“Trent, you don’t have the right to tell me how to spend my time or with whom.”
No, and he didn’t want the right. But the idea of her with Donnie made him want to hit something. He had to keep Paige and Donnie apart—not only because the guy was a prick who’d screw anybody, literally and figuratively, but because Donnie could blow the subterfuge wide open. Not many of the convention goers could tell Brent and Trent apart. But Donnie could. Donnie would know Trent hadn’t attended last year.
“I’ll walk you to your car.”
It only took a couple of minutes to reach the entrance. Paige handed the valet her ticket. The young man jogged toward the parking deck, leaving Trent alone with Paige.
She tilted her head back. The bright lights shone down on the pulse fluttering at the base of her pale throat. “Thanks for tonight. I had fun.”
His gaze focused on her mouth, and his libido kicked in anticipation for a craving he had no intention of satisfying. A roller coaster’s seat was all they’d share—if his brain had any say in the decision. “Tomorrow night we’ll hit the next stop on your list.”
“Maybe.” A small smile played across her delectable mouth.
Delectable? Have you lost your mind?
“Definitely.” The sound of her Jeep’s engine starting in the distance caught Trent’s attention, and in that split second of distraction Paige wrapped one of her hands around his nape and rose on her tiptoes.
He could have dodged the kiss. Should have dodged the kiss. But he didn’t. Masochistic fool that he was, he wanted to endure one and in doing so, prove the passion couldn’t meet his expectations. There was no way a simple kiss could be anything but anticlimactic after the way she’d kept his hormones simmering all night.
Her lips touched his, butterfly soft and tentative. But damn, she packed a punch that breached his defenses and cinched every muscle in him tight. The strength of his whole-body response rattled him. While her lips fluttered over his he struggled to justify and rationalize why this woman got to him in an attempt to prevent himself from responding.
Hers wasn’t an experienced woman’s kiss. Her claim that she didn’t make a habit of going upstairs with hotel guests contradicted Brent’s accusation that she probably picked up men in the bar on a regular basis. He believed Paige. Her lack of expertise showed.
Not that she couldn’t kiss.
He was used to women who knew what they wanted and went for it without hesitation. So while Paige had initiated this kiss, she’d done so with a lack of confidence that was strangely…endearing.
Endearing? What kind of crap is that?
Determined to push her away, he grasped her waist. But then her tongue eased across his bottom lip, and hunger hit him like a strong crosswind, blowing him off course. One taste wasn’t enough. He had to have more—if only to understand and evaluate her appeal.
Against his better judgment he angled his head and opened his mouth. When she tried to retreat he pursued, chasing her tongue with his, tightening his grip and yanking her closer. She startled at his aggressive move, and her squeak of surprise filled his mouth.
Her short nails dug lightly into his neck as he engaged her in a hot, slick duel, then with a cheek-steaming sigh, she sank against him. Her soft br**sts pressed his chest and her heat penetrated their layers of clothing, making his skin suddenly hot and damp. Desire drove a spike into his gut. He drove his fingers into her hair. The soft, silky strands entangled him as he tilted her head to deepen the kiss.
Brent’s leavings, his brain cautioned.
But Trent ignored the warning. He wanted her. Paige. Brent’s lover. Ex-lover.
The slam of a car door overrode the pounding of his pulse in his ears and knocked some sense into him. He fought off the need clawing his skull, peeled himself away from Paige and stepped back, trying to drag air into his laboring lungs.
Paige’s dazed brown eyes, flushed cheeks and the quick rise and fall of her br**sts told him he wasn’t the only one left wanting more. He could feel the push toward her still-wet lips like a strong tailwind. But the parking brake of his common sense slowly engaged, and he held his ground.
He should never have let her kiss him. Because now that he knew how she tasted and how she felt against him, for the first time since his childhood when his father had pitted him and Brent against each other regularly, Trent coveted what his brother had already possessed.
Never again. He silently repeated his vow not to compete with Brent.
Mentally distancing himself, he shoved a hand into his pocket, peeled a twenty from his money clip and tipped the valet.
“Good night,” he ground out and pivoted on his heel. He’d never been one to retreat, but as far as he was concerned tonight had put him in double jeopardy.
He’d enjoyed the rides and the adrenaline rush and wanted more. But not nearly as much as he wanted more time with Paige.
A smart man would avoid both hazards, but he couldn’t afford to opt out.
He needed a new strategy. And he needed it now.
Late. Late. Late.
Paige jogged toward the hotel’s employee entrance, cursing herself and trying not to break an ankle in her four-inch heels.
Trent’s kiss had kept her awake most of the night. And then she’d hit the snooze button one—okay, three—times too many this morning.
She swiped her ID badge and opened the door. Day one and her plan for seduction had already gone awry. She hadn’t had time to wash her hair and had only applied minimal makeup. Her basic black dress was too boring to tempt Trent, and she’d forgotten her earrings and watch, which left her feeling nak*d. Not in a good way.
So instead of tracking down the object of her indecent intentions, she had to avoid Trent until she could pop into the hotel’s salon on her lunch break and beg for emergency assistance.
Checking the hall in both directions, she breathed a sigh of relief on finding it empty and quickly tiptoed to her office. After turning on her computer, she shoved her purse into her desk drawer and slumped in her chair to catch her breath and gather her shattered composure.
A masculine throat cleared, startling her into opening her eyes. Her boss stood in the doorway. Fiftysomething and distinguished with his thick crop of white hair, Milton Jones frowned at her.
She bolted upright. “Good morning, Milton.”
He looked pointedly at the clock on the wall beside her desk. “You’re late.”
He should cut her some slack since she’d never been late before. In fact, she was always at least fifteen minutes early. But Milton was old-school. No excuses. “Yes, I’m five minutes late. I’m sorry. My first time, but it won’t happen again.”
“Have you walked the floor yet?”
Funny how the practice she’d started on her own had become an expectation. She pasted on a smile and rose. “I’m going to do that now.”
Argh. She’d hoped to duck into the ladies’ room and take another stab at her makeup and hastily twisted-up hair first—in case she accidentally ran into Trent. But that would have to wait. She’d simply have to be vigilant enough to dodge him until she’d prettied-up.
She gathered her clipboard and radio. She’d learned early on at home and on the job that occasionally she had to sing her own praises unless she wanted to be overlooked and taken for granted. “The aircraft conference is going well.”
“It’s only the third day,” he pointed out drily.
“And we’re off to a great start despite a few glitches with the sound system and the missing strawberries. Are you going to join me on my walk-through?” she asked when he didn’t move out of her path.
“No time. I have to negotiate the conference fee for a podiatrists’ convention. Report back on any irregularities after you’ve dealt with them.” He pivoted abruptly then headed down the hall and into his office.
She sagged in relief. Milton was an amazing mentor. He’d taken a chance on hiring her from the small hotel where she’d been working since graduating from USC’s School of Hotel, Restaurant & Tourism Management, and he’d taught her more than she could ever learn from a textbook. But she really couldn’t handle his nitpicking this morning. Her nerves were already frayed because of Trent’s kiss.
Okay, her kiss. She’d kissed him.
Her sisters would be proud. She grinned.
But she couldn’t tell them. The smile faded and an empty ache filled her belly.
During her tossing and turning last night she’d reached for the phone countless times to call one of them for a chat. Not that she could actually reveal the real reason behind a middle of the night call, but she’d needed to hear a familiar voice, and Ashley was usually up before dawn for her shift at the hospital.
Shaking her head, Paige picked up a small stack of messages. Not even calling home to talk about the weather was safe. Her sisters would guess something was up even if she didn’t let one word slip about that stupendous, knee-melting, brain-mushing kiss.
Perceptive. Yep. All four of them. Except when it came to handling their own problems. Then they relied on Paige, their relationship GPS, to talk them through the romance jungle. How she’d ended up being the “expert” with only one affair under her belt was a mystery. Then again, time-wise she and David had outlasted all her sisters’ relationships combined. But she’d still gotten dumped, hadn’t she?
Her sisters’ ability to pick up even the slightest nuance in Paige’s voice meant she had to limit most of her family communications to e-mail or calling home on Sunday evenings when the entire family gathered at her parents’ house for dinner. Only then was it too noisy and chaotic for anyone to hear more than minimal conversation, let alone interpret her tone. And the phone got passed around so quickly that no one had time to dig deep.
Her family’s ability to sniff out her moods was also the reason why she hadn’t been home for a visit since moving to Vegas. That didn’t mean she didn’t miss her boisterous, dependent, interfering relatives. But it looked as though she’d spend another Christmas vacation week solo this year. And she had nobody but herself to blame.
She could practically hear the gossips already. Still alone, poor thing. Do you think she’ll ever get over David?
The thought quickened her step. Multitasking as usual, she shuffled through the pink message slips, prioritizing the pages as she walked the service corridors between the meeting rooms. She poked her head into each, checking to make sure the urns of coffee and pitchers of iced water had been set up per her specifications.
When she came across a sheet containing nothing except her name and a phone number she didn’t recognize she stopped. She’d never received an anonymous message before. Who could it be?
The puzzling aspect intrigued her. Too impatient to wait to get back to her desk to make the call, she ducked into a quiet corner, pulled her cell phone from her pocket and typed in the number.
It rang twice before someone picked up. She heard what sounded like a crowd in the background, then, “Trent Hightower.”
The deep voice made her stomach do a loop-de-loop. She huffed out a breath then wheezed it back in again. “I—it’s Paige. I received your message.”