“Sheets! And a fuzzy robe? She thought of everything.” She slid her hand over the plush, white material. “Ooh, it’s so soft.”
He should move away from the warmth of her body seeping through the sleeve of his shirt, yet he was entranced watching her rub her palm back and forth across the fuzzy robe. He imagined her doing the same to his chest, and his stomach, and lower.
A sharp jolt of lust made him suck in a breath.
“I love these towels. And there’s a gift card—no, two gift cards! This is so nice. Your mom is the best.”
He grit his teeth. “You said that already.”
She shot him a belligerent frown through her long, sooty lashes. “Well, she is. Unlike you.”
There we go. Thank you.
He gave her a tight smile and finally stepped back from her heat. “On that note, you have a good night. Maybe stop drinking and eat something.”
She raised her glass and took a deep swallow, her gaze defiant.
“Or not,” he murmured sarcastically.
When she lowered the glass and licked at the wine on her wet lips, he fisted his hands against the urge to grab her and kiss her. Would she taste as good as she smelled?
Whoa. No way. Time to get the fuck out.
He spun around and headed for the door.
“Hey!”
Her exclamation brought him back around to find her watching him with an intensity that made his heart thud hard. She knows. She’d read his mind and knew he wanted to kiss her and taste her and touch her until—
Fuck, man, stop thinking!
“You’re an accountant, right?”
He blinked at the unexpected question. “Uh…yeah.”
“I can’t get my numbers to add up.”
Confusion creased his brow as lust still revved his pulse. “What?”
“My numbers.” She waved her hand as if he would magically understand. “Downstairs on my computer. I can’t get the numbers to work, and it’s driving me crazy.” She lifted her glass. “Driving me to drink cra-zee.”
He moved closer again, and braced one palm on the kitchen counter. “Are you talking about your business?”
“Ye-es.” She nodded while drawing out the word as if he was an idiot.
“Don’t you have an accountant to manage your books for you?”
“She left me.” After another sip, she lowered the glass and pouted. “She got married and left, and now everything’s all messed up. What am I doing wrong?”
“First off, it sounds like you should’ve gotten another accountant,” he said wryly. “Second, I’d have to actually look at the numbers to tell you what you’re doing wrong.”
Not that he would, though.
Her head tilted, those pretty brown eyes of hers full of surprising curiosity. “Do you actually like numbers?”
“I do.”
“Why? They’re so annoying when they don’t add up.”
A reluctant smile tugged at his mouth. “But they’re perfect when they do.”
She squinted as if trying to make sense of that in her head. “But why do you like them?”
And the wine wins.
“One plus one equals two. The answer is either right or wrong, there are no gray areas. They can’t say yes one minute and change their mind the next.”
Her confused frown was almost comical.
“Numbers don’t lie like people do,” he explained simply. “What you see is what you get.” Unlike both of his ex-fiancés.
Now her eyebrows lifted as she gave a sage nod. “I can see people.”
The simple statement started his pulse racing again, even though her words told him she still didn’t grasp his meaning.
“I can see if they’re happy or sad or mad. Sometimes, if they’re good, or bad.” Her brow wrinkled. “If they hurt and need help.”
Then again, maybe she did grasp his meaning just fine. What she saw is what she got.
Or what she thought she saw, he corrected in his mind.
What she pretended to see?
It dawned on him this could be the perfect opportunity to put her to the test. With her guard down and her loose tongue, he could prove she was a fraud like all the people at that damn psychic hotline. He’d called the cops to report their fraud on his non-wedding day, but they’d already skipped town, so he never got his justice.
“What do you see when you look at me?” he asked.
She stared at him with that eerie intensity brightening her eyes again.
He suppressed a shiver. He didn’t believe she was a real psychic, and yet his heart pounded high in his throat at the possibility she would see something he didn’t want her to see—something he didn’t want anyone to see.
For the first time ever, he noticed her thick-lashed eyes weren’t a plain, chocolate brown. There were intriguing, subtle variations of dark and light that could apparently mesmerize a guy into letting her look deep into his soul.
Holy fuck, he was in trouble.
And yet, he couldn’t look away.
After a long moment, she looked away and reached for her glass. “I can’t read you. I’ve never been able to read you.”
Relief released his trapped breath, followed by the oddest sense of disappointment.
Then again, how convenient. “Why not?”
“I don’t know.” That note of belligerence crept back into her voice. “Some people I can’t read. It’s not that big a deal. I can’t read my mother, either.” She took a gulp from her glass, then muttered into her wine, “Don’t need to read her to know she’s no good.”
He frowned at that comment. It didn’t sound like she had a good relationship with her mother.
“Don’t need to read you either,” she added as she pushed to her feet.
To know I’m no good?
He had no time to ponder that question as she swayed hard. Loyal lunged forward and caught her before she fell flat on her face. When she was somewhat steady on her feet, he took her almost-empty glass with his free hand and transferred it to the kitchen counter.
“Hey. Gimmie that back.”
“Nope. You’re done for the night.”
“You’re not the boss of me.” She tried to shake him off, but her inebriated efforts were laughable at best.
“Come on.” He got a firm grip on her arms and turned her around so he could march her ahead of him. “It’s time for bed.”
“Ooooh.” She did drunken jazz hands as she stumbled back against him. “Loyal’s going to bed with the whack-job.”
He snorted even as the brush of her ass against the front of his pants got his blood flowing fast and furious. Steady pressure on her arms put a few inches between them and started her moving forward. “I’m not going to bed with you, Roxanna, I’m putting you to bed to sleep it off.”
“I need to sleep you off,” she muttered under her breath.
His pulse skipped a beat, and he gave her a sideways glance as they reached the bedroom. “What does that mean?”
“It means you’re no good for me.”
Well, that actually might be true, but why was she saying it? Why would she even think it?
He steered her to the bed and turned her again to sit her down. After a moment of scrutiny, he kneeled and started untying her girly combat boots. She braced her hands on the edge of the mattress and leaned forward. He caught a stronger whiff of peppermint as those long, wavy locks of hers spilled down to bracket both sides of his head, the tips brushing against his forearms. The thought of her hair brushing other parts of his body made his erection throb and had him biting back a groan.
A swift upward glance caught her watching him, her brown eyes shadowed with an emotion he couldn’t identify. Or maybe didn’t want to identify.
“What did I ever do to you that you gotta be so mean to me all the time?” she asked.
He swallowed hard and dropped his attention back to her boots. That’s what he hadn’t wanted to put a name to. She looked hurt—sounded hurt. As if the th
ings he’d said to her over the years had mattered to her. But she always got so defensive, and in his mind, her fierce anger only confirmed the guilt of her profession and justified each accusation and insult he’d uttered.
But what if he’d just been hurting her all this time? Every thing he’d said, like a slice with a knife he couldn’t take back.
Guilt swirled with shame as he pulled off her unlaced boot and moved to the other.
“Loyal.”
The plea in her voice tripped his pulse and drew his head up like a magnet.
“Why do you hate me?”
“I don’t hate you, Roxanna.” The denial was self-defensive and automatic, and yet with his next breath, he realized it was true. He didn’t hate her, he hated what his mind said she represented.
He pulled off her other boot and set it next to the first, then avoided her gaze as he rose and dragged the covers back. “Come on. Get in bed.”
“Kiss me.”
He jerked his gaze to hers, his fingers clenching on the comforter. “What?”
“Kiss me.” She reached up to grab a handful of his shirt. “Just once.”
His body screamed yes, but somehow he managed to shake his head. “You’re drunk. You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“I’m asking you to kiss me. Come on, it won’t kill you.”
No, but her begging might.
“You’d hate yourself in the morning,” he predicted as he resisted her pull on his shirt. “You’d hate me in the morning.”
“I hate you now.”
The words stung more than he ever would’ve thought possible, and yet something in her eyes weakened his resistance.
“Help me sleep you off, Loyal. Please.”
Geezus fuck. He’d never heard the word please used so effectively before in his life. When she arched her eyebrows and tucked the corner of her bottom lip between her teeth as those beautiful brown eyes beseeched him, he was toast.
He sidestepped and leaned down to cover her mouth with his in one smooth motion. Her lips were soft, and a swipe of his tongue gave him a citrusy taste of wine and Roxanna.
It was so wrong, but he wanted more. From one heartbeat to the next, he needed more.
Her lips parted with a soft sigh, and he tilted his head to dip his tongue inside her mouth. She brought her free hand up to the back of his head, spearing her fingers into his hair as her other hand held tight to his shirt. His heart thudded hard as desire surged through him, urging him to stroke deep and explore all she offered.
As her tongue tangled with his, she leaned back, pulling him with her. He caught himself from falling on top of her with his hands braced beside her shoulders. The urge to climb up onto the bed and cover her body with his almost overrode the little voice in his head telling him to stop.
She’s too drunk. She really will hate me in the morning—and herself.
Loyal reluctantly broke the kiss and eased back. Roxanna made a sound of protest, her hand still fisted in his shirt.
“We can’t,” he said as he tried to pry her fingers from the material.
“Why not?” she asked with a frown. “Cuz you don’t like me?”
“You don’t like me,” he countered. “And you’re drunk. You don’t know what you’re doing.”
“I’m not that drunk.”
He scoffed. “Yes you are, otherwise you would have tossed me out the moment I set the basket down.” Especially if she’d been able to read his mind on what he wanted to do to her. With her. It would shock the hell out of her…like it did him.
“You think I’m so drunk and lonely, I’d have dragged any man who showed up at my door with presents into the bedroom?”
Would she have?
He was astonished all over again to realize it disturbed him that she might have. It bothered him she might be lonely enough that any man would do.
And yet the alternative wasn’t any better, was it? She hadn’t dragged him to the bedroom, but she had practically begged him to stay.
What was it she’d said…help me sleep you off.
As if she needed to get over him like she needed to get over being drunk. But that couldn’t be. She hated him. She’d even said so before he kissed her. The alcohol should make her more truthful, right?
Confusion swirled as his body urged him to do one thing while his mind emphatically ordered the opposite.
Before he could decide, Roxanna went from holding him close to shoving him away.
“Get out.” Then she rolled over and crawled up to the pillows at the head of the bed. As she fumbled to get beneath the covers, she grumbled, “I don’t need a jerk like you in my life. No one does—which is probably why both your fiancés left you. The second one wised up just in the nick of time.”
Her words struck a raw nerve deep inside. His jaw clenched as he glared at her from beside the bed. “You don’t have a fucking clue what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, but I do. I know all about you, Loyal Diamond.” She smirked at him as she dragged the second pillow into her arms. “Maybe if you weren’t so uptight and judgmental, a woman might actually like you.”
He’d dated since his last fiancé. In Texas—and here—there were more than enough women who wanted him. Like Merit, he never lacked for female companionship when he wanted it, he just didn’t flaunt it like his younger brother.
“Plenty of women like me, Roxanna.”
“If you’re any good in bed, I’m sure they do.”
If?
“But looks and sex and money’ll only get you so far.” Lying on her side, she hugged the pillow to her chest and closed her eyes. “You gotta be worthy of what the other person gives you, and you aren’t worthy of much.”
She was getting awfully deep for a person who hadn’t been able to get her numbers to add up when she was sober. Problem was, she was hitting a little too close to home, making him leery of that psychic shit again.
He took a breath to argue, but then pressed his lips together when he realized she was out cold, just that fast. Damn woman hit him with a poison-tipped barb and then went right to sleep without a care in the world.
As he spun on his heel and strode from the room, he justified that right there was part of why he’d been mean to her over the years. Because she was so damn good at being mean right back.
Chapter 8
Roxanna rolled over, then let out a low moan as her head protested the movement. God, her mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and she was all hot and sweaty. She listlessly pushed the covers down and pulled out her arm to rest over her aching forehead. Last thing she clearly recalled was her frustration with her accounting program before coming upstairs with a bottle of wine.
Then things got fuzzy.
She had a vague memory of Loyal inside the apartment, but that didn’t make sense, because she’d specifically checked to make sure he’d left.
Her mind strayed back to the word accounting, and her eyes popped open. She had to open the shop.
“Shit!”
Panic had her scrambling to get out of bed, but her legs tangled in the sheets. As pain hammered at her head, she realized part of the problem was she was still wearing her long skirt. Man, she must’ve really been out of it to crawl into bed with all her clothes on.
The struggle to free herself only magnified her headache, so she took a breath to calm down and squinted at the digital clock on the night stand. Relief eased her alarm when she saw it was twenty minutes after eight a.m. She didn’t open until nine, so she had time—even if it wasn’t much considering she needed to shower and pick out clean clothes off her clearance rack downstairs.
Moving more slowly, she managed to untangle her legs and sat on the edge of the bed. Her boots were set side by side in front of the nightstand, and she had a flash image of Loyal kneeling at her feet to take them off.
Oh, boy, that’s a new fantasy.
Wine on an empty stomach was officially a bad idea.
Actually, Loyal on his kne
es looks pretty good.
Apparently, the wine was still messing with her head.
And the rest of her, considering it still felt like it was a hundred degrees in the room even without the covers. She stripped off her skirt before heading straight for the bathroom to pee and gulp handfuls of water to wet her dry mouth.
As she leaned against the counter and tried to will her piercing headache away, she amended her earlier thought to—wine on an empty stomach is a horrible, no-good, stupid idea.
A hot shower helped some, but as a few more snippets of her alcohol-fueled dreams surfaced, she acknowledged she was going to need ibuprofen to assist with her oils this morning.
Extra strength—and fast.
She shut off the water and grabbed a towel to dry off. The idea of putting her dirty, sweaty clothes back on to go down to her shop made her wince. Then she noticed a fluffy white robe hanging on a hook on the back of the door.
That hadn’t been there yesterday, had it?
She must’ve missed it, but who cared? It was a godsend right now, because even though the back entrance to her shop and upstairs was private, going down there in a towel would have been weird. She slipped into the super soft robe and tied the sash as she stepped out of the bathroom to go get her bag of new underwear and bras off the counter in the kitchen.
“You doing okay this morning?”
Roxanna jumped and screamed at the sound of the gravelly voice from the couch. When the man of her dreams sat up, she sagged against the wall, head and heart pounding hard.
“Damn it, Loyal. You scared the shit out of me.”
“Sorry. I thought you saw me this time.”
No, but she was seeing him now. Acutely aware she was naked beneath the robe, her fingers clutched the material together at her throat as her gaze raked over his bare chest. She darted a glance to his clothes laid neatly across the arm of the neighboring recliner and wondered if he’d slept in the nude again or left his briefs on.
Stiffening her spine against the desire to find out, she demanded, “What the hell are you doing here? Asher said you moved to a hotel.”
Love Loyal and True Page 6