Flirting With Disaster (Camelot 3)

“Why not?”

“I don’t. I don’t trust people. I’m in the music business, Katie. Nobody trusts anybody, and Paul is the master of not-trusting. He trained all the trust out of me. I don’t know how to do it anymore.”

“You want to tell me,” she said.

“Part of me wants to.” He took his hand away and leaned forward to retrieve the tequila from where he’d left it on the coffee table. “The rest of me wants to finish off that last set of three with one more shot, then kill the rest of this bottle and pass out.”

He didn’t bother with the glass this time. He drank straight from the neck with his eyes closed, his Adam’s apple bobbing until he finally pulled the bottle away from his mouth with a gasp.

“You’re a wreck,” she said.

He wiped his hand over the back of his mouth and grinned at her again. It was a smile that had sold thousands of records, magazines, and T-shirts. A smile that made her sad, because it didn’t come anywhere near his eyes.

“You’re quick,” he replied, with a tip of the bottle in her direction. “Another reason I like you.”

“So what do we do now? You hired me, but you won’t trust me. Do I just go home, or do you expect me and Sean to follow you to Lexington tomorrow and wait for you to change your mind?”

Judah shrugged. “I guess you do whatever you want.”

Katie wanted an explanation. She wanted Judah’s trust.

Neither of those was hers for the taking, and she’d been around enough drunks to recognize that the glimmer of connection she’d felt to him wasn’t likely to return as he worked his way through the rest of the bottle.

It was late, and she was tipsy. She felt tired, sad, and pawed-over. She wanted to sleep in her own bed, to see her brother and her desk at the office and resume her ordinary, unexciting life.

She wanted to get this satiny underwear out of the crack of her ass, put on her favorite yoga pants, and be schlubby.

It was time to go home.

“Right. Then I’m leaving.”

Judah dropped his head back, exposing his stubbled throat, and closed his eyes. “Is it still Friday?” he asked.

Katie glanced at the clock by the bed. “No. It’s after twelve. Why?”

“Shouldn’t start a trip on a Friday. Bad luck.”

“We both drove here today,” she pointed out. “It was your idea.”

Judah swept his hand out, a loose gesture at the evening they’d just spent together. “See what I mean? Bad luck.”

Katie walked to the door. “Give me a call when you’re ready to talk.”

“That’s probably not going to happen.”

“In that case, it was nice meeting you.”

“Good night, Katie,” he said when she opened the door.

“Goodbye, Judah.”

Chapter Eight

The door opened with so much force, it banged into the wall.

A muted click, and the room flooded with light. Katie stood by the switch, high heels dangling from her free hand. Her hair was all mussed, her lips swollen and feet bare.

She looked exactly the way he’d been afraid she’d look when she came back, which was why he’d forced himself to turn off the light and close his eyes and go to sleep.