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He refuses the twenty I try to hand him, and when he vacates his seat, he brushes past James with a hard hit to the shoulder. I brace myself for James’ reaction, but instead of escalating the situation, he shakes his head and steps forward, claiming Martin’s barstool.
The difference between Martin and James is night and day. When Martin sat beside me, I wasn’t hyperaware of every move he made. With James, I’m jumpy and nervous, anticipating some kind of consequence even though I did nothing wrong.
We sit side by side for a few minutes without a word. I know he’s had a long day, and while I’m annoyed with him for standing me up, I don’t necessarily want to talk about it at the moment. Instead, I pass him my drink in silence and he takes a long drag, finishing the last of it.
When the bartender returns, he orders himself a whiskey neat then turns to me.
I shake my head. “Nothing, thanks.”
I can’t continue drinking without dinner. I’ll pass out, or worse, I’ll tell James how much I missed him today.
“Have you eaten?” he asks.
“No.”
“We’ll order something when we go back up to the room.”
My stomach dips.
The room. Of course.
It’s hard enough sitting beside James in a crowded bar, let alone following him back up to our suite. I keep my gaze down because it’s easier than meeting his eye, but even that isn’t safe territory. His strong thighs press against the fabric of his suit pants. His hand bridges the small space between us and grips my leg. Goose bumps bloom across my thigh as he brushes his thumb back and forth along the sensitive skin inside my knee.
“Brooke?”
“Hmm?”
He leans closer when I don’t look up. “I like that dress,” he says with a whisper against the shell of my ear.
I glance down at my lap and nibble on my bottom lip.
His thumb continues to skim back and forth across my knee, lingering for a moment in the hollow before claiming the bare skin an inch higher up my leg. I like that he can’t keep his hands off me. I put thought into my dress, picking the exact silhouette that would make me feel most confident. My hair and makeup are weapons, temporarily forgotten after sitting alone at the restaurant for so long. Now, I remember why I needed them in the first place; I can’t keep up with James unarmed.
My fingers ache to reach out and touch his raven-black suit. I want to feel his muscles tighten beneath the soft fabric. Instead, I fist my hands on my lap. James chuckles and turns to accept the drink from the bartender, taking his hands with him. My skin tingles from the ghost of his touch, but I use the moment to regain some ground.
“How was the conference?” I ask, proud that my voice doesn’t shake.
He stands and reaches into his wallet for his cash. He only arrived five minutes ago, but apparently he’s too anxious to sit at the bar for long. He downs some of his drink and flags down the bartender to pay his tab.
“James?”
He ignores me, tugging a few bills out of his wallet and sliding them across the bar. His hand grips my upper arm and when he turns to walk away, I swivel on my barstool, forced to follow after him or fall flat on my face. His hold on me isn’t painful, but there’s also not much room for negotiation. He leads us out of the bar and toward the hotel’s elevators.
My cheeks flush with embarrassment as people turn and watch us.
“What’s wrong? James?”
My heels clap against the marble floor as we beeline through the lobby. The doors of the elevator are already open, waiting for us. We step inside and he presses the number for our floor. The doors whoosh closed, we start ascending, and then he turns to me. My pulse jumps.
“I missed you today,” he says, his heated gaze lingering on my body.
I step back, and he follows.
He looks like he’s cornering his prey.
“Apparently not enough to make it to dinner,” I point out icily.
“I called the restaurant and told them I’d be late. Didn’t they tell you?”
I cross my arms and glance away.
“Brooke.” He steps closer and gently lifts my chin, forcing me to look back at him. “Fight with me tomorrow.”
I narrow my eyes, angry with him for shelving this discussion so casually. To him, it doesn’t matter that I sat in that restaurant alone, looking like a fool for nearly two hours. He’s brushing off my anger, stepping closer and forcing his way past my defenses.
“I think I’d like to talk about it now.”
I catch the beginning of a smirk just before he leans in to kiss my cheek.
“Are you sure there isn’t anything you’d rather be doing right now?”
