Bad (4 page)

"You in a hurry to ply me with caffeine?"

He liked her teasing, liked her with a cocky smile rather than the fear he'd glimpsed earlier.

"Sweetheart, this is going to be the best damn coffee you've ever had."

He held out his hand, even now expecting her to bolt.

Instead, she placed her hand in his. "Then what are we waiting for?"

Ashlin had known entering Wyatt's hotel suite was a bad idea. A monumentally stupid idea. But she'd never been able to back down from a challenge and having him see right through her, then goad her about it…No, she
had
to be here on principle.

Nice in theory, but now that she struggled not to pace his luxurious suite, the practice was a hell of a lot harder.

"Drink?" He held up a tiny bottle of vodka in one hand, whiskey in the other. "Or there's plenty more options in the minibar."

Hell, alcohol was the last thing she needed; he had her in enough of a spin.

"I thought you said coffee was on offer?"

"Oh." The corners of his mouth twitched. "So you really want coffee?"

"That's what I'm here for." She perched on the back of a chair. "One coffee, then I'm out of here."

"That's what they all say." He smiled, and it transformed his face from serious to heart-stoppingly handsome. "But then they get a glimpse of this" —he gestured at himself— "and they can't help but stay." He paused for dramatic effect. "After they've torn off my clothes, of course."

"Of course," she said, unable to resist grinning back at him. "But I'm strong-willed. I'll try to resist."

She thought she heard him murmur, "Please don't," as he padded barefoot into the bathroom to fill the kettle. She'd never found feet sexy before, but there was something about Wyatt's long tanned feet, perfect arch and neat toes that had her staring and imagining what they'd feel like rubbing against her calves as their legs entwined in bed…

"Cream and sugar?"

"Cream, no sugar," she said, mentally cursing herself for not making a run for it while he'd been in the bathroom.

Pigheadedness demanded she never back down from a challenge, then there was the kind of stubbornness that landed her in places she'd rather not be.

Like when she first ran away from her home in Ireland and ended up in a squalid Dublin bedsit. Or the time she'd slept on a park bench in London. Or the most destructive time, when she'd sabotaged a relationship by ending up in a clinic that effectively destroyed her dancing career before it had begun.

So hanging out with Wyatt, leading him on when she had no intention of moving beyond that incredible kiss back at Burlesque Bombshells, wasn't fair.

"Why the sad face?" He handed her a steaming mug of coffee.

"Thanks." She took a sip, buying some time before she blurted the truth.

"You didn't answer my question." He sat and gestured at the seat opposite.

"That's because you won't like the answer." She cradled her mug and sat, glad for the distance between them. Because when he'd stood close to her in Chantal's office, she hadn't been able to think and it had been forever since a guy had that kind of effect on her.

"Try me."

Eyeballing him, she said, "I'm not sleeping with you."

She watched for scorn or derision or anger. Instead, his eyes radiated the kind of inscrutable calm that made her want to rattle him to get a reaction.

"I didn't think you would."

Surprised by his response, she bristled. "You didn’t?"

He shrugged. "I thought you'd only take the challenge so far and I was right."

Annoyed he had figured her out, she glared. "So you're an IT expert and a psychologist?"

"Nope, just observant." He drank his coffee, staring at her with that all-knowing gaze over the rim of the mug.

It made her uncomfortable, being scrutinized so closely. She wasn't used to it. One of the benefits of being a choreographer and not a dancer on stage.

Increasingly unnerved, she tried defiance. "Don't think you know me, because you wouldn't come close."

She saw a flicker behind his mug, an upturning of his mouth. "Then enlighten me."

Glad to be on safer ground—not talking about why she wouldn't sleep with him despite coming here—she said, "What do you want to know?"

"Everything."

His stare didn't waver and damned if she didn't feel warmth seep through her body. She may not like being studied so intently when he was interrogating her but she didn’t mind the way he looked at her now. With admiration, lust and a healthy dose of respect. Not that she'd earned the first and last, but it made her feel good nonetheless.

"I'm twenty-eight, from a small east coast town in Ireland originally, lived in London for a while, choreographed my way across Europe before ending up in Paris, then here." She snapped her fingers. "Oh, and I want world peace."

"Pity you skipped the swimsuit section."

She laughed. "Anything else you want to know?"

"Pet hates. Grand loves. Dirty secrets."

Her smile faded. She had a dirty secret. A doozy. The biggest regret of her life. That had ruined her life. No one in Vegas knew it, even Chantal, and they never would.

So she aimed for flippant. "Hate anchovies. Love honeycomb ice-cream. And the dirty secret?" She crooked her finger. "I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours."

To her surprise, he blushed. "No secrets here."

"Sure?"

"Well, there is one…" He tapped his temple, pretending to think. "Here goes. Kurt got all the girls when we were growing up so I decided to try out for the football team."

"What happened?"

He grimaced. "I ended up being offered the team statistician position."

She laughed out loud at his pained expression. "Girls fancy geeks too, you know."

"Do they?" He placed his coffee cup on a nearby table and braced his elbows on his knees. "More precisely, do you?"

"I'm here, aren't I?" She couldn't resist a coy smile. "Give me a guy with brains over a mimbo any day."

"Mimbo?"

"Male bimbo." She didn't add 'like your brother, Kurt', a pretty boy with an ego the size of Texas to match, according to Chantal.

"Anyway, now you know." He held out his hands, palm up. "No more secrets here."

She wished she could say the same.

"Your turn," he said.

"Hmm…secrets…" She took a sip, another, needing the caffeine hit to jolt her out of the welcome lethargy since she sat in the way-too-comfy chair. "I've got two. Firstly, I'm entering a big competition, for the best choreographer on the western seaboard. And the second one ties into the first." She huffed out a breath. "I'm bored. I love working in Vegas, and I've made some good friends I can count on as a support network, but I feel stagnant. A bit sick of everything, actually. Craving a change but unsure what to do."

Wow, where had all that come from? She'd meant to stop at 'I'm bored' but with him looking at her with empathy and understanding, the truth had poured out.

"Will the competition open new avenues for you?"

No judgment, no smartass remark, just an incredibly insightful question. God, could the guy be any cuter?

She nodded. "Winning will mean prestige and recognition. I could pretty much walk into any job around the world."

"Then I hope you get it." He crossed his fingers, a dorky yet strangely endearing gesture.

"Thanks." She placed her mug on the floor beside her chair. "Do you love what you do?"

"Yeah. Computers have always been my thing, and freelancing is a great way to live."

"Maybe that's why I'm so bored at the moment…staying in one place for so long." She tucked her feet under her, surprisingly comfortable and wondering what made Wyatt so easy to talk to. "That's why I left home in the first place, couldn't stand the small town mentality and the smothering." She shuddered. "I hate living in one place for too long."

"You don't like small towns?"

"Hate them," she said, her vehemence garnering a raised eyebrow.

"Yet you're in a city with bright lights and you're still bored?"

"You make me sound fickle and shallow," she said, stopping her fiddling fingers by clasping them together.

"Didn't mean to," he said. "Maybe you should shake things up to snap out of the boredom funk?"

"How?" She sighed. "Because honestly? If I don't do something soon I'm in danger of quitting my job, packing up and hitting the road."

Something she'd been pondering all too often lately.

"Come home with me," he said, scooting back the moment the invitation spilled from his lips. "I mean, I'm heading home for the weekend. On the outskirts of New Orleans. Small town. I have a quiet place by a bayou. Maybe a change of scenery will reinvigorate you? Or you could do the jazz clubs in New Orleans for a change of pace—"

"Yes." Her acceptance surprised them both, if his round-eyed shock was anything to go by. "That'd be lovely. Thanks."

"Uh…right. Okay." He stood and stalked toward the massive window overlooking The Strip twenty floors below. "Guess we're taking a trip."

"Guess we are."

They stared at each other like two crazy people, a little hesitant and a lot loco.

The fact she'd agreed to spend the weekend with a guy she barely knew in a place that was her version of hell?

She wasn't just crazy.

She was certifiable.

Wyatt had lost his mind.

For a smart guy, he'd turned into a dumb schmuck last night, asking Ashlin to accompany him on his weekend away. Two precious days at home. His private retreat. His oasis.

That now had a gorgeous woman wearing denim shorts and a red tank top bustling about his kitchen putting away groceries.

What the hell had he been thinking?

He'd never been impulsive. He weighed important decisions, took his time assessing situations objectively. Yet all that had gone to shit last night when he'd blurted that ludicrous invitation because he felt sorry for her.

Worse, she'd actually accepted. She'd hightailed it out of his hotel room a few minutes later¸ citing she had to pack. And he'd let her go, glad of the reprieve to evaluate what exactly it was about her that made him go a little nuts.

So she was spectacular. He'd dealt with stunning women before—albeit for business—but he'd never been this crazy with any of them. Then again, those women barely looked at him as anything other than a geek to fix their computer woes.

That's what was different about Ashlin. The way she looked at him. Really
looked
at him. Like she could see all the way down to his well-guarded soul. Like she was interested in what he had to say. Like she gave a damn.

Something no one in his life had ever done.

His father didn't give a shit. His mom doted on her firstborn, Kurt, like he’d hung the moon and stars. Neither of them had ever related to him on any level. Wyatt had been the good boy. The one guaranteed to get good grades. The one never in trouble. The one who never caused waves.

As for friends, he'd had none. He'd eaten with fellow computer geeks at school but didn't socialize out of it. He'd lost himself in online games, in tinkering with apps, in building computers from scratch. His make-believe worlds online were his go-to place, where he felt comfortable. And the more he lost himself in his online worlds, the worse his social skills in the real world.

He'd been labeled everything from a hermit to a nerd and worse. He hadn't cared because once he got his degree and started earning the big bucks freelancing he called the shots in his own life. A sought-after guest speaker who commanded respect. Admired at IT conferences. He pulled the chicks there.

And Ashlin was so far from that world that even now he couldn't believe she was here.

He didn't converse with women often, let alone enjoy it. But that's exactly what had happened last night. He'd enjoyed their verbal sparring. He'd admired her honesty. And he'd grown to like her.

Which had to be part of the rationale behind inviting her here. She hated small towns. He lived in one and loved it. So having her out of her comfort zone, seeing how she would probably react badly, would reinforce what he already knew: he couldn't like her. He shouldn't like her. It wouldn't end well.

"You hungry?" She brandished a loaf of crusty bread in one hand and a jar of mustard in the other. "I can whip up some subs."

"Yeah, that'd be great." Would give him time to…what? Crack open a beer as he usually would, fire up the big screen TV and log on to the latest gamer app? He couldn't do that, not with her here, which meant he'd need to entertain her.

Crap.

"Want a beer?"

Great, she could read his mind too. He was in so much trouble. Though at least he could enjoy one of his rituals. "Sure, thanks."

"Bet you didn't think I was a domestic goddess," she said, moving about the kitchen with ease.

"I'll reserve judgment 'til I taste that sub."

"Cynic," she yelled, piling every filling known to man onto the bread, making him salivate. For the sub and the constant peeps at cleavage as she leaned over the counter.

God, she was killing him.

They had all day to get through, tonight, then half a day tomorrow before they headed back to Vegas. Which meant he'd have the worst case of blue balls ever.

Because he was under no illusions: despite her teasing and challenging, Ashlin wasn't giving off the vibes of a woman ready to get down and dirty.

He may not socialize often but he knew the signs of a woman interested in getting naked with him. It had happened five times at conferences. Five different women. Which is probably what Kurt did in a single night, if rumors were correct. Which made Wyatt inexperienced and out of his depth, but still able to recognize that Ashlin didn't want him the same way he wanted her.

"Here you go." She handed him a plate and a beer. "Dig in."

He waited until she brought hers into the sunroom and sat next to him on the wide three-seater couch before taking a bite.