“What is that thing you’re drinking?” she asked, needing something to say.
“I have no idea. Steve, what’s this thing I’m drinking?”
“Pomegranate martini.”
“Pomegranate martini.” Roark turned in his chair, holding up his pink drink.
“It takes a real man to be comfortable drinking a froufrou cocktail.”
He laughed, his shoulders relaxing. “It only looks froufrou, doesn’t taste it. It’s good. Try it.”
“No, thank you.”
“C’mon. Try it.” Roark set the pink drink in front of her and waved her forward.
“I don’t want—”
He silenced her with a scowl. “You’re going to sit there, give me crap about my drink, and then refuse to even taste it?”
After that whole dog and pony show, a little mercy was probably warranted. “. . . No?”
“Then get up here.” He waved her forward, the damn eye crinkles on full blast.
“Is this your usual?” She sat up and raised his cocktail glass.
“No, smart aleck. I’m trying this because Steve is testing it out. Isn’t that right, Steve?”
“Yes, sir. Roark is my guinea pig.” Steve served up her vodka martini.
She took a sip of the pink drink and handed it back to Roark. “There, I tried it. Happy now?”
“Ecstatic.”
Madison sipped her drink and hummed, letting her lids flutter closed. “Now this is a drink.” She opened her eyes to find Roark staring at her. “What?”
“Nothing.” He turned and sat forward again.
“Not nothing. Clearly something. You want to try my drink?”
He huffed with a laugh. “Uh, no. That’s not it.”
“Sure it’s not.” She put her drink down next to his hand. “Go ahead. You can try it.”
“No, thanks.”
“Hey. I tried yours. Fair is fair.”
He slanted a look at her, scooped up her martini and took a sip. Both of his eyebrows shot up. “’S good. Strong, but good.”
Madison took her drink back, allowing a triumphant grin. “This from the man with the hooch in his office? You’ll have to try one of these next. Isn’t that right, Steve?”
Steve looked back and forth between the two of them. “Yes, ma’am.”
“It might be a good thing we don’t have to drive anywhere after two of these. Isn’t that right, Steve?” Roark leaned on the bar again.
“Yes, sir.” Steve grinned at both of them. “I put in an order for the hot wings you like, in case you two are peckish.”
Roark grinned over at her, a hint of color in his cheeks, his martini clearly already taking effect. “I know I’m peckish. How about you?”
Madison hid her smile in a sip of martini. “Peckish sounds about right.” Among other things.
Hot wings did sound pretty perfect right now. Messy and mannerless, and strong enough to get the taste of obnoxious sweetness from sucking up to Troutman out of her mouth.
Speaking of...
“I’m sorry you had to deal with Troutman in full nightmare-mode,” she told Roark.
“It’s not for you to apologize for him.”
“No, but he’s certainly not going to do it.”
“I bet he’s never apologized for anything.”
She nodded and took another sip. “Hell no, I know he hasn’t. But he is the type to take credit for everything. To hear him tell it, he is Red Left Hand. Forget that Jack writes seventy-five percent of the songs or that Whitney writes the other twenty-five and sings them. No. Phil Troutman is the real star.” Madison huffed and sipped until the hot wings arrived.
Steve set the plates down. “I did the large order in case—”
She’d already grabbed one and had it in her mouth.
She and Roark didn’t say another word as they ate. The wings were spicy enough that she finished her drink to keep her mouth from catching fire. Steve delivered two more ice-cold martinis as they ate, and Madison was on her fifth wing before either of them made a sound beyond eating.
Roark’s bark of laughter made her jump at first. Then, the settling sound of it relaxed her a little more.
“So . . .” He grabbed another cloth napkin to wipe his mouth and fingers. “I forgot to tell you, I decided Troutman’s new name is Trout. Or rather the Trout. Because that guy looks like a fish.”
Madison set her drink down so she wouldn’t spill it as well as choke on it. She coughed and leaned against Roark’s arm. “Oh my god, he does! I knew he reminded me of something, but I couldn’t think what. He’s got a fish face.”
They laughed loud enough that poor Steve shook his head and walked to the other end of the bar.
“There are a few other names I’d like to call him too,” she added.
“Like jerk? Asshole? We said that already.”
“No no.” She wiped her hands clean. “He’s more than that. What’s worse than being an asshole?”
Roark made a show of thinking. “Is there something worse? Horse’s ass? I got nothing.”
She grabbed his arm, giggling so hard she couldn’t answer.
Roark was chuckling too, but studied her with a look that was way too serious.
She was rather enjoying the silly name-calling and the buzz she was sporting. Warmth spread through her limbs, a welcome change from the tension and the tight way she’d held herself all day.
“What?” She stared back at him.
“I . . . Okay, part of me knows I shouldn’t call you out, but I’ve got just enough of a buzz to do it anyway.”
She sat up a little straighter, noting the deepening color in Roark’s cheeks and realizing these drinks were even stronger than she thought.
“What was up with your stellar sucking-up to the Trout? I didn’t know you had it in you. You were never that nice to me. And all that stuff about wedding dresses and saving magazines and . . . just, what?”
“I was too, nice to you.” She pointed a finger at him.
“Yeah, but it took a whole lot of me being charming first.”
“Oh, you were being charming?”
“Damn straight, I was.”
She laughed again, her body light and fizzy, as if champagne bubbles filled her blood instead of a little vodka. Madison lifted a shoulder. “Sometimes you have to play into people’s expectations to get them to hear you. He had a bunch of preconceived notions about me, women in general, and trying to do serious business with him wasn’t working. I have a lot of experience with that. Unfortunately. It was never going to work, not with a guy like that.”
“True.”
“The Trout sees this as some frivolous joke. If I have to tell him what he wants to hear, I can turn on the sugary coating. No choice. I couldn’t get through to him otherwise.”
Roark was quiet a moment, sipping his drink. “I see what you mean, and I caught on to it pretty quick. I thought you’d panicked there for a bit, but you bounced back.”
Hell. She thought she’d covered that pretty well. “Who panicked? I did not panic.”
“You looked a little panicked.”
“I do not panic.”
“If you say so.” He shrugged it off. “Regardless, your strategy worked. The Trout is all into this wedding now.”
“Only because he’ll make money off it. That’s all he cares about.”
Roark took another sip of his drink. “You actually batted your lashes at him at one point.”
“You didn’t like that?” She laughed.
“It was disturbing.”
Madison dipped her chin and raised both eyebrows.
“No, I mean, not . . . You batting your lashes is not disturbing. Directed at him, that was disturbing.”
“You’re not jealous, are you?”
“No.”
She kept her gaze locked with Roark’s as she took another drink.
“Why? . . . Do you want me to be jealous?”
“No.”
Roark sipped
his drink, his eyes sparkling.
“I don’t know. Maybe?”
He grinned, looking away as he put his glass down. “The way he spoke to you though, mocking your job and basically calling you a ditzy blonde, I wanted to kick his ass through the front door. Have him land headfirst.”
“Yeah, about that.” She set her drink down as well. “You weren’t real smooth in hiding your opinions on the matter. That doesn’t help us. Dial it back a notch next time.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She turned in her chair to face him, her knees brushing against his leg. “Look, I appreciate your attempt at sticking up for my honor, or whatever, but I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”
“I was trying to have your back.”
“Did you also want to run off the biggest job either of us has ever had?” She understood his intent, but intent didn’t matter to guys like Troutman.
Roark clamped his mouth shut, his posture stiff. “No.”
“Then let me deal with a guy like Trout underestimating me and being a jerk. I can handle it.”
With a sigh, he ran a hand over his hair, mussing it up further. She itched to touch the dark strands, smooth them back into place, see if they were as soft as they appeared to be.
“I guess my blowing up at him wouldn’t have won him over, but you shouldn’t have to put up with shit from guys like the Trout.”
“I have plenty of experience putting up with shit. Trust me.”
He took a swig off his drink and muttered, “That doesn’t make me any happier about it.”
He was offended on her behalf, and it was nice. She’d never had someone indignant for her. Roark was righteously angry in such a way that rather than ruffling her feathers, it was . . . endearing. Attractive.
“You did kind of blow up at Trout like an angry bear.” She smiled.
He laughed. “I find it hard to stand there, not saying a damn word, when he’s talking about getting through your thick blond head.”
“You curse more when you’ve got a buzz on.”
“I’m aware.”
“You’re less buttoned up. I like it.”
“Thank you. And I didn’t mean to come off like a bear. It’s not that I don’t get why you did the whole over-the-top-sweet act, but it pisses me off that you had to. That’s not who you are.”
“Oh, and you know who I am?”
“Hell yeah, I do. You’re demanding and driven and you shouldn’t have to apologize for that. I like it.”
Madison blinked. No one liked her bossy ways. Her whole life, the fact that she had ideas and did something about them had drawn criticism and side eyes. But Roark didn’t see her nature as negative. He got her, he liked it, and more than anything, he treated her with respect.
“Well . . . you’re overbearing and kind of a know-it-all, but . . . I don’t mind.”
Roark’s smile warmed her insides more than any martini ever could. “Thanks. You’re also prickly and fine as hell. I mean that with the utmost respect.”
Her pulse jumped at his compliment. His appreciative gaze was one thing. Expressing attraction out loud . . . that was a whole other level.
Screw it. If he was bold enough to go there, so was she. “And you’re built like a brick house. Also respectfully.”
Roark slapped the bar, laughing.
“I think we’re a bit tipsy.”
“Yeah, we are.” He draped an arm over the back of his chair, facing her. His legs pressed against hers, his mouth close enough she could smell the sweet pomegranate on his breath. His eyes were the sky on a misty day, his jaw slightly darker this late at night, and, again, she wanted to touch. Reach out and run her hand over his jaw, down the strong line of his throat and into his shirt to see if he felt as warm as he looked.
“I should go to my room,” she choked out.
“Me too. I mean—”
“But first, I’m finishing this drink because it is not going to waste.”
They finished the last few wings and downed the rest of their drinks, with Steve cleaning up and sneaking glances at them. She caught Roark leaving a tip for Steve when they were finished. He grabbed his coat off the back of his chair and waited for her to slide out of her seat.
“’Night, Steve.” Madison waved and followed Roark out of the restaurant, keeping her gaze intently on the back of his head.
She might be ’tini tipsy, but she was not going to check out his ass again. Not going to happen. Her first day here, she’d noticed it—kind of hard not to. He still had the butt of a college baseball player. No need to be reminded of that fact, especially because right now she lacked her usual professional polish.
Tipsy Madison was 100 percent more likely to be obvious about checking him out and 200 percent more likely to say something about it.
“Hang on.” Roark stopped in front of the reception desk to grab his keys.
She dragged her gaze up to his face, just in time for him to catch her.
“Why don’t you live off-property?” she asked, before he could mention her checking him out.
“I like living here. I’m close if some minor emergency happens, which it always does, and I know what’s going on around here.”
Madison studied him once they got inside the elevator. “You mean you like to be close by so you can keep your nose stuck in everything and everyone’s business.”
“I do not keep my nose stuck in everything.”
She laughed in his face. “Don’t be ashamed. I’d be the same way. All up in everybody’s business so they don’t screw up. Or in case they do, you’re close by to fix it. I know how it is.”
“I’m sure I annoy the hell out of them.”
“Like I annoy the hell out of you.”
He turned to her as the doors opened to the third floor. “You don’t annoy me.”
“I annoy everyone.”
“Hey.” He followed her down the hall. “You don’t annoy me.”
“Maybe not yet, but you do realize I’ll only be more in your business, the closer this wedding gets.”
“So you’ve told me.”
“And you’re sure you’re going to be okay with that?”
“I’ll manage somehow.”
She peeked over to gauge his reaction as she spoke. “It’s been my experience that men, particularly male owners and managers of anything—inns, hotels, bars, restaurants, barns, gazebos—all have a hard time relinquishing even half of the reins to anyone, but especially to a woman.”
“Have you met my sister? Do you think she waits for me to relinquish anything? When I don’t relinquish, she snatches it out of my damn hand. I think you and I will work together fine.”
“This is different. I’m not family.”
“I know.”
“I’m not your baby sister. I’m a stranger. Taking over your hotel for a few days.”
“But that was our deal. I’ll have to adjust.”
“I probably won’t remember to say please and thank you a lot. I’m not always nice and sweet like that.”
As they reached her room, he stopped and turned to her. “Well, you are nice to the Trout.”
She shoved playfully at his arm.
“Maybe you’re not normally sugary sweet, but so what? You don’t have to defend your disposition to me. I like it.” Roark glanced down to where her hand had landed, still resting on his forearm. His gaze caught hers and she knew the look—heat growing, darkening his eyes.
She was playing with fire. They’d openly admitted they found each other attractive. The chemistry was pretty damn obvious.
Two mature grown-ups could say, Hey, I think you’re hot and you think I’m hot, we obviously both find each other attractive and stimulating, but we’ve got shit to do. Important shit that affects both of our careers. So we are not going to complicate matters by hopping in the sack together and getting naked and sweaty. Because that would be unwise.
Roark leaned heavily against the doorframe of her ro
om, his gaze hooded like maybe that pink drink was having some lingering effects.
She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to say here. You’re right, I’m not sweet. Want to find out how much? That wasn’t even in the realm of possibility.
Okay, it kind of was, but not in the realm of wise. She could not hook up with Roark Bradley while putting together the wedding that would make or break her. Enough to-dos sat on her plate right now, and they weren’t about doing Roark.
It would be the height of stupidity to take a situation, currently rolling along fine, and muck it up with something complicated. She was a smart woman. No matter how delicious he looked right now, all relaxed, his jaw a little softer, finally some freaking stubble making itself known so that his lips looked that much pinker . . .
“You’re staring at my mouth.” Roark’s voice came out low and gravelly.
“What?” She pinched her lips together, jerking her gaze to his eyes.
“My mouth. You keep staring at it.”
“So?”
“So. I wanted to kiss you before the staring. You keep looking at me like that and I will.”
Madison swallowed back a whimper, her heart hammering in her chest. She wanted him to kiss her. Then it could be his fault. She wasn’t the one stepping out of line into the land of unprofessional liaisons. Roark was.
She looked away and counted to ten. Her door was right there. Turn the key, go inside. It would be so easy to be a good girl right now.
Madison licked her lips, slowly dragging her gaze to Roark’s, before intentionally staring at his mouth.
He said something on a harsh whisper, something like thank god. Then Roark grabbed her and pressed his lips to hers.
She didn’t bother with hesitancy. Who was she kidding anyway? Madison curled her fingers around Roark’s tie and dragged him closer. He kissed the same way he looked, strong and smooth and in control. Oh, how she longed to make him lose control.
She licked against his lips, an invitation for him to do the same. A low growl rumbled in his chest and he turned her, moving until her back hit the door. Roark opened, licking his way inside her mouth to kiss her fully. His mouth was hot, the late-night stubble the perfect burn against her skin. Again she imagined it rubbing against her elsewhere and gasped.
A Moment of Bliss Page 9