want to find your father?”
Her face hardened. “Of course not. He’s written me off and I’ve returned the favor. No, I regret that I haven’t made peace with my baby brother back in London.” With a deep sigh, she ran a hand through her hair. “We don’t get on at all, mostly because he’s royally screwing up his life. Part of it’s my fault. Well, mine and my mother’s. I think we spoiled him too much, and he was the only male in the family. But he’s straightening himself out now. Back in school and all, with me footing the bill. I’d like to be closer to him, and that’s something I can fix, right?”
Marcus nodded.
“Number Three—I’ve never had a dog. I want a dog.”
Marcus grinned. He couldn’t help himself. “Dogs will get hair on your black clothes. Unless you’ve found a hair-free dog.”
“There are low-shed dogs, yes, but you’re talking again,” she said sourly.
“Sorry.”
“Number Four—I’ve never been married or had children.”
“Children and husband are behind dogs?”
“Well, dogs don’t talk and get on your nerves, do they?”
“True.”
“Number Five—I’ve never taken that RV trip across this beautiful country of yours. Nor have I seen Alaska or Hawaii.”
“Neither have I,” he admitted.
“Number Six.” She trailed off.
A husky new tone in her voice had him listening hard. He waited, watching as she ducked her head and swiped her hand through her hair again, ruffling the curls into a delightful halo around her blushing face.
“Number Six,” he prompted, damn near holding his breath with suspense.
“Number Six.” Her bright gray gaze flickered back to his, and it was so hot and direct that every muscle in his body tightened and hummed with lust. “I regret that I blew you off in the terminal, Marcus. And I intended to do something about it.” She paused, and in the deepening silence between them, he could hear the shallow rasp of her breath. Or was that his? “If you hadn’t bumped into me tonight,” she continued, “I’d planned to find you back in New York. As soon as possible. I was just about to search for you on Google.”
* * *
Marcus kept his mouth shut, his hands deep in his pockets and his gaze firmly on the tips of his shoes as they got into the elevator, stood side by side and stared at the numbers over the door. He was determined to be a gentleman, even if his blood was running hot and he felt off-kilter, like a caveman who’d thrown on a tuxedo and gone to the ball.
Who was he fooling, though? Not himself, certainly. So what that he wasn’t begging her to come to his room or running his fingers up the back of her neck and into her hair? The air was still thick with desire and unspoken words, and he was quite certain that Claudia was sensitive enough to feel it.
Overhead, the lights switched. Second floor.
Claudia, who was staring at the numbers as resolutely as he was, shifted on her feet, restless with energy.
She smelled like spices, shampoo and sensual woman.
Cursing his overactive nose, he balled his hands into fists and tried to remember the important things here. That they’d just met. That she was skittish and had clearly had bad experiences with men. That as much as he wanted her, he needed to be strategic about how he handled things. Earlier he’d been sure he’d never see her again, but fate, or something like it, had given him another chance. They’d spent a little time together. They’d see each other again in New York because they both wanted that.
A surprising win all around, right?
Why couldn’t he be grateful and leave it at that?
Why was it so hot in here?
Why was it so hard for him to keep his hands to himself?
Third floor.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Claudia look in his direction and open her mouth as if she wanted to say something.
Fourth floor.
Do the right thing, man, he told himself, trying to ignore the spiraling desire low in his belly. It wasn’t that hard. Do. The.
E.L. Blaisdell, Nica Curt