A Moment of Bliss

by Heather McGovern

  The small sound from her spurred him on. His hands in her hair, making her shiver. He shifted one hand around to the small of her back to bring her closer to him.

  What’s more, she wanted to be closer to him. She wanted to feel him against her, curl into his body and hide from the world. Let him shield her from everything while he touched her. Have him protect her and take her apart all at once.

  God, she was in over her head. Lusting for him was one thing. Liking him was another. But she couldn’t stop.

  Sliding her hands down until she found the firm curve of defined abs, she curled her fingers in again, dragging them lower until Roark shuddered against her.

  “Damn.” The word was a rush of heat against her lips before he pushed into her, anchoring a hand on the door behind her. He kept the other in the small of her back, curving her into him.

  The hold on his control was shaken, his kisses needier, and it only made her want him more.

  She tilted her head back, hoping he’d get the hint and rub that stubbly jaw along her neck, down her chest. Oh god, maybe she’d have the pink burn to show for it tomorrow. She could only hope.

  Then the elevator dinged with a new arrival to the third floor.

  Roark pulled away from her at the exact same moment she pushed.

  “Shit,” he muttered, smoothing down his shirt with hands as shaky as Madison’s.

  She tucked her hair back and touched her face. Thoroughly kissed. That’s how she felt right now, and surely how she looked.

  Another step away from her to be at a decent distance, and Roark turned to say hello to two couples returning from a late night in town.

  “Evening.” Roark nodded.

  They all said hello, smiling at him and Madison, and studying both of them. They went into their separate rooms and Roark sighed, his shoulders slumping. “That wasn’t awkward.”

  Madison slipped her key in the lock and turned, easing it open.

  “Probably not a good look to find the owner in the hall . . .” He turned, but she was already in her room, blocking the doorway with her body.

  “That . . . that was my fault,” she said, her grip on the door tight enough to make her hand ache.

  “Fault implies that there’s a problem. I was right there with you, if you somehow missed my enthusiasm.”

  She stared at the plush cream-and-chocolate carpet and hardened her resolve. “I know. But I . . . we can’t jump into some . . . You know what, it’s late, we’ve both had drinks—”

  “We’re not drunk. You can’t brush this off like it’s the alcohol.”

  Her gaze locked with his. “I know. It’s not the martinis or the hour, it’s us. But we—I . . .” Can’t do this.

  Wanting his body, she could handle. But she liked Roark for more than just his looks, and that was way too much for her to cope with. She couldn’t trust her feelings. They’d been wrong too many times before. She absolutely could not screw up her big opportunity here. And that’s exactly what getting involved with Roark would do.

  “I know.” He scrubbed a hand over his hair, messing it up even more. “That went from zero to sixty really fast, but I don’t regret kissing you.”

  Speed wasn’t the issue; she was. He was the kind of man she’d always wished existed, but life had proven time and again that men like him weren’t real. If she let herself believe, allowed the hope in, she’d only be disappointed.

  She couldn’t make herself regret their kiss either, but she could ensure it wouldn’t happen again. “Good night, Roark.”

  He blinked, moving forward, his mouth open as if to argue. Then he stopped. “Good night, Madison.”

  Her grip still tight on the door, she closed it rather than watch him walk away.

  Chapter 9

  “It’s fine. It won’t be awkward.” Roark slipped on his shoes and rose from the couch in his room. He’d face Madison, if not first thing this morning, then sometime today. Surely they could both carry on with their jobs like consummate professionals, but a little self-pep talk never hurt anybody.

  “We’re both adults, we can go about our day without this getting in the way or causing a problem. It’ll be okay. I’m talking to myself, but other than that, it’s okay.”

  Beau woofed at him, visibly offended.

  “Sorry. I’m talking to you. Even better.”

  He grabbed his keys and Beau’s leash, and locked up behind him. The feeling wasn’t exactly relief that he didn’t bump into Madison in the elevator, but he’d file it under the same category. He wanted to see her, but he needed time to think of the perfect, casual, everything-is-cool-like-before line, and time to practice not reacting to seeing her. He didn’t want to run into her first thing in the morning.

  So he ran into her second thing in the morning.

  Madison sat in the great room, on the couch nearest the fireplace, in what Roark considered his favorite spot. Her laptop sat open on the coffee table, and she stared intently at the screen.

  He strolled by without engaging. It should be her call whether she wanted to talk to him or do the avoidance thing for a while. Last night had amped up fast. His intention was a kiss good night. It’d turned into them all but grinding on each other, up against her door.

  And it was awesome.

  “Roark,” she called out, flagging him over.

  He cleared his throat and walked over. She was not quite smiling as usual, and the sight was oddly reassuring.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” she said. “Sit down and I’ll introduce you.”

  “Introduce me?”

  “To Whitney and Jack.”

  He must’ve been scrunching his face, because she scrunched hers in return, jabbing a finger toward her laptop.

  “Hello?” The sweetest voice came out of the laptop, making Roark start. On the screen was Whitney Blake, strawberry-blond hair in a sloppy bun, wearing an oversized sweatshirt, curled up next to a guy who looked like he could’ve been brought in for questioning about an armed robbery.

  Jack Winter wasn’t all skin and bones like a lot of guitar players. He wasn’t Roark’s size, but he kept in shape. He had jet-black hair, a ring in his eyebrow, a few in each ear, a tattoo peeking up over the neck of his stretched-out T-shirt and flowing down along his arm.

  The two of them couldn’t look more like opposites, but their happiness oozed through the laptop.

  “Hey.” Roark waved at the laptop, feeling silly. Web chatting, or whatever, was not his thing.

  “Sit down.” Madison moved over and jerked her chin toward the spot next to her.

  He sat, the leather still warm from her body as she scooted in close so both of them could be seen through the computer’s camera.

  Whitney smiled into the screen, her teeth perfect. With her button nose and round cheeks on her slender face, she was cuter than a box of puppies. “We were just telling Madison thank you for whatever you guys said to Phil. He’s done a complete one-eighty on us.”

  Jack chimed in, his arm slung behind Whitney. “Yeah, he was in a piss-poor mood when he left here yesterday, but he rolled in late last night going on and on about the wedding. I don’t know how you convinced him, but thanks. We sure as hell couldn’t.”

  Whitney laughed, smiling at Jack as she leaned further into him. “We tried.”

  “Lot of good it did. Grumpy-ass bastard upset you.” Jack puckered up, accepting the pop kiss from her.

  Beside him, Madison shifted.

  The future bride and groom were head over heels in love, not quite to the point of being obnoxious, but enough to make him want to look away and give them some privacy.

  “And thanks again for letting us get married at Honeywilde.” Whitney flashed that smile into the webcam again.

  “You’re welcome.” Even though he wasn’t letting them. They were paying for every bit of it.

  “I’m sure Madison told you, but I love your inn. I used to visit there as a kid.”

  Madison shifted again, more this time, her leg
pressed warm against him. Roark glanced over from the corner of his eyes. She’d never mentioned a damn thing about it. The pressure against the side of his body was likely a silent plea not to sell her out, but it reminded him of last night: the firm length of her body, the softness of her curves, her pliant, welcoming mouth that gave and then took with equal enthusiasm.

  “I love Honeywilde,” Whitney was saying. “And the town, Windamere, is adorable, but kind of boho. It’s perfect! I was ten years old when we were at the inn one summer, and a couple got married. The ceremony was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. I haven’t been there since I was . . . oh gosh . . . eighteen?” She looked at Jack and he nodded. “Anyway, it’s always been special. And so romantic. I told Jack there is nowhere else. If I’m getting married, it has to be there.”

  This time, Roark did look over at Madison and waited until she met his gaze. She had the decency to look chagrined.

  He turned back to their rock-star couple. “It means a lot to us that you guys want to get married at Honeywilde. We’re thrilled to have you.” He could call Madison out, on camera, for not saying a word about Whitney being enamored with Honeywilde, about how this was the only place she wanted, and how he probably could’ve slapped an absurd price tag on the place and still gotten paid—but to what purpose?

  The last thing they needed was to rock the boat with clients who, right now, beamed with satisfaction and expectation. He’d also negotiated a damn good deal for the inn. Nothing to bellyache about there.

  Madison slid forward on the sofa, fingertips on the laptop. “We should probably go now. Still lots to do for your big day, deciding on the menu and photographers and such.”

  “And you’re clear on what we want?” Jack sat forward as well. His expression said this was one aspect of the wedding he had a strong opinion about. “No bird food. No servings the size of a quarter with compote anything or little-ass vegetables.” He ran a hand over his bed head. “There has to be real food.”

  “I know exactly what you’re looking for,” Madison assured him. “And trust me, this place doesn’t do little-ass food.”

  “Yes! Thank fuck!” Jack sat back, tugging at his shirt.

  Whitney nudged him in the ribs with her elbow. “Sounds great. Thanks again. We’ll see you both in a couple of weeks.” She waved into the camera, much like Roark had earlier.

  He waved back as Madison ended the call. She closed her laptop and slid back on the sofa, canting her posture to look at him.

  Roark turned as well, propping his elbow on the back of the couch. She did the tapping thing with her foot again, waiting. Whether her quiet was for him to crack and say something about Whitney’s comment, or to be the one to bring up last night, he wasn’t sure.

  Either way, he wasn’t talking first. Call him stubborn, but this time she needed to break the silence.

  There were no shining gold medallions on Madison’s shoes today, but little straps over the arch of short black boots, the silver buckle winking at him as she tapped. Fitted black pants wrapped over the miles and miles of her legs. How would it feel to have her legs around him, heels digging into his back? Or better yet, straddling his hips as she bore down on him, her pinned-up hair finally wild and loose, falling over his skin.

  “Go ahead and ask. I know you want to,” she said.

  Roark about swallowed his tongue. “Wh-um, what?”

  Madison lowered her chin, the daring back in her green eyes. “About what Whitney said. How much she loves Honeywilde and it’s the only place for her.”

  He was determined to find out the full truth there, but that wasn’t what was killing him at the moment. He shifted in his seat. “There was never any competition for Honeywilde, was there?”

  “No.”

  “Then you played me to get a better rate?”

  She bit at the inside of her cheek, her focus just over his shoulder as she nodded. “Troutman would’ve balked at your original price and I knew I’d have to get past him to make the deal. Sorry. I wasn’t actively trying to manipulate you, but . . . I had to do what I had to do.”

  He thought about how she’d been with Troutman, spinning whatever tale was required to get the job done. Her client wanted Honeywilde and, by god, she’d gotten them Honeywilde.

  “All’s fair in business. Don’t ever apologize for being good at what you do.” Roark patted the back of the sofa and rose to his feet.

  Madison stared up at him, wariness etched between her brows. “Wait. You’re not angry about it?”

  “Why would I be angry? Yeah, I could’ve named my price and you maybe would’ve paid it, but then again, it could’ve been too high to appease Troutman, and then Honeywilde loses altogether. Plus, maybe now I can guilt you into a little extra promotional contact. Seeing as how you played me and all.” He smiled down at her, half kidding, half meaning every word. Particularly the part about her not apologizing for doing a successful job.

  “Oh, I see.” She smiled back and rose to her feet. “Do a little extra to assuage my guilt?”

  He shrugged. “Sure. If you feel like it. Sophie found out about an annual issue that a publication called Carolina Style does. The best weddings, parties, and social events of the year. You should check that out.”

  “I will, but I don’t get you.”

  “I know. I’m an enigma like that. An enigma who needs some coffee.” Roark stretched, craning his neck to spot two coffee carafes on the brass trolley. “Wonder if Wright made the Harvest Blend today.”

  “Normally, if I one-up a man I’m working with, he’s pissed. For days. Possibly forever.”

  “It’s not like you bled me dry. I’m still coming out of this smelling like . . . cookies.”

  She rolled her eyes, but he could tell she wanted to smile again.

  He headed to the coffee trolley and Madison followed him over. “Business is business,” he told her. “My feelings don’t get hurt over it. I don’t know what kind of people you’re used to working with, but if the Trout is any indication, I hope you recognize that I am not like that.”

  Roark filled a mug and refilled Madison’s. He took a sip of his coffee while Madison warmed her hands around hers.

  “So . . . are we going to talk about last night or pretend it didn’t happen?” she asked.

  His sip went down as a scalding gulp. “You’ve gone and brought it up now, so, yeah?”

  She looked around the empty great room. “We’re adults. We can discuss it.”

  “You shut the door in my face. I took that to mean end of discussion.”

  “I did not shut the door in your—”

  “You made a swift exit. I get it, but I can’t pretend it didn’t happen. I know there’s chemistry here and sparkizzle, but now isn’t the time or place.”

  “Spar—what?”

  “Hey! There y’all are.” Sophie rushed toward them. “Heads up. Wright and Dev are on the prowl. Wright wants to talk wedding and weekend food, Dev wants to talk parties, and you know how they get when on their respective topics, so if you don’t have time to get into it, you better get out now while the gettin’ is good.”

  “Take a breath, Sis.”

  “I’m serious. You know how they are. These boys corner you and your marshmallow is toasted.”

  “Roark,” Devlin shouted across the great room.

  “Too late.” Sophie stepped past them to get to the coffee.

  Devlin came over, Wright beside him with his hand out, ready to greet them. “’Morning. Nice to finally meet you,” he said to Madison. “Don’t get out of the kitchen too often for too long.”

  “I’m a big fan of your work already.”

  Devlin poured himself and Wright cups of coffee and handed one over. “We wanted to talk to you about the food, the rehearsal party, and any other entertainment you want for the weekend.”

  “Yeah.” Wright nodded. “If you have a couple of minutes this morning.”

  Madison looked back and forth at both of them, then at Roark
. Yesterday she’d been busy from sunup to sundown. He could only imagine what was on her agenda today, but he bet it didn’t include this powwow.

  Roark tried to help. “I’m not sure there’s going to be other entertainment that weekend or that now’s the best time to discuss it.”

  Devlin cut his eyes at him. “We need to talk about it sometime. Why not now?”

  Roark opened his mouth to respond.

  “Now works.” Madison stepped in with the slightest touch on Roark’s arm. “I have a few minutes, and if Wright has a moment, I’ll take advantage of it.”

  “I’m all yours until someone shows up for breakfast.” Wright held his arm out toward the seating by the fireplace. He took the chair nearest Madison’s laptop and portfolio, leaving Roark to sit with her on the couch again, and Dev in the opposite chair, his long legs stretched out.

  Sophie half sat on the arm of Wright’s chair. “If I see any guests stirring, I’ll yell.”

  “Do you have an idea of the menus you want for the weekend?” Wright leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

  Roark laughed. “No tiny food was a pretty clear vote.”

  Madison leaned toward him. “Exactly. No tiny food. I’d like the menus to be the antithesis of the usual wedding food.” She opened her portfolio and clicked her pen.

  “Our clients are artistic and eclectic; their friends and families are as well. We’ll need a vegetarian option for every meal.”

  “Not a problem. We keep vegetarian items on every menu.”

  They went on to discuss each menu in detail, debating the pros and cons of items and when to serve.

  Madison wrote in her portfolio, her elbow bumping against Roark with every word. He caught himself watching her write, the quick strokes of the black pen, her long, slender fingers. When he jerked his gaze up, he caught his brother and sister watching him.

  Sophie smiled and looked away, but Devlin studied him, his expression fathomless, as he spoke. “What about optional entertainment for the guests? They’ll be here for two or three days. If they want to do more than sit and read all day, we could have some options available.”

  “And add to our list of things to get done?” Roark countered. Because it wouldn’t be Devlin organizing the tiny details, it’d be him or Madison or Sophie.