Taking a Shot

by Taryn Leigh Taylor

  “I would say that our track record proves the opposite. This is pretty damn good when we do it.”

  So, so good.

  “You know what I mean.”

  Brett sighed, confirming that he did. She looked up as he mimicked her action, sliding his big shoulders down the wall until he was sitting beside her.

  “So, uh, why did you do this, anyway?” Brett gave her a once-over, but this one was speculative and not laced with sexual innuendo. “You don’t seem the hit-and-run type.”

  The matter-of-factness of his statement hurt a little. Chelsea wasn’t sure why. It was true. It had been completely out of character for her. That had been the whole point. Deep down, she’d liked the idea that they’d never see each other again, that the bold, daring version of her would live in his memory even after she went back to being staid, boring Chelsea.

  But instead, here they were. Smack dab in the middle of reality.

  “It was the most irresponsible thing I could think of.”

  To her surprise, Brett chuckled at that, and the rough, low sound of it rumbled through her. “I think there’s an insult in there somewhere.”

  “If there is, it’s self-directed,” she confessed. “I’d just found out that my brother got the promotion I wanted, one that I worked my ass off to earn, and I was just so angry. I wanted to go out and forget.”

  “So you found out yesterday?”

  She shrugged guiltily, shame gnawing at her gut.

  Brett scratched his eyebrow with his thumb. “And that’s the big announcement your dad was about to make, the one we ducked out on?”

  Chelsea squeezed her eyes shut but forced herself to nod through the shame. It was official. She was a horrible person.

  When she opened her eyes again, she expected him to be at least partially as disgusted with her as she was with herself.

  “That’s so hot.”

  A bubble of mortified laughter escaped her. “Oh, yeah. I can tell me being jealous of my brother really turns you on.”

  “Are you kidding? I’m super into hot chicks with wildly successful brothers,” he teased, bumping her shoulder with his. “It’s totally my kink. Ask anyone.”

  Chelsea couldn’t help her wobbly smile. Her chest loosened at his kindness.

  That spark that seemed to simmer in her belly whenever he was near flared into something else.

  “I mean, there’s a chance there’s some other reason I’m turned on,” he offered, and those gray-blue eyes reflected the heat that was rushing through her veins. “Like the fact that you make that dress look really good. You might not know this about me, but I’ve got a thing for the color red. Gets me all hot and bothered thinking that maybe you wore it for me…”

  “How could I do that when I thought I’d never see you again?” The question was weak, a little breathless even, and her mind flashed back to the blue dress draped across the foot of her bed. The one she’d put on, then discarded, remembering the way his husky voice had reverberated in her chest whenever he called her Red. The confidence their tryst had given her as she’d donned the scarlet fabric. In a way, she had worn it for him. For the memory of the best sex she’d ever had.

  “Did you think I was the one-night-stand type last night?”

  Brett’s gaze flicked up from her lips. “What?”

  “You said I didn’t strike you as the hit-and-run type, and I was just wondering if that was based more on meeting me today and seeing me in my natural habitat or—”

  “It was based on everything.” He didn’t even pause to consider. “From the minute you bumped into me at the bar until now.”

  Chelsea frowned, dissecting that. “So you didn’t get, like, a bad girl vibe at any point?”

  “I did not.”

  “Not even while I was seducing you?”

  “When you seduced me?” Brett grinned, and her frown deepened. “Well, I mean, I guess you did, but…”

  “But? There is no but.”

  “But,” he said again, making her frown, “the reason you seduced me is because you weren’t that good at it.”

  She shook her head. “I’m not following.”

  “You were cute.”

  “No. I was sexy.”

  “Sure, but like, cute-sexy.”

  She crossed her arms. Cute. Good. Punctual. Why did she always get all the boring adjectives? Cute was the worst one, too, because she’d been trying so hard to be something else. “That’s an awful thing to say to someone.”

  “What? No, it’s not. What’s wrong with cute?”

  “Cute is for puppies, not adult women. I want to be sexy. Dangerous.”

  He grinned. “You’re the only woman I’ve ever met who doesn’t know how to take a compliment.”

  “Maybe I’m just the first woman you’ve ever met who’s willing to tell you that you’re not very good at compliments.”

  Brett laughed. “That’s probably more likely.”

  She wished she hadn’t said it. It reminded her of all the sexy, dangerous women who must throw themselves at him on a regular basis. Like Priscilla. Women who knew what they were doing. Women who didn’t need compliments to be seduced because they were the ones doing the seducing.

  And she was just the cute girl who was so bad at flirting, he’d taken pity on her. How depressing.

  “We should get back to the party.”

  “Probably.”

  There was something about the way he said it, not with dread, exactly, but definitely a close relative of dread, that made her pride bristle a little bit. It was a solid party. Maybe not her very best, but there was no reason he should want to avoid it completely. “You’re not having a good time?”

  “It’s not my favorite part of the job. I don’t really excel at schmoozing. Too much of a screw-up, I guess. I’m never at my best when I’m expected to behave.”

  Chelsea couldn’t relate.

  Sexy. Dangerous. Rebellious.

  Those were Brett’s adjectives, and they were three very good reasons why she couldn’t give in to this again. For a woman who scheduled everything down to the second, it was humbling to have her foray into debauchery imploding so spectacularly. She’d planned for every eventuality. Except seeing him again.

  She started when he caught the end of one of her curls between his thumb and forefinger.

  “Now, when I’m not on my best behavior…” His voice was pitched low, and despite her best intentions, she leaned toward him, not wanting to miss a word. “That’s usually when things get really interesting.”

  She only had a second to process the approaching peril before he dropped the lock of her hair so he could cup her jaw in his big hand. His touch burned with promise, and her brain muted the alarm that her good sense had been trying to sound.

  Why shouldn’t she have this? One more kiss wouldn’t hurt anything, she reasoned, even as her eyelids fluttered shut in anticipation. Brett’s hand slid further into her hair, and her breath puffed from her lips when her stomach flipped with anticipation.

  Such an innocent touch, and she was on fire for him.

  When the kiss still didn’t come, Chelsea opened her eyes, surprised to find Brett staring at her face with such intensity.

  “Definitely sexy,” he breathed, his thumb tracing the bottom curve of her lips. Then his eyes flicked up to hers, and she jerked at the jolt of the connection. “Definitely dangerous.”

  Then he leaned in, and kissed her so softly, with such restraint, that she sighed at the perfection of it, even as she leaned forward to deepen the pressure.

  That drew a soft chuckle from him, and Chelsea shivered as he buried his hand deeper in her hair and kissed her senseless. Drugging, open-mouthed kisses, soft and exploratory, the way she’d dreamed about being kissed in high school but never had been. He kept the pace leisurely, restrained and coaxing, not aggressive. The sweetness of the kiss caught her by surprise, like fruity umbrella drinks that went down so smooth, you didn’t realize you were on your way to being dru
nk until you were already there. She’d shot right past lust-tipsy and straight to lust-drunk, ready to tear off her dress, not caring if anyone found them.

  She actually gave a disappointed cry when he pulled his mouth from hers and pressed their foreheads together. “You were not the plan,” he told her, and it kind of sounded like a compliment to her kiss-drugged mind. Which was weird, since Chelsea usually hated anything that ruined plans. “Okay, Red. You’d better get back to your party or I won’t be responsible for my actions.”

  She couldn’t stop the grin that split her face. “Ha! Because I seduced you! And not in a cute way. In a sexy way. Admit it.”

  His skepticism crumpled up his face, and she realized that maybe cute-sexy wasn’t such an awful thing to say about someone, because it was working for Brett in a big way right now.

  “I don’t know if I’d go that far. You’re being pretty damn cute right now. And we’re both still wearing all our clothes.”

  Chelsea levered herself up onto her hands and knees, bringing their mouths into tantalizing proximity. She was fully aware his gaze dropped quickly to her cleavage spilling out of the dress before he met her eyes.

  “But you kind of wish we weren’t, right?”

  He swallowed. “Since the first second I saw you.”

  Her mouth fell open at the sincerity lacing his deep voice. Damn. He was really good at this.

  Brett pressed a swift, hard kiss to her lips, pulling back right when she’d intended to let it spiral to its inevitable conclusion. “Now, get out of here before you seduce me any more than you already have, and I’m doomed to spend the rest of the night in this damn alcove.”

  The speedy change between seduction and laughter had her feeling a little off-balance as she pushed to her feet, and a mini-avalanche of pins spilled forgotten from her fingers.

  “Oh! Crap. My hair.”

  “It looks good the way it is,” he told her, stalling her before she bent down to retrieve them. “I like it down. Falling over your shoulders.”

  The compliment warmed her.

  Brett was right. They’d be announcing the winners of the silent auction soon, so that would take most of the focus. People had a few drinks in them. She could leave the heavy schmoozing to Andrew and just worry about taking care of the background details and no one would even notice.

  “Before you go…”

  “Yes?” The word came out too eagerly, letting her know that, for all her bravado, he was definitely the one in charge of the seduction right now.

  He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. “Give me your number.”

  The digits spilled out of her mouth in a giddy rush, and she forced herself to take a deep, calming breath when he tucked his cell back into his suit jacket.

  What kind of tacit agreement had they just entered into? Surely he wouldn’t have asked for her phone number if he didn’t intend to contact her. But they really shouldn’t draw this out. He was a hockey player. She was the owner’s daughter. That was a conflict of interest or something, wasn’t it?

  But even as her brain laid out all the reasons it was better to leave their night together in the past, her hormones levied persuasive counter-arguments.

  He was so beautiful. When would she ever get to touch abs like his again? And there was so much of his body that she barely had the chance to explore…

  “Okay, you need to go now, or I’m definitely going to put this alcove to better use.”

  “What? Oh. Right. The party. Work,” she corrected with a firm nod of her head, an attempt to dissipate the fantasies swirling through her imagination. “So, what you said. I’m going to go. Now. But it was nice seeing you again.” And then, before she could stop herself, she actually extended her arm for a freakin’ handshake!

  Ugh.

  She wanted to die. And that was before his mouth hitched up at the corner, letting her know there was no good way to extricate herself from this blunder. Her skin flamed with embarrassment as he raised an eyebrow at her proffered hand.

  Chelsea snatched it back.

  “Shut up,” she said, squaring her shoulders as she stepped out of the alcove and into the hallway. She ignored his soft chuckle on the other side of the curtain as she strode back to the ballroom.

  Chapter Nine

  “There you are.”

  Chelsea hadn’t made it three steps into the party before Shanna appeared beside her.

  “What happened to your hair?”

  “Nothing. Nothing happened to my hair.”

  “I watched you put it up,” Shanna reminded her.

  No one will notice, huh? She shouldn’t have listened to Brett. Or dragged Brett off to an alcove. Or made out with Brett up against the wall. Or on the floor. “It was giving me a headache.”

  Shanna’s expression proved Chelsea wasn’t fooling anyone. “You’re acting really weird tonight.”

  “No, I’m not.” Or at least she wouldn’t be, if she could just stop her compulsive door watching, in anticipation of a certain tall-dark-and-tempting’s imminent return to the ballroom, and focus.

  “Then why are you hiding out over here by the dessert table?”

  “I’m not hiding out. I’m…assessing product consumption,” Chelsea countered. “The tarts really aren’t moving. We should definitely adjust our catering order for casino night.”

  “Oh, I see.” Shanna’s assessing gaze struck chills down Chelsea’s spine. “You should probably make a note of that. But you can’t. Because for the first time in history, you and this clipboard have been separated for almost thirty minutes!”

  Thirty gloriously sexy minutes.

  Chelsea reached for the clipboard, but Shanna pulled it just out of her grasp at the last second.

  “Honestly, Chelsea. We’ve been friends since kindergarten. You think I don’t know when you’re being weird? Now tell me everything, or the clipboard gets it.”

  Squeezing her eyes closed, Chelsea made herself woman up. Just say it. “He’s here.” She cracked one eye open, checking Shanna’s reaction. Her friend’s eyebrows had disappeared beneath her bangs.

  “He? He who?”

  Chelsea opened her other eye and sighed. “My one-night stand.”

  “What?” Shanna’s gasp drew the attention of a couple of older ladies debating the merits of indulging in the lemon tarts, and Chelsea smiled apologetically as she tugged her friend away from the food to the wall near the doorway.

  “He’s here? Oh my God! You told me you didn’t know him!”

  Chelsea capitalized on her friend’s shock to steal her clipboard back.

  “I didn’t know him.” And it was supposed to have stayed that way. Not culminated in Round Two: Alcove Shenanigans.

  “But all these people are long-term donors. They’ve all been to a million of these things. Oh my God! Did you sleep with one of the catering people? Is it the guy who was hawking the bacon-wrapped scallops?” Shanna’s expression grew contemplative. “Because he is sort of hot in a ‘leave the bowtie on’ kind of way and—”

  “I slept with the new guy.”

  There. She’d said it. Her secret wasn’t a secret anymore. And it wasn’t so bad.

  It was better to have things out in the op—

  “Wait, what?”

  She’d never heard Shanna shriek before. This time Chelsea pulled her friend farther toward the corner.

  “Oh my God! Are you telling me that eggplant-emoji-thumbs-up-emoji is Brett Sillinger?”

  Unlike her, Shanna occasionally watched hockey.

  “Yes. And I’m trying to only tell you, so keep your voice down, okay? Also, please stop saying ‘Oh my God’ so much. It’s not that big a deal.”

  “It’s a massive deal. It’s a six-foot, two-hundred-pounds-worth-of-muscle deal.”

  Of course, Shanna would know stats like that. Analytical to the end.

  “What are you going to do? I mean, are you happy to see him?”

  Chelsea contemplated the questions. Happy wasn’t the f
irst adjective that popped to mind. Desperate for skin-to-skin contact, on the other hand…

  “But then again, you’re sort of technically coworkers. Is it awkward?”

  The observation snapped Chelsea out of a lusty flashback. “We’re not coworkers.”

  “I mean, kind of. Like, coworkers once removed. He’s on the team. You coordinate fundraising and community outreach events for the team. Did you talk to him? What did he say? Oh my G—”

  Shanna caught herself at Chelsea’s dark look.

  “Your dad would freak out if he knew. I know, and I’m freaking out. How are you? Are you freaking out?”

  “I was doing much better before I told you, that’s for sure.” Chelsea’s gaze darted around the ballroom. Still no sign of Brett. She didn’t like not knowing where he was. It made her nervous. As if he might show up behind her at any time, and tell her a dirty fairy tale, and that would force her to jump his bones in an attempt to ease the ache between her legs that came from knowing really good sex was just a bone-jump away.

  Shanna took a couple of deep breaths. “Okay, you’re right. Damage is done. We just move forward and treat this like any other party-planning snafu. We just come up with a plan and we execute.” She was blessedly quiet for a beat. Then she added, “What do we do?”

  “We just play it cool.” No big deal.

  Shanna nodded. “I like it. I see where you’re going with this. Just one problem.”

  “What’s that?”

  “We’re not cool. We are the antithesis of cool.”

  Chelsea glanced over, unable to hold back a snort of laughter despite her agitated state, and it was nice to share a smile with her friend. It was the most normal she’d felt all evening. The dissipation of tension was exactly what she needed, because then Shanna sighed, a dreamy kind of sigh that prickled along the back of Chelsea’s neck. She turned her head to follow her friend’s sightline, her moment of equanimity vanishing in a poof of hormones.

  And there was Brett, striding through the party like he owned the room.

  And there was that good sex ache. Bam. Pow. Right in the ovaries.