with notches in his bedposts? Some guy intent on dragging her home and ravishing her, then dumping her without a second thought? Pete winced inwardly. The description might have applied to him at one time. But Nora Pierce wasn’t the type of woman a guy loved and left. She was different. Special. There was a vulnerability behind her tremulous smile that made him want to protect her, rather than take advantage.
Maybe it would be better to go directly to Ellie, Pete mused. After all, she’d accompanied Nora to the bar. Certainly, she’d have some influence on Nora’s behavior. And if Ellie wasn’t cooperative, he’d enlist Sam’s help. Pete spun around on his bar stool and ordered a whiskey, neat. When the bartender delivered the drink, Pete gulped it down and ordered another. “This is the end of the game, Prudence,” Pete murmured, his throat burning from the whiskey. “And I’m the last man you’re going to play with.”
He thought about how he’d broach the subject. She’d probably be angry at his interference, maybe even order him out of her office. By the rules, he’d be required to pretend that nothing had happened between them. That was all part of her little game. At any moment, Pete had expected her to reveal herself, but, instead, she’d fallen deeper into the charade. She was at times coy and flirtatious, then sexy and seductive.
She wasn’t Prudence Trueheart. Hell, she wasn’t even Nora Pierce anymore. She was a stranger whom Pete found endlessly attractive and intriguing. And she played the role with great enthusiasm. He noticed her wrap, still draped across the back of her bar stool and he idly fingered the soft cashmere, recalling the feel of her skin, the taste of her mouth.
He’d never expected her touch to affect him so profoundly. Nothing had prepared him for his reaction when her fingers skimmed his thighs, her palms just inches away from his unbidden erection. For that brief moment, they’d existed in a fantasy world, in a place where real life didn’t dare intrude, where her touch and the sound of her voice slowly stoked his desire until he could barely contain the fire.
By the time she’d walked away, he’d almost been relieved to have been saved from certain embarrassment. They’d reached their limit and the only place left to venture was into more intimate territory. And though he didn’t want the evening to end, he knew it had to.
Pete swirled his second whiskey in the tumbler, looking to the amber liquid for answers. But the drink couldn’t quell the desire that still racked his body. Liquor just softened the edge a little. It would take a lot more than whiskey to forget this night, he mused. This was the stuff that male fantasies were made of—at least, until she walked out on him.
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