He ducked his head, and ran a finger across his bottom lip, as if considering her response, but she could see he was struggling to suppress a grin. ‘You’re gonna have to tell me why a thing would be a problem.’ His eyes lit with amusement. ‘Because I’ve gotta tell you, I think we’ve already got a thing going here. It certainly felt like a hell of a thing last night.’

  She clamped down on her temper, because with temper came heat, and she knew he’d exploit that straight away. ‘A thing would be a problem,’ she said patiently, ‘because a thing can so easily turn into a fling.’

  ‘O-kay.’ He nodded sagely. ‘And a fling is bad because...?’ He gestured with his hand as if encouraging her to continue.

  ‘You’re not taking this seriously.’ There was a limit to how patient she could be when he was deliberately taking the Mickey.

  ‘Ya think?’ He took her hand, linked his fingers through hers—that aggravating grin still firmly in place. ‘That’s because you’re taking it way too seriously, Gina. All we’re talking about here is great sex.’ His thumb did that sizzling thing again, pressing into the palm of her hand. He gave her a little tug and kissed her. The touch of his lips oddly tender, behind the usual heat. ‘There’s no need to get your new panties in a twist. Okay, sugar?’

  ‘Carter! You...’ She huffed out a laugh. The cheeky comment and the tempting kiss making her temper dissolve into something liquid and warm.

  Good heavens, the man really was dangerous. If she couldn’t even stay mad at him when she needed to.

  She slapped a hand on his chest, to wrench herself away from that handsome face, those tempting lips, and the wicked promise in his eyes. ‘I have to shoot. Thanks for the panties.’

  He let her go, and remained silent as she rushed to the door, far too aware of the soft lace stretching over her moist sex. But as she left the room without risking a backward glance she knew she hadn’t finished their fling—or thing, or whatever the heck it was—quite as quickly or cleanly or concisely as she had intended.

  And that was a definite worry.

  Much more of a worry, though, was the intoxicating spurt of endorphins that accompanied the thought.

  SEVEN

  Gina stepped off the cobblestone street into the exclusive bridal boutique nestled under the Manhattan Bridge Overpass. Rails full of fanciful white and ivory dresses crowded the front of the shop, but she could already hear the musical lilt of female laughter from the back of the store. Reese appeared in her usual pristine comb
o of skinny designer jeans and a chic

  fitted blouse, her hair pinned up in an unfussy chignon and with a champagne flute full of what Gina hoped was something alcoholic in her hand.

  ‘Late as usual. Where have you been? The start time was eleven a.m. prompt, not—’ she shot a look at the gold watch on her wrist ‘—quarter to twelve.’

  Gina opened her mouth to deliver the white lie she’d been working on during the cab ride to the hip-and-happening Brooklyn neighbourhood when Reese simply waved her hand and passed her the flute. ‘Don’t bother, I can take a wild guess. I just hope he was worth it.’

  ‘Good to know I’m that transparent,’ Gina remarked dryly, taking a healthy sip of the fruity mimosa to cover the tremor in her fingers and project her usual cool. Reese didn’t know about her new leaf, so she’d probably just assume last night had been another of her casual hook-ups. Which of course it was, she corrected herself smoothly. Completely casual.

  Reese grinned and looped her arm through Gina’s to lead her to the back of the shop. ‘I know a well-screwed look when I see one.’

  Gina spluttered, the second sip hitting her larynx. Was it that obvious?

  ‘Why, Gina?’ Reese stopped to study her.

  Heat leached into Gina’s cheeks.

  ‘That’s not a blush, is it? Have we slipped into an alternative reality?’

  ‘Hardly. I just didn’t get a lot of sleep last night—as you so correctly assumed.’ Gina pressed the cool glass to her cheeks to get the stupid blush under control as they entered a small, intimate salon.

  The remains of bagels, take-out coffee mugs and a fruit plate littered the low table in the centre of the room beside a half-full bottle of champagne and a large jug of iced orange juice.

  ‘Gina, you’re here!’ Cassie sent a slightly desperate smile from her seat on one of the soft leather sofas that framed the table. ‘Nearly an hour late, as usual.’ She frowned. ‘I wonder if you can have a genetic compulsion to inefficient time-keeping?’ Dressed in her geek’s uniform of battered jeans and a shapeless T with the proclamation ‘Soil Scientists Know All the Dirt’ printed on it in bold pink lettering, she had that rabbit-in-the-headlights look she always got when forced to make fashion choices.