The Dealmaker (Sex & Bonds 1)

There’s that stricken look again. He’s standing close, close enough to go up on my tiptoes and kiss him and invite him inside. “If that’s what you want.”

“It is.”

He nods, spearing a hand through his hair. “Then it never happened.”

“Thank you.” I dig my keycard out of my bag and slide it into the lock. The bolt clicks and the door opens, and I glance over my shoulder to see Theo still standing there, hands in the pockets of his slacks, hair all rumpled and delicious looking.

I really, really want to invite him inside. But that road leads nowhere.

Nowhere I want to go, anyway.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asks, tilting his head.

The moon in my throat is so big now it makes my eyes prickle. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Night.”

“Goodnight, Nora.”

Of course he’d be the good guy ’til the end.

Chapter Sixteen

Theo

Duffel slung over my shoulder, I grab the to-go lattes I had made at the lobby restaurant the next morning. It’s early, but the place is already packed. So is the front desk. Close to a dozen employees in suits crowd behind it, all of them either on the phone or helping the line of customers that stretches toward the door.

Huh. The weekend rush starting early? Something to do with the Super Bowl? Santa Barbara is a solid two-or-three-hour drive from downtown L.A. with traffic, but I’ve heard people are having a hard time finding hotels down there. Maybe they had to come up to Santa Barbara and are driving to the game?

My stomach drops when I see Nora standing at the desk. She’s in the same jeans and sneakers she wore on our flight out here, and her hair is tied up in a knot at the top of her head. She’s chatting amiably with one of the front desk dudes, a printout of her bill in her hand. Of course she’d double check it, thorough as always.

My phone buzzes in my pocket but I ignore it. I woke up early, mind racing. What the hell do I say to her today? Hi. Hello. Great job yesterday. Okay I can’t stop thinking about what happened by the pool, can we talk about that? You said it was a mistake, but I don’t want to be your mistake. What can I do to make you feel better about me eating you out?

I also want to ask her about that whole shitting-where-you-eat comment. Was that confirmation she and Aiden are a thing? And why does that piss me off so much? Aiden hired me, for fuck’s sake, and I have no reason not to like him, other than this one. Something spooked Nora last night. Could’ve been being caught with her proverbial pants down by a security guard. But I think there’s more to it than that. Something I said or did struck the wrong chord, and I need to know what it was.

Also. Her pussy. Delicious. I can still taste her on my tongue, still feel her digging her nails into my scalp. My dick hurts thinking about it.

I weave my way around the line to meet Nora at the desk. My phone buzzes again and Nora turns around, our gazes colliding. A ripple of uncertainty moves across her eyes before she pastes on a smile and says a little too brightly, “Morning, Morgan.”

Ah. Setting boundaries up front. I’d admire the move if I didn’t suddenly hate her calling me by my last name. Feels wrong. This whole fucking thing is wrong, and it pisses me off even more that I don’t know how to fix it. I’ve never hooked up with someone from work before—part of my policy to keep church and state separate—so I’m new to this.

It’s awful.

Coffee. That’s right. I got her coffee as a peace offering. A way to break the ice.

Only I hold it out to her like an idiot and stammer, “For, uh. You. I know you like iced lattes, and I think I remember Nicky ordering it with almond milk last time I was with him at Starbucks, but they only had coconut milk here so I hope that’s okay? I know some people are allergic to nuts and, um, are coconuts even considered nuts? I’m not sure, and I’m sorry I keep saying nuts, but I can get your latte remade if it’s not right or whatever, you know the service here is, you know, very, very . . . good?”

She glances down at the latte for a full beat, her expression contracting into what I can only identify as horror. I panic. Does she think I poisoned it? Because if I did, you’d best believe I’d be chugging this sucker down right now so I could die a swift death. Foaming at the mouth is far preferable to being a dickwad in front of the woman who called the orgasm I gave her last night “a mistake.”