Flirting With Disaster (Camelot 3)

He’d been impolite when he turned off her phone in the car—rude enough to make her mad—but that was nothing compared to the way he’d acted inside the High Hat. Once he’d started talking to Ginny, it was as if Katie didn’t even exist. He’d asked all kinds of questions that never would have occurred to her, and she’d ended up feeling like Baby Sister Katie at the dinner table, listening in as Caleb and Amber talked about grown-up things with her parents.

Worse, she’d deserved his scorn for once. This was supposed to be her trial run as a field-ready security agent, and one little blip had totally thrown her off her game. She’d been expecting Judah, not one of his employees, and she’d actually found herself intimidated by a tiny slip of a girl with a spray-on tan.

Go, Katie.

She could do better. She would. It had been a momentary lapse, the consequence of her surprise and disappointment. Having psyched herself back up in the car on the way over here, she’d been feeling pretty fly again, pretty confident and in charge of the situation, right up until she saw the penguins.

Sean approached the front desk. It was low, with a row of stools for guests to sit on as they checked in. Four naked-lady sculptures graced the wall in front of him. One of them was touching her own boobs.

He took a seat and rested both elbows on the counter, leaning in to talk to an attractive hotel employee in low, friendly tones. He’d taken off his jacket, and his posture drew her eye to the wedge shape of his back beneath his lightweight blue sweater and his tight butt in charcoal slacks.

Sean’s clothes looked expensive. She’d never noticed before, but he looked expensive. He fit right in.

Katie had crossed the Yukon by bicycle and come face-to-face with an Alaskan grizzly. She’d taken truck keys away from belligerent loggers who’d had too many beers, and she’d lived to tell the tale. Unfortunately, these were not experiences that helped much when a self-fondling naked-lady sculpture was giving you the stink eye.

But if Sean Owens could fit in here, so could she. She fished around in her purse for her favorite tinted red lip balm and smoothed some onto her lips. Then she took off her own jacket, laid it on top of her bag, and brushed her hands lightly down her arms.

Straightening her spine, she took a deep breath and let it out on a ten count. Be your best self. That was supposed to be her new mantra. She’d found it in a women’s magazine.

The blue-and-white-striped top she’d put on this morning reminded her of Paris, and Paris reminded her of her best self. The self she’d planned to be before Levi.

Her best self studied at La Sorbonne and took lovers whenever she felt like it. She selected her own produce at quaint city markets and drank coffee at sidewalk cafés.

Nobody could tell by looking at Katie that she wasn’t that woman, or that she’d never stayed in a hotel room that cost more than a hundred bucks a night. Parisian women stayed at hotels like this all the time. She’d order a chocolate croissant from room service, and if it wasn’t up to snuff, she’d complain.

Katie crossed the room, boot heels clacking on the distressed wooden floor, and sat down. She rested her elbows on the counter next to Sean’s.

“… almost fully booked,” the woman was saying, “but we do have the Atrium Suite available.”

Sean glanced over at her, his face blank, then looked back at the woman and nodded.

“One room?” Katie asked.

The woman smiled. “Yes, but it’s a spacious suite.”

“We need two rooms.”

“I’m sorry, that’s all we have tonight.”

Sean pulled out his wallet.

This was all kinds of not good. Her best self tried very hard to remain blasé about the idea of sharing a suite with the man next to her, but … no. Even Parisian Katie couldn’t keep her cool in this situation.

“We need to talk,” she said. Sean looked down at his arm where she’d inadvertently clutched at it. His bicep was hard as a rock. Naturally.

She released him, and he handed a credit card to the receptionist. Then he turned around on the stool to face her and lifted one hand, palm up. Go ahead, the gesture said. I’m listening.

Right. Time to trot out a brilliant explanation for why the thought of sharing a room with him gave her the heebie-jeebies. She considered the possibilities.

You hate me?

A tad too direct.

You make me nervous?

She sure wasn’t about to admit that.

“I don’t want to have sex with you,” she said in a fierce whisper.