style="font-size:15px;"> The skipped beat of her heart caused her breath to catch. “M-more?”
He trailed his hand to her palm and wove their fingers together. “A night together would amp up this conference to best-ever territory. I know you don’t know me, Christina, but while I’m a man who enjoys a woman in my bed, I rarely mix work and play.”
He lifted their entwined hands and kissed the top of hers, his stunning blue irises burning into her. She’d known Reid well enough to know that he didn’t hold back in the physical affection department, but she’d never label him a player. That was too crass a word for him. He was simply a physical guy, acting on his instincts and his, she assumed, amazing skill. She couldn’t imagine a single woman leaving his company being disappointed in his performance. Though many of them probably felt like she did: full of longing and worrying he wouldn’t return her affections.
If ever there was a “seize the day” moment, this was it.
“What do you say? My room or yours? I’ll let you choose, but mine is a suite with a kitchen, a balcony and a soaking tub.”
“No piano?” She wanted to shout “yes!” but her nerves—or maybe her habit of always doing the right thing—had her stalling.
“No piano.” His glorious chuckle might be the death of her. She wasn’t a swooner, but she was close. “Room service and I are acquainted. I arrived two days before the conference started, and there wasn’t an after-party with a beautiful woman in gold waiting to share my steak and movie.”
“What movie?”
He grinned, maybe knowing she was stalling and not caring. “Jaws.”
“Jaws!” His answer startled a laugh out of her. “How did you sleep?”
He let go of her hand, charm dialed to eleven as he swept his hand to her nape. He said one word—“fitfully”—before covering her lips with his and drinking her in for a kiss that lasted long enough to turn her brain to mush.
“Christina.” His warm breath coasted over her lips.
Drew’s eyes were closed, the pretending still in play. She could carry on this farce, let him seduce her for real and agree not to regret the sex. It wasn’t as if she would’ve had a prayer of seducing Reid as herself, but as “Christina” she had a chance.
“Let me make your dreams come true,” he said. “Come to my room.”
It was everything she wanted to hear, but guilt niggled at her.
“Isn’t that a secondary location?” she breathed. “I learned never to be moved to a secondary location.”
Another light press of his lips, and she opened her eyes. It was like seeing him for the first time, that angled jaw, those entrancing eyes, the full mouth slightly pink from her recent attention. How could she say no?
She couldn’t.
“That was a joke.” She gripped his shirt and kissed him. He let her, which was thrilling. “I’d like to see your room, Reid. I’d like to see much more than your room.”
Her heart was tapping out a salsa, her palms sweaty, her stomach a Tilt-A-Whirl of excitement. This was happening—really happening—and since Drew was a woman accustomed to setting goals and achieving them, she decided to stop justifying and embrace the moment. This moment.
“That might be the yes of my life, Christina.”
She didn’t know if he said that to all the girls, but she wanted to believe that it was just for her. They stood, leaving their glasses on the low table by the sofa, and then he led her away from the thumping bass of the speakers and out of the room.
Drew entered the elevator and Reid stepped in behind her. The doors swished shut as he punched the button for the twenty-first floor.
She was in an elevator, alone with Reid Singleton, heading skyward to his hotel room, where they would have sex. Drew smothered a smile as she examined her strappy shoes, a flush of heat creeping along her neck as she imagined him removing those shoes and kissing his way up her calves...
She was as confident in his ability as she was in herself, although admittedly her confidence was fairly recent. Three years ago, at age twenty-four, she decided she’d no longer hide behind the excess weight or comfort herself by eating. She hired a personal trainer and cut out processed and fried foods and quickly dropped the unwanted pounds.
Drew loved food. Of that she’d had no doubt. But she didn’t feel an ounce of shame admitting she loved food now that she had a healthy relationship with it. No longer did she soothe her negative emotions by eating; now she exercised or worked. She’d changed her mind-set—decided she was worthy of the good things life had to offer—and that had made all the difference.
A little over a year ago she’d achieved another goal. She’d been featured in Restauranteurs, an industry magazine, as one of the “Top 30 under 30” professionals. She’d been the only restaurant public relations manager in the magazine.
Her employer, Fig & Truffle, owned several restaurants, cafés and bars in and around Seattle. It’d been Drew’s job these four years to oversee the soft openings. Seattle’s foodie scene was massive. And after the feature in the magazine, Fig & Truffle boosted her pay and made Drew the PR go-to.
She handled press, booked reviewers, interviewed top chefs from around the world...which was how she’d met her previous boyfriend. Chef Devin Briggs was the cherry on top of her “I’ve arrived” sundae, but they didn’t last. How could they when he was a selfish ass in love with only himself?
Jerk.
“Second thoughts?” Reid’s smooth voice interrupted as the elevator bumped to a soft stop. He was watching her with curiosity and not in recognition, thank goodness.
“Not at all.” She stepped out when the doors parted, pausing in the long corridor for him to lead the way. He palmed her lower back as they walked side by side, and again she became intently aware of him—of the breadth of his shoulders and warm weight of his hand on her body. Of his comforting presence.
There was an innate kindness to Reid one might overlook upon first meeting him. Probably because he was insanely gorgeous. That sharp jaw, full mouth and the hint of a dent at the center of his chin were so all-consuming it took a few minutes to realize he was human and not a futuristic sex toy designed solely for a woman’s pleasure. Looking at him was a decadent treat—forget kissing him. Only she’d never, ever forget. Not even when she was ninety and gumming her food.
At the end of the corridor, Reid guided her to the right to a double-doored suite. He scanned his key, and gestured for her to go in ahead of him.
The suite was about one hundred times nicer than her room. She’d bunked at a hotel across the street from the convention center. Her room had a rattling air-conditioning unit, pilled, nubby carpet and wall hangings the color of pea soup. She’d have to tell Christina the next time her company offered to send her out of town to upgrade the room if possible.
Conversely,
