Love Me (Take a Chance 2)

He truly was insufferable. And irresistible. And insufferable. She took a step back from him, wresting from his grip. He wasn’t really after her because he wanted her. He was using her—and she needed to remember that. “Yes, we shall. But you should know I’m onto your games. You can’t seduce me into a contract.”

His eyes flashed. He stepped closer so quickly that she stumbled away from him. Her back hit the wall of the walkway. His hands rose to brace himself against the brick on either side of her head, trapping her. Trapping her with his tall, hard body hovering close, radiating a heat so palpable it caressed her, wrapped around her heart, squeezed it tight. She caught the scent of his aftershave and something deeper, clean and bright as ocean air.

“Make no mistake.” His voice was low, dark, vividly intense, each word like a smooth velvet touch. “I don’t seduce potential clients to get the yes. I get the yes because I’m damned good at my job. What we’re doing here?” His gaze dipped to her mouth. “This thing between us has nothing to do with the contract. Nothing at all.”

She flattened herself against the wall and fought to get her breathing under control. She couldn’t look weak in front of him. Couldn’t look vulnerable. “I’d love to know your agenda, then.”

“Explain why I have to have an agenda to ask you out on a date.”

“Because I’m not exactly your type.”

He raised a brow. Cool and in complete control outwardly, but in his eyes she saw frustration. “I have a type, now?”

“A big ex-football player like you?” She tilted her chin up, glowering at him.

She thought to challenge him, but instead of offering a verbal response he dipped his head. His breath skimmed over her cheek, and she caught a sound in her throat. He was burning her and he never even touched her. The slightest brush of stubble set her skin on fire. His lips drew close to her ear. Close enough that she felt the two syllables he whispered: “Soccer.”

“Wh-What?”

“I was a soccer player. And I dated whomever the hell I wanted.”

Brianna closed her eyes. Her stomach was a riot, her body tingling. She had the feeling Thomas Jones did what he wanted rather often. She couldn’t let him think he could do whatever he wanted with her.

But then his fingertips grazed her cheek. Their tips were rough, the fingers of a man who used his hands for more than clicking next on a PowerPoint presentation—but their touch was gentle. Almost tender. Coaxing her to open her eyes and look at him.

His gaze captured hers. So dark—dark as a night she could lose herself in. As a little girl she’d been afraid of moonless nights; the world outside would seem to vanish into a gloomy half world where, if she weren’t careful, she’d be swallowed into that shadowed place and never find her way back again.

Thomas’s eyes were those moonless nights, and she was terrified he was already pulling her into the dark.

“It’s simple,” he whispered. “A man and a woman find each other attractive. The fact that we met in the high-stakes corporate pit of a Ruby Tuesday’s doesn’t matter. There is no agenda. Let it be as simple as it is.”

But could it be that straightforward? She’d trusted the simple and apparent truth too many times in her life and had been torn apart by lies every time.

Thomas was no different.

She set her jaw and pressed her hand to his chest, gently pushing him back. “Then let’s be perfectly clear,” she said. “I find you to be arrogant and obnoxious, and I’m not interested in starting a non-business relationship with you.”

“Your words say one thing, but your eyes say another.” He smiled. It was a slow smile, slow as molasses, and just as dark. “But I won’t argue with you. Let’s go.”

He withdrew, powerful arms bunching under his shirt as he pushed off the wall and freed her from the paralyzing envelope of his heat. He offered his arm with a sardonic tilt of his head.

“Shall we?”

No, she thought, and slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow anyway. Damn it, he was right. She might be saying no, but her body was saying yes. Very loudly.

“I hope you like Mexican,” he said and led her down the walk.

He flagged a cab. As they settled into the back, his gaze burned her. Thomas murmured their destination to the cab driver, but Brianna hardly heard him. She was too busy staring out the window, trying to make sense of her jumbled thoughts.

Nothing good could come of this date. The man had a motive, no matter what he said. He was too persistent. Too focused on her, turning the full force of his admittedly irresistible—and obnoxious, she couldn’t forget—allure on her. He wouldn’t want anything to do with her if he knew who and what she really was. He didn’t know she was a widow, with three kids at home.

Somehow she didn’t think that’s what he signed on for when he asked her out. If she told him about herself, he would probably run away from her faster than the human eye could see. He would go away and she would be free to go home to her safe house, on her safe couch, watching her favorite television show.

Why, then, did she open her mouth to do exactly that…and close it without another word? She knew what to say. What to do. But she didn’t do it—and she had no idea why. After all, the most she could expect out of tonight was a one-night stand, and those always left her feeling cheap and slightly dirty. Like she was compensating for something. She’d never learned to let herself go and just enjoy it, like so many other lucky women did. She always doubted herself, just as she did now.

Because she hadn’t the slightest damned clue what he—or she—really wanted.

Chapter Three