“Sure. Thank you for staying.” He gave her an appreciative smile. “Will you lock the front door when you leave so no one can walk in on Ms. Wilder while I’m upstairs?”
“Of course.” She started gathering the different invoices from suppliers that were strewn all over her desk in organized chaos, then put them into a neat pile to finish tomorrow. “Have a good evening, Remy.”
“You, too.”
With a deep exhale to shore up his fortitude, Remy headed down the short hall to the conference room. Admittedly, a part of him dreaded seeing Tempest for the first time since the ball and being the world’s biggest jackass to her. Undoubtedly, things would be awkward, which was why he had every intention of keeping their meeting focused on business. But beneath that apprehension, Remy couldn’t deny that there was also an unwanted stirring of anticipation in his chest. Unwanted because he still desired Tempest more than any other woman but didn’t deserve her, especially after the way he’d treated her that night. Most likely, she hated his guts, anyway—not that he’d blame her.
He was still trying to deal with the massive amount of guilt that had sat on his conscience the past two months—that he’d essentially used Tempest to alleviate the resentment and bitterness that Kyle’s presence had dug up. Yeah, kissing her so hungrily, so greedily had definitely started out as a way to assuage that pain, to forget the past, but by the time she’d been gasping for breath from the shattering orgasm he’d given her, that aching need twisting deep inside of Remy for Tempest had grown tenfold . . . and had absolutely nothing to do with an act of revenge.
Those unexpected emotions he’d felt for Tempest had been real and fucking scary. And shutting them down as quickly as possible had been his goal. But in the process, he’d hurt her, and he hated himself for that, too.
Doing his best to erase all those frustrating memories from his mind, he knocked briskly to let Tempest know he was entering. She casually glanced up from whatever she was doing on her phone as he opened the door, then her eyes widened in startled shock when she saw him.
In contrast to his grimy appearance, Tempest sat on a chair near the conference table, her slender legs crossed in a ladylike way. With her thick, dark hair spilling over her shoulders, she looked beautiful and sophisticated in a black formfitting skirt and a pristine white blouse that was buttoned just low and tasteful enough to hint at her cleavage but not blatantly show off her breasts. Her outfit was modest and feminine by anyone’s standards, but it was the bright red high-dollar heels on her feet that were sexy as hell and hinted at this woman’s sensual, seductive side.
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The description Lady and the Tramp couldn’t have been more fitting and obvious in that moment.
“Hi,” she said, and moved to stand up.
He lifted a hand to stop her. “I’m really sorry I’m late. I was at a construction site and then got caught in traffic. Can you give me ten minutes to shower and change before we go over the preliminary drawings for your building?”
She tipped her head curiously. “You have a shower at your office?”
“Actually, I live right upstairs.”
“Oh.” Surprise lit her eyes. “Sure. Go ahead. I have a few emails I can answer while you’re . . . showering.” Something in her voice went low and husky at that last word, and she quickly glanced back down to her cell phone.
Just that easily, just that quickly, awareness filtered in the air between them—despite how things had ended between them two months ago.
He swallowed hard. “I’ll be right back,” he said. “Sally is locking the front door on her way out, and there’s water and soda in the refrigerator down the hall in the kitchenette if you’d like something to drink.”
“I’m good.” Her gaze remained downcast. “Thank you.”
Leaving the conference door cracked open, he headed to the back of the office and took the stairs to the second level. He used his key to get into his apartment and made his way to the bedroom. The entire place was small and sparsely decorated—one bed with an attached bath, a living room, and kitchen. Being a bachelor, it was all the space he needed.
Remy stripped off all his dirty clothes and dropped them into the hamper, then turned on the shower and stepped into the glass enclosure. Quickly as possible, he washed his hair, scrubbed the grime from the rest of his body, then got back out and toweled off, including his hair. He brushed his teeth, feeling clean, decent, and human again.
He was grateful that things weren’t completely uncomfortable between him and Tempest, but their brief exchange hadn’t been warm and fuzzy, either. That short encounter downstairs had happened so fast, and it hadn’t been nearly enough time for him to gauge her emotions or really know what she was thinking.
But God, she looked so fucking good. So gorgeous and classy and sexy, and way out of his league. She was a champagne kind of girl, and he was a beer-on-a-budget kind of guy. All the shit in his past notwithstanding, their lives just didn’t mesh.
Business, he reminded himself. Just focus on business and not the curiosity of what kind of lingerie she was wearing beneath that demure outfit. A woman who designed and created all sorts of provocative underwear for a living undoubtedly wore and tested the goods. He imagined her in any one of those three ensembles she’d shown him on the mannequins the night of the ball, and his body thrummed with desire.
He groaned and immediately stopped that train of thought before it made his dick too hard to tuck into his boxer briefs. Jesus, what was wrong with him?
Grabbing a freshly laundered Lowell Construction T-shirt, he pulled it over his head and stepped into a clean pair of jeans. Socks, sneakers, and a quick finger comb through his shaggy hair to pull it away from his face to let it air dry, as he always did because he didn’t own a blow-dryer or styling products.
He returned to the conference room less than ten minutes later, finding Tempest exactly where he’d left her. She glanced back up when he entered, her still unreadable gaze taking in his much cleaner appearance, though she didn’t comment, and he decided to get right down to business.
“I have the plans over here,” he said, indicating the drafting table at the far end of the room.
She stood up, followed, and came up beside him as he unrolled the drawings and spread them out on the large surface. She was standing so close that every breath he took was filled with whatever light fragrance she wore. Something with notes of vanilla, jasmine, and sandalwood. Soft, feminine, but way too alluring to his senses.
Trying like hell not to let everything about Tempest distract him, he tapped a finger on the large sheet of paper laid out in front of them, drawing her attention there, too. “Based on the plans I pulled from the city, here is a general idea of what the bar will look like in terms of design and placement on the first level.”
“Oooh, I like this layout,” she said, making him ridiculously happy with her validation. “This is very close to what I envisioned for the bar and lounge, and you left plenty of space for seating areas and couches, which I’ve already ordered. I want everything to be sleek and modern and sophisticated.”