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“I think I’m still a bit jet-lagged.” Bree was a terrible liar, but he applauded her effort to remain civil. She took her dishes to the kitchen.
“I’ll get it.” Wes trailed her to the kitchen and stacked his plate on hers.
“Dinner was delicious. The least I can do is help with the dishes.” Bree scraped his plate, then hers, and loaded the dishes into the dishwasher.
He leaned against the refrigerator, arms folded over his chest, as she put away the dirty dishes. She seemed to be processing his words as she rinsed the pots and pans.
Wes held his tongue. After all, how many times could a guy say he was sorry before the words became hollow and meaningless? More importantly, he kept his hands to himself, balled in tight fists beneath his arms.
He ignored the persistent desire to touch her. To taste her mouth and softly caress the skin at the nape of her neck, exposed by her high ponytail. To finish what they’d started that night in London.
He shifted his weight, camouflaging his body’s reaction to the tactile memory and the current vision of Bree bent over the dishwasher—her pert, round ass highlighted by a pair of snug, navy yoga pants.
Maybe they should call it a night, before he did something they’d both regret.
“I’ve got this. Really.” He stepped toward her as she turned suddenly, nearly colliding with him. She planted her hands on his chest to brace herself from the impact. He grabbed her arms to steady her. When their eyes met, her cheeks turned crimson. She dropped her hands and stepped backward.
“Then I’ll go.” She headed toward the patio door.
“Wait, I’ll help you over the—” Before he could get through the doors she’d planted her hands on the railing and vaulted over to the other side.
She was practically a blur as she hurried inside, tossing a final “thanks and good night” over her shoulder.
He ran a hand over his head and sighed.
Way to go, Wes.
* * *
Bree retreated to her bed. Her heart rate and breathing were still elevated from her vault over the banister and sprint up the stairs. Knees drawn to her chest, she rested her chin on them and hugged her legs.
The grown-ass woman equivalent of hiding in a corner, hugging her teddy bear.
So much for playing it cool.
She’d accepted his dinner invitation, determined to prove the past was behind them. They’d be able to forge a business relationship that was profitable for everyone involved. She needed to prove it to herself, as much as she needed to prove it to him.
Bex was counting on her to remain calm and stick with the plan. She promised her friend she would. After all, her future was riding on this event being a success, too.
Bree groaned as she recounted the evening’s events. Her plan went off the rails long before they sat down to eat. It was the moment he’d taken her hand in his, then grabbed hold of her waist. Instantly, she’d been transported to that night in London. Her attraction to him was as palpable now as it was then.
Still, she managed to pull it together and get through an hour of dinner conversation. Civilly. Without staring at his strong biceps or focusing on the rise and fall of his well-defined pecs as he laughed.
Okay, that last part had been a monumental failure. He caught her checking him out more than once.
No wonder he felt compelled to outline exactly where things stood between them. He wasn’t interested in starting a relationship. A statement that was in direct opposition to the starry-eyed schoolgirl fantasy she couldn’t seem to let go of.
His words made her want to crawl under a chair and hide.
He’d seen straight through her ruse, much as he had the night they first met. She’d walked into that club determined to be witty, flirtatious and cosmopolitan. All the things she wasn’t. She’d been able to maintain the illusion most of the night. Until she met Wes. He was charming and funny, and he’d made her so comfortable she’d dropped the pretense and slipped back into her own skin, like a comfy pair of pj’s. The facade quickly faded away, as did her illusions of being satisfied with something temporary and meaningless. She’d wanted more.
That night, for the first time in a long time, she’d been hopeful she could have it.
