He said nothing, but after a moment he separated their bodies carefully; she fought not to cry out as he slipped out of her, leaving her throbbing and sore and feeling, as much as she hated it, deliciously used. But that’s all it was, wasn’t it? He’d used her for pleasure.
And she’d used him.
She smoothed her clothing, pulling her skirt down. Damn it, her hands were shaking, fumbling, clumsy. She choked out a curse.
He took her hand, steadying it, then tugged her skirt down and handed her her shirt. She shrugged it on, hugging it closed across her breasts. What should she do now? Thank him for the good lay? Shake his hand and run?
What had she gotten herself into?
She couldn’t think about this. She threw her shoulders back and forced words past the knot in her throat. “If you’ll excuse me.”
He stared at her, his dark eyes flinty. “Brianna, I—”
“Don’t.” She couldn’t look him in the eye right now, so she turned away. Bending down she picked up her bra and slid it on. With her back to him, she let the shirt fall and dressed herself. The whole time, she felt ridiculously exposed. Even more ridiculous, considering what they’d just done.
“You don’t have to run away,” he said, his voice guttural. “Stay for dinner.”
She wanted to look at him so badly. To see if he looked as upset as he sounded. But she didn’t turn around even after her shirt was firmly back in place. “No, thank you, Mr. Jones.”
“Brianna, don’t do this.”
“I already did. You can have a courier send the contract to my office tomorrow.” She put her shirt back on and buttoned it up. “There’s no need for us to communicate in person again.”
“Damn it.” He made an angry sound. “Tonight wasn’t about contracts or work, and you know it.”
She gritted her teeth. “Good night.”
And without giving him a chance to speak, she turned and walked from the room with her head held high as quickly as she could without running.
And her feet bare.
Chapter Five
Thomas sat in the plush upholstered easy chair in his suite and stared at the shoes on the table without really seeing them. The sun was just rising outside the window, light bursting in a brilliant panorama over the city. The beauty was wholly lost on him. It was just another filthy Vegas morning in which dozens of people would be going home with regrets and empty wallets.
Regrets. He knew quite a bit about that.
She’d run away from him. Run away. Maybe she’d strutted out with that elegant ice queen walk of hers, but he knew running when he saw it. He’d almost chased after her but pride and disbelief had rooted him to the spot. He’d been dazed, too. He’d never had sex like that. Sex where he completely forgot himself and lost control—and she’d been right there to meet him, like no woman ever had. And then she’d walked away, like she hadn’t felt it, too.
And it was irritating the hell out of him.
He picked up one slender shoe and traced a finger along the velvety toe. He vaguely remembered her kicking them off when he’d hoisted her against the wall, the dainty Dior heels flying. She’d been in such a hurry to get away from him that she’d left them, like a real-life Cinderella. First she’d accused him of faking his interest in her, like she was some kind of leper, only to run away from him like he was the one diseased.
So why, damn him, was he still thinking about her?
She’d gotten what she wanted from him. He’d gotten what he wanted from her. It wasn’t much different from his relationship with Nicole. With the rare fling or girlfriend afterward, either.
But it wasn’t all he wanted from her and that irritated him even more. He was curious. Curious about what she was hiding. Curious why she hid so much energy and passion and wildness under that thin sheen of frost. Curious about her, when damn it, the last thing he wanted was another thing tying him to Las Vegas.
He should wash his hands of this. Secure the contract, leave this godforsaken town, and never look back. Beg for a new position in a different city or hand in his resignation. Drive away until he found that quiet place of white sand and blue water. Drive until he found some place to just be, where he was acceptable with or without business casual suits and natty cufflinks.
Maybe he’d do just that.
But first, he’d track Brianna down and find out why she’d run out on him like the hotel was on fire. He needed to know.
He showered and changed first. He looked like hell, dark circles under his eyes, jaw stubbled, and he doubted his jeans and undershirt were appropriate attire for a business meeting. He slid his wallet into his pocket and smiled at his reflection in the mirror. It was a tight, tense smile. One he didn’t like.
But it didn’t matter, because he and Brianna Faulk had some unfinished business.