One Sexy Mistake (Chase Brothers)

by Sarah Ballance

  They’d had their one-time sex, so why the nerves?

  The woman intrigued him a thousand times over.

  Which meant he should run. Hell, maybe he could give her the apartment, and he could go hang out with Earl.

  But no, he couldn’t bring himself to do that.

  Olivia sat on the sofa, eyes carefully averted from the direction of the bed, and winced as she took off her boots.

  That was when he noticed her foot. Dumbfounded, he asked, “You took my sock?”

  “Yes, I took your sock. Because in case you haven’t noticed, that ugly animal took mine.”

  “It’s a dirty sock.”

  She took it off and flung it at him, hitting him in the face. He was relieved it still smelled like laundry detergent. “It was better than losing my toes to frostbite. Or my face to that cat of yours.”

  “Neighbor’s cat,” he said mildly. Hell, the whole conversation felt overly mild, given what she’d revealed when he’d opened the door.

  Two months ago, he’d blown apart a brilliant but unfinished security program. At the firm where she’d worked. And now the thought wouldn’t leave him alone. “So,” he said, deciding to take the proverbial bull by the horns. “You said a few minutes ago that a hacker blew holes in an unfinished program of yours. Your profile said you are a hacker.”

  Her deep, measured breath indicated this wasn’t her favorite topic of conversation. “All on the up and up,” she said, “at least since I graduated high school and learned what was legal and what wasn’t. I mostly work from the other side, as a software developer.” She frowned. “Or I did.”

  “Until someone found flaws in your unfinished program,” he said. “What kind of program was it?”

  “AES. Advanced Encryption Standard, like the government uses, but I developed it with a tweak for…never mind. Forget I mentioned it. I completely broke the no-conversation rule. Although you started it.”

  He blinked. He might have cared a tiny bit about the no-conversation rule if he wasn’t 95 percent sure he was the one who’d tested her software. Hers was a big firm, yes, but he distinctly remembered seeing amateur mistakes in an otherwise brilliant program and wondered if it had been ready for release.

  Clearly not. Which explained the disconnect.

  She’d mentioned not being a fan of computer geeks, and now he knew why. And that he was the one who’d given the entire profession a bad name.

  So much for being one of the good guys.

  His jumbled thoughts left him an uncharacteristic mess. He wasn’t sure how to deal with the thought that he’d cost her her job. He hadn’t known that when he’d slept with her, though, so morally, he was in the clear. But he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that he was keeping something from her, and he shouldn’t.

  She didn’t seem to notice his inner turmoil. She’d turned on the television in time for the weather guy to say the wind was blowing at thirty to forty-five miles an hour with growing accumulations expected over the next twenty-four hours.

  “It’s not supposed to stop snowing until tomorrow. Tomorrow.” She gave him an accusatory look, and he wondered what she’d say if she knew what he’d actually done.

  Don’t say it, he warned himself. “Maybe you should have started on the weather kick before you came over,” he said. “And also, and I quote, No one gets stranded by weather in New York City.”

  Her eyes flashed, and he couldn’t tell if it was irritation or frustration or both. “You know what?” she asked. “I have never wanted to do the Walk of Shame more than I do at this moment, but the nice officer downstairs has other plans for me. I can wait in the lobby if you want, but I can’t vacate your address yet, so we’re going to have to deal with it.”

  “How about you just stay,” he countered, “and we stop talking about this?” He was suddenly all about that no-talking thing, because he apparently had a hell of a guilt complex.

  “Fine.” She pressed a button to change the channel when the power flickered.

  Then died.

  A long moment of silence followed, the frantic pinging of ice against the window counting hurried seconds until she looked at him, her face a tumult mixture of irritation and horror.

  And that was without her knowing the rather unfortunate truth of her one-night stand.

  If two months after she lost her job, she was still rattled enough to hit up a hookup app for the first time, the idea of sleeping with the enemy just might send her over the edge.

  She hated him and didn’t even know the half of it yet.

  Chapter Six

  Olivia wanted to disappear. Completely. She pulled her knees to her chest, which only drew attention to the fact that she wore one sock. A quick glance across the room told her the cat had yet to give her other one up.

  Worst. Day. Ever.

  “I’m sorry for unloading on you like that,” she said.

  She hated how she sounded. Wounded. Dammit, she’d been there way too recently. Having her ex go from seemingly decent guy to champion asshat in the space of a day…that was allowed to hurt. Worrying over breaking a stupid no-conversation rule with her one-night stand wasn’t.

  It wasn’t allowed to matter.

  And if not for the slight issue of her being stranded with this guy, it wouldn’t.

  Dark gray eyes studied her. “It’s okay. We’re both…tense.”

  Yeah, they probably were. And confiding in him more than she had was so not going to happen. There wasn’t much chance she’d admit that even to herself. A one-night stand was not supposed to fix anything.

  Not even the hottest one-nighter on the planet.

  Heat crept into her cheeks, which was insane because there was a notable icy draft curling through the apartment.

  “Ironic,” she said, “since sex is supposed to be good for relieving tension.”

  His jaw visibly loosened about the time she realized what she’d said, or rather that it had sounded more like an invitation. Or a lament. Something utterly un-casual.

  “Maybe we didn’t do it right.”

  She took one look at his way too sexy, way too adorably smug face and realized she was already in way too deep. “Maybe you didn’t do it right.”

  “Good idea,” he said, nodding knowingly, like he’d just successfully psychoanalyzed her. “Blame me for your stress, rather than your unwillingness to walk home.”

  She glared. “Don’t flatter yourself. I had the NYPD standing between your front door and my escape. If I had Kevlar handy, I would have been out of here.”

  After a moment of tense silence, he said, “I’m sorry. You absolutely did it right. You did everything right.”

  “Please stop.” God, where were some floorboards to sink into when she needed them? “You’re making this a thousand times worse.”

  “There’s nothing bad,” he said, almost stammering in his effort to reassure her. “Everything was…really good.”

  Yeah. Right.

  She wanted to hate him in that moment, but she couldn’t, because she was in the throes of flashbacks hot enough to make her want to crawl over him and shut him up. The fun way. No way in hell she’d tell him the worst part: wanting more. And not even so much awkward as it was bad karma, because wanting him gave her chills no amount of snow or ice could match.

  He stood, and she watched with reluctant appreciation as he covered the short distance to the bed, yanked off the comforter, and brought it over to the couch. When he draped it over her, a funny little shiver took her breath, and she entertained precisely zero thoughts of kicking him when he climbed under next to her.

  “Was that your first time sneaking out?” he asked. “After sex, I mean.”

  She glanced at him, seeing dark lashes and gray eyes and genuine interest. “Yes,” she said. “Because as previously discussed, I’ve never done this before.”

  “Maybe not the hookup, but what about disappearing without a word?”

  She picked at a piece of lint on the sofa. Talking about
this was neither lovely nor delightful. “I should think you’d be thrilled about that,” she finally said. “Ghosting is pretty much the best end to any one-night stand, or so I’m told. And why are you asking me all these questions? I thought you signed up to avoid all this.”

  With a half-shrug that was almost too casual, he said, “I did, but I’m not going to just sit here for the next day or two.”

  She gave him a sharp look. “Not two.”

  He lifted his hands. “Fine. Tunnel out when you’re ready.”

  She realized when he tucked his arms back under the blanket that he was warm. Really freaking warm. She inched closer, knowing it would earn a look—which of course it did—but to his credit, he didn’t say anything. Maybe he couldn’t tell she was flailing. She wasn’t supposed to be there. He wasn’t supposed to be this decent, much less doing such a good job of taking her mind off a certain ex who, as it turned out, had appreciated her less than a stranger she’d found on a sex app. How had she been that blind?

  Probably by deflecting. Like now, before she drowned just as much in the thought of Grady as she did those killer gray eyes.

  “I snuck out once before,” she said, proud of herself when she managed not to lay her head on his shoulder, though from that position she probably wouldn’t be caught up in eye contact. “Not exactly a one-night stand, though. On the third date, he fixed dinner at his place. He had ferrets. Have you ever heard ferrets mate?”

  Grady shook his head, amusement dancing in his eyes, right alongside relief.

  What the heck did he have to be relieved about?

  “It’s not even the slightest bit funny,” she told him. “Not only did I have to listen to the ferrets, but I had to watch them. The guy literally cut off a movie to watch these ferrets go at it. And it was a great movie. Ten Things I Hate About You. That epic serenade? I totally missed it.”

  Bewilderment evident, he asked, “You missed a sappy movie because of ferrets mating? How long can that take?”

  “It’s not sappy. It’s romantic. And he didn’t want to restart the movie, because apparently there’s ferret mating afterglow,” she said, “and that should be respected. I left when he went to the bathroom, and yes, I ghosted on him.”

  “I think that was an excused absence,” Grady said dryly.

  “That’s not what he thought. He texted me approximately forty-three times. That night.” She watched him, thoughtful. “Why did you use an app? I’m not buying your inability to get a woman in your bed.”

  “Never said I couldn’t get one there,” he told her, wariness evident in his tone. “The problem is once they’re there, there are expectations. Ones I don’t want to live up to.”

  “Such as?”

  “Dinner. Date night. Flowers. The right wine and food pairings. Surprises. Having to outdo her friends’ boyfriends. I mean, if her friend gets flowers, and I didn’t happen to send bigger, better flowers the same day, I don’t love her enough. It’s bullshit.”

  She blinked. “Tell me that didn’t actually happen.”

  He nodded, so somberly that she almost giggled. And she never giggled. “It actually happened,” he told her. “They’re not all that extreme, but it’s always something. And that’s not me. I’m not a grand gesture kind of guy.”

  “You don’t know what you’re missing. You should watch a movie or two. It’s impossible not to love romance.” She’d taken a beating in that department lately, but she still believed in love.

  “Which movie should I watch?” he asked, surprising her.

  “Love Actually,” she said. “It’s my favorite. There are ten different stories in one movie. You’re bound to like at least one of them.”

  “Or,” he said, “I could hate all ten.”

  She sighed. “You might be maddening.”

  “At least we understand one another.” He paused. “Actually, maybe not. No one has ever stolen my sock before.”

  She swatted him under the blanket, and his quick self-defense left her hand caught in his. “You’re warm,” she finally said. It was the dumbest thing in the world to notice.

  “Actually,” he corrected, “I’m pretty sure I’m freezing.”

  “Do you have any more blankets?”

  “Nothing this warm, but I’m sure anything will help.” He vacated his spot, leaving a chill in his wake.

  One she wished she hadn’t noticed.

  He grabbed a small bundle out of the room’s only closet, hesitating briefly next to the sleeping hell creature, its fangs literally obtruding in four different directions. Olivia still didn’t believe the thing was a cat, but she wasn’t about to investigate.

  But she did swoon a little when Grady knelt to put a towel down for the creature, reclaiming her sock in the process. “And you said you don’t do grand gestures,” she said.

  He stopped and gave her a hard look. “I don’t.”

  Then he gave the sock back to the cat.

  …

  Grady wasn’t easily flustered. Hell, it wasn’t even a word he used. But it fit now, because he could not stop wanting Olivia again. And he really didn’t want to want her.

  That wasn’t the deal.

  The deal was sex.

  The sex was fucking amazing.

  He’d wanted to avoid the morning after and the conversations and the complications, but now, inexplicably, he just wanted to hold her. And he was too chickenshit to sit close enough to draw her into his arms, because that wasn’t what he and Olivia were about.

  Actually, there was no he and Olivia. That thought had no place in his head. Especially with the thought stuck in there that he was the one who had worked over her program.

  He needed a distraction.

  Turned out, he had one.

  When he tossed the sheet he’d gotten from the closet onto her, she looked at him in surprise. “Star Wars? Really?”

  “Your concern is noted,” he said dryly. “It’s my I’m-too-lazy-to-do-laundry-right-now set of sheets, and it’s cold in here. Hardly newsworthy.”

  She gave him a blank look. He tried not to notice how stunning she was, all bedroom hair and smoky eyes. The latter probably wasn’t intentional, considering she hadn’t exactly had time to shower and do whatever women did in there for hours afterward. She dragged him back to the present when she said, “Entirely newsworthy that they’re Star Wars.”

  “The Star Wars franchise is worth billions,” he argued. “I can’t be the only person who owns a set of these sheets.”

  “I can’t get over the cliché. Computer geek Star Wars freak. That’s hilarious.”

  “I’m so glad I could amuse you, but freak might be a bit of an overstatement.” Actually, he loved the films—Episodes I, II, and III aside—but what made him hold on was the fact that his parents had given him those sheets. He hadn’t even liked Star Wars at the time, but his dad’s love for the saga sucked him in, and he’d been there ever since as a way to stay close to his late father. He had his sheets and his dad’s so-called old-man sweater. When that was all that was left, hell yes, Grady would hang on. “Star Wars is a family tradition,” he said, probably a bit too defensively, because she frowned and changed the subject.

  “So what do you do other than geek out over computers?”

  He relaxed a notch. Sort of. Because they’d gone from Star Wars back to day job stuff, and he wasn’t sure that was safe territory. Hell, he knew it wasn’t, but he couldn’t avoid it without saying why, and that didn’t seem like a good idea, either. “I’m a tech writer, programmer, software breaker…pretty much anything someone needs done on a computer, I can do.”

  Genuine interest lit her eyes. “Where do you work?”

  “For myself, or rather on contract,” he said absently, because her question was a blaring reminder that he had a job to do that weekend. Without electricity. Great.

  He’d been hired to break into a new, private section of the Department of Defense website to test their online security, and he wasn’t sure how the co
nversation explaining that would go, but suspected it wasn’t one he could avoid. He had a password to access the prototype page, which wasn’t available to the general public, and having that kind of permission wouldn’t exactly keep him under her radar. She’d know then that he was good. The kind of good that could have broken her program. There was no way he’d be able to take the time to get through without her noticing, though it would provide a hell of a diversion.

  If anything could distract him from wanting her, it was the Department of Defense

  “You like sappy romance,” he needlessly reminded her. “That’s the most cliché thing in the world.”

  “I do love romance,” she said, defiance touching her tone. “Most humans love romance.”

  “Maybe half the humans,” he countered. “Tops.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You’re saying men don’t love romance?”

  “I’m saying a man is much more likely to love a woman and develop the desire to be romantic for her than he is to love romance in general.”

  She scooted sideways, facing him. “You know, I pretty much never admit to this because mockery is never far behind, but I love romantic movies. The more ridiculous the better.”

  He studied her a moment, more than a bit unnerved by how sexy she was burrowed under his old sheet. He hadn’t expected her to be so beautiful, and he still couldn’t get over it. Sure, her photo had been hot, but there were entire memes revolving around how people didn’t look like their profile pictures. She’d taken his breath from the first moment, even as he’d wondered why she’d need a hookup. “A sucker for an airport scene, then.”

  Her smile was triumphant. “So you do watch romances?”

  He laughed. “No. That was the biggest, dumbest cliché I could think of.” He didn’t tell her his sister Estelle had lived that particular one. He still wasn’t sure what had been going on at the time between her and her now-husband Crosby, but apparently, their public display had been good for something. “Why don’t you usually confess to this addiction?” He left the bigger question unasked: why had she confessed to him?