His Best Mistake (Shillings Agency 6)

His eyes lit up with understanding. “Let me guess? Asshole ex?”

“Something like that,” she muttered, biting her lip. “Also, I’m not looking to date right now. I prefer to focus on work.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “So. Now we know.”

“Now we know.”

“The problem is…” He leaned down again, his mouth resting on her ear this time. She shivered, tightening her grip on him. “Even knowing? I still want you, Daisy.”

She didn’t say anything.

Bit her tongue to hold the words back.

The words she should never say.

“So, what do we do?” He ran his hand up her back, trailing it over her smooth skin. “Pretend I don’t want you, and keep our distance?”

“I guess so,” she said, swallowing hard as the song ended. “I think that’s best for all involved.”

“Are you so sure?” he asked, slipping his hand under the edge of her dress, right above her butt. “Because, I don’t know about you, but it doesn’t seem like the best idea to me right about now.”

It was way too hard to step out of his arms. A lot harder than it should have been. Probably because she didn’t want to back off. She wanted to get closer. Much closer. But her brain was outweighing their chemistry, and she refused to set herself up for something that would only hurt her in the end. He had a very valid reason for not wanting to be with her. It was admirable of him to put his daughter first, even. She wouldn’t—couldn’t—fault him for that.

And she wouldn’t put him in a position where he’d have to choose.

“Look. Last night was fun.” She smiled, wrapping her arms around herself, and took another step back. “But let’s leave it at that, so no one gets hurt.”

He fisted his hands at his sides. “Is this good-bye, then?”

“It is. Thanks for last night. It was…it was wonderful. And I choose to remember you like that…and not ruin it by what comes next if we continue down this path.”

He flexed his jaw. “All right. Good-bye, Daisy.”

She didn’t say anything.

Just walked away.

Chapter Eight

This was a huge mistake. A stupid one. But that didn’t stop him from doing it anyway. He walked down the hallway, reading the numbers until he found the one he wanted. He stopped in front of room 708, frowning. It was after one in the morning, and he’d gone to bed over an hour ago, shortly after Scar—Daisy—left the wedding. He used that expression loosely, because he hadn’t actually made it to bed. He’d just been pacing in his room, trying to talk himself out of doing this.

It, clearly, hadn’t fucking worked.

Because here he was. Standing outside her door.

Like an idiot.

He shoved his hand through his hair, laughing at himself. What the hell was he even doing? Since when did he stand outside a girl’s room, hesitating? Since when did he care so damn much whether or not he made a good impression? He wasn’t this guy. He didn’t play games. He believed in honesty, and he appreciated a clear-cut plan more than any other man out there.

But with Daisy?

Nothing was clear-cut.

Cursing under his breath, he lifted his fist and knocked.

Enough bullshit.

The door swung in almost immediately. Daisy wore a pair of faded pajama pants, an ugly green T-shirt that was twice her size, and no makeup.