Thomas watched Brianna from the corner of his eye. So mistrustful. Admittedly he’d given her no real reason to trust him, but she acted like he was the Big Bad Wolf in Bo Peep’s clothing.
He could guess why she thought he’d hurt her. She’d given it away herself when she’d mentioned his “type.” He wasn’t sure he had a type. He had, once. She was currently living in his old house, sleeping with the yoga trainer who helped her keep her cheerleader body.
Paying for that yoga trainer with Thomas’s alimony checks.
He’d needed a new type long before he’d divorced Nicole and the long string of lovers that came with her. He could do worse than Brianna, and one date wasn’t the ten-year commitment he’d made before. A commitment that had left him stupidly blinded. Suckered in by a pretty face and reduced to a whimpering dog at her feet.
Never again.
At least with Brianna there was perspective. He wouldn’t be in Vegas long enough for her to use those lovely eyes and dangerous curves to seduce him into willingly snapping on his own leash, then dragging himself by it straight to Hell. He’d done that once before. And thanks to Nicole and his own stupidity, he’d destroyed his relationship with his one true friend, and hurt the only woman he truly trusted and loved. That rift was only beginning to heal after seven years. He wasn’t repeating the mistakes that had led to it in the first place.
No, tonight he was making an entirely new mistake. A very stupid one.
If they ended up hitting it off and they were happy together, then things would be fabulous. He’d seen office relationships work out splendidly. Stolen lunch dates in the break room. Hot, steamy kisses in the supply closet.
But if she decided she hated him? Well, that was a little bit different. He could just picture it now. The loathing glare she shot at him from across the boardroom table. The hatred in her motions as she slammed her pen down next to the blank contract she no longer wanted to sign because he was a dick. He could be losing everything in this mess. Losing everything because he was thinking with his little head instead of the one on his shoulders.
But he was in the mood to be a little stupid.
He turned his gaze to Brianna. She looked so small right now, her pensive eyes staring out the window, her face unguarded and somehow lost. He doubted she knew how vulnerable she could look when she wasn’t acting the part of the businesswoman, and he wondered if she wasn’t right: he would end up hurting her without meaning to, over a casual flirtation and the thrill of the chase.
A disquieting feeling settled in the pit of his stomach.
She glanced toward him and caught his eye. Her face closed over. “What?”
“Nothing.
” He reached across the seat, captured her hand, and stroked his thumb over her fingers.
She tensed and shot him an incredulous look. “What are you doing?”
“Touching you.” He raised her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her palm. “It’s something humans do to express interest in someone. You’ve heard of humans, I assume.”
“I’ve also heard of slimy snakes.”
“I left my snake oil in my briefcase.” He darted his tongue out to touch the center of her palm. She gasped as if he’d shocked her. Her eyes were wide, the color of polished amber, translucent and clear.
“D-Don’t.”
“Are you sure? I’m just proving that I’m a man who is very much interested in you, since you seem so convinced I’m not.” He ran his thumb over the soft skin at her wrist. Goosebumps rose on her flesh, and her softly indrawn breath teased him. “Men are fairly simple to understand. We require very little to satisfy our needs. You, on the other hand…”
“What about me?” Her fingers curled loosely against his; her voice trembled.
“You are more complex,” he simply said. He wouldn’t give her more than that. Let her wonder what he meant.
Her trembling stopped. He glanced up and met her eyes. They were cold, but underneath the frosty surface a snapping fire threatened to break free. She deliberately, precisely extracted her hand from his grip.
“You’re playing me,” she said flatly.
No, he thought. If anything, she was playing him like a fiddle. Every time she brushed him off, he craved to win her approval. Wanted her to want him so badly it hurt. Had he read the signals wrong? Was she truly not interested in him at all?
“I’m not playing you, Brianna.”
She tapped her fingers on her leg. “Where are we going?” she asked, her voice cold.
“Where would you like to go? Would you like me to take you home?” he asked.
Her head snapped toward him. She blinked. Her brows drew together; that fire of fury threatened to break past her shielded gaze. Good. He wanted her to look alive. Wanted the spitfire he’d first met back. She seemed more real when she was angry. More the real woman she kept trying to bury under her polished image.