Walk of Shame (Love Unexpectedly 4)

“I didn’t mean to be critical. I meant only that you’ve earned the right to relax a bit. Enjoy a glass of wine.”

“So you can prove your hypothesis that I’m a drunken, hopeless party girl?”

“God damn, you’re difficult,” he says angrily, stepping near me. “Why can’t you just be—”

“What?” I ask when he doesn’t finish. I order myself to meet his gaze, but I can’t seem to stop looking at his mouth. It’s not smiling, and I’m used to that, but for some reason I can’t stop thinking about how firm it must be, what it would be like to kiss someone so rigidly in control.

Would he dominate?

Would I like it?

I feel the heat coming off him, and it answers my question.

Yes. Yes, I’d like it.

I’d like making him lose control even more.

Andrew swears again under his breath and takes a step back.

I expect him to say something insulting and disappear, but he surprises me by nodding toward the wide floor-to-ceiling windows in the corner of the room. “Would you mind if we sat?”

Yeah, um, not what I expected. And yet…intriguing.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to,” he says gruffly. “It’s just been a long day. Your friends are mostly pleasant, but I could use a breather.”

“And you want to do it here? With me?”

He lets out the smallest of almost-laughs. “Do you have any idea how exhausting it is trying to speak with you?”

“I’m just confused,” I say honestly.

“About?”

“Why, if you want a breather, you’re not trying to get away from me as quickly as possible.”

He blows out a breath, his head dipping a little, looking defeated and a little…sad.

&nbs

p; When he looks back up, his eyes are guarded, all former traces of easiness vanished, and I feel a stab of regret, as though I’ve just stamped out the possibility of something special.

“I’ll take my leave, then,” he says quietly, setting his wineglass on the counter.

“No,” I say, taking a step forward, hand outstretched before quickly dropping it to my side. “You can stay.”

Andrew meets my eyes warily, and I shrug and grin. “I need time to figure out the best way to make fun of you for using the phrase take my leave.”

He nods, picking up his wineglass once more. “Shall we?”

There’s a love seat and two chairs, all situated in a semicircle to best take in the view of Manhattan at night.

He sits in one of the chairs, and I curl up in the love seat, pulling my bare legs beneath me and smoothing my skirt over my knees to keep things decent and non-crotch-shot.

Not that he’s looking.

Instead he surprises me by slouching just a little in the large leather chair, his head falling back on the chair. He looks exhausted, and I realize that he hadn’t been lying about it being a long day. The poor guy really does look like he needs a minute.

My mouth goes dry as he reaches up a hand, unbuttoning the top button of his shirt, hooking a finger into his tie and loosening it.