Page 10 of About that Fling (The Can’t Have Hearts Club #2)

A stray piece of paper skittered across her path as the breeze carried the scent of cottonwood trees and food from a street fair in the park below. She took a few steps forward, letting the door fall shut behind her as she reached into her purse for her phone.

She froze when she spotted him. A lone figure sitting cross-legged on a bench beside the ledge.

She had to squint at first, her eyes fighting to adjust to the glare of light through filmy clouds, but she would have known that body anywhere.

He had a laptop open in front of him, and a half-finished sandwich on a tray off to the side.

His dark hair was cut short, but spiked a little in the front like he’d been running his hands through it.

She must have gasped, because he looked up then. He blinked, motionless for what seemed like an eternity, green eyes locked on hers.

“Oh,” Jenna said, and spilled wine down the front of her dress.

“I’m not an expert on wine,” Adam said, jumping up to hand her a wad of napkins. “But I think the object is to get it into your mouth and not your cleavage.”

His hand brushed hers as she took the napkins, and he felt something electric in his knuckles. He stood close enough to feel the heat from her arms as she looked down in horror at the bloom of liquid on the front of her dress.

“God, I’m glad I’m drinking Pinot Grigio and not Merlot,” she muttered, mopping at the space between her breasts. “Hopefully this won’t stain.”

Adam watched, noticing the way the tops of her breasts glistened with spilled wine. He felt his brain spin and fought the urge to sit down.

“Here, let me grab the salt,” he offered, hurrying back to his lunch tray.

“Now’s not the time for margaritas.”

“It’s always time for margaritas, but that’s not what this is for.” He snatched the shaker in one hand and turned back to her. “This is how you get wine out of linen. That is linen, right?”

“Right. Ugh, I’m going to be sticky.”

“Could you stop touching yourself like that? You’re turning me on.”

Jenna looked up, her cheeks flushed, her dark hair pulled back in some sort of complicated twist that Adam ached to unravel with his fingers. Instead, he plucked the sodden napkin out of her hand.

“Seriously, stop rubbing it,” he said, handing her the saltshaker. “You’ll set the stain. Just cover it in this and wait ’til it dries.”

“How am I supposed to do that?” She pulled the fabric away from her body, then let it fall back against the curve of her breasts. All the blood remaining in Adam’s brain vacated the premises.

“It’s not exactly a flat surface,” she pointed out.

“I noticed,” he said. “I’m grateful.”

She rolled her eyes. “Come on, what do I do? Should I just shake some on the stain or what?”

“Here, let me help.”

He reached for the saltshaker again, fingers grazing hers as he took it.

He plucked the fabric away from her chest, trying to be as clinical as possible about the whole operation, but how the hell was he supposed to do that with his finger dipping into the warm hollow between her breasts?

He’d managed to stay professional all week at Belmont, not letting his libido surge at the sight of Jenna or his anger surge at the sight of his ex-wife. But now?—

“What on earth are you doing up here, anyway?” she asked.

“Working.”

“On a Saturday? On a hotel roof?”

“Hotel rooftops are only for midweek work?” He plucked at the damp fabric again, admiring its determination to cling to her breasts. “I think better with a little fresh air, so I followed the signs from my room to the roof.”

“When did you change hotels?”

“Two days ago. Hold still, will you?”

He tipped a little salt onto the liquid, rubbing it in with his knuckle. A little more, his finger grazing her breast again. Christ, it was hot up here.

He cleared his throat. “I don’t suppose I could convince you to take off the dress?”

“Nice try. Actually, that’s not a bad idea. I’ll just go back downstairs and do it. Hopefully there’s something in the hotel lost and found I could change into.” She nodded and stepped away from him. “Thank you for the salt.”

She turned and started to walk toward the stairwell, but Adam called out to her. “There’s one problem with that.”

She pivoted back to look at him. “What’s that?”

“You just trapped us up here.”

She stopped, hand outstretched toward the doorknob, bare feet lovely on the dirty roof. “What?”

“See that piece of paper?” He nodded toward the sports section pinned against the ledge, one corner fluttering in the breeze. “I’d shoved it into the latch so it wouldn’t lock while I was up here. It fell out when you came through the door.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it again. “How is that possible?”

“See for yourself.”

He waited to see if she’d take his word for it, not surprised when she didn’t. She gave the door a hard yank, her body jerking as the latch failed to give.

She turned back to face him, expression accusatory. “Why would a hotel have a door that locks people on the roof without some sort of warning?”

“Security. Besides, there was plenty of warning. Didn’t you see the signs?”

“Signs?”

“They were on every landing.”

She shook her head, eyes flashing with something that almost looked like sadness. “I’m abysmally bad at noticing the signs. In case you hadn’t noticed.”

He watched her, trying to grasp the turn they’d just taken in conversation. “Are we still talking about the stairwell?”

She sighed and stepped away from the door.

He thought she was going to walk back toward him, but instead she sank down onto the bench beside what was left of his ham sandwich.

He walked over and moved the tray aside, sinking down into the space next to her.

When she looked up, her eyes seemed a little wild.

“How the hell did I not know you were Mia’s husband?”

Those last two words hit him like a punch to the solar plexus, and he waited for the pang of annoyance to ebb. “ Ex -husband.”

“Still, I knew your name was Adam. That should have tipped me off.”

“There are more than 500,000 men named Adam in North America,” he pointed out, wondering if it was geeky or impressive for him to know that. “How were you supposed to realize you were knocking boots with the Adam who swapped rings with your best friend?”

She flinched, and Adam regretted the flippancy of his words. It was an engrained habit, this tendency to spout humor or data in uncomfortable situations.

What’s making you uncomfortable? The memory of your ex-wife, or the knowledge that you’re awkwardly attracted to her best friend?

Both. He’d spent a long time eradicating Mia from his life, or at least eradicating the anger that came with remembering her. But working with her again, and finding himself unable to resist the allure of a woman who’d probably heard all the ugliest stories from his marriage?—

He frowned, forcing himself to cut the self-analysis bullshit and stay in the present.

The present wasn’t so bad, really. Jenna’s perfume smelled sweet and warm, and there was a spicy hint of fall on the breeze.

He leaned back against the ledge, stretching his arms out behind him.

One rested a few inches behind Jenna’s shoulders, but she didn’t seem to notice.

“Look, I have my phone,” he said. “This isn’t some chick flick where we’re trapped on the roof together for hours until I ravish you up against the wall. I can call down to the front desk and have us out of here in five minutes.”

Neither of them moved, and for a moment, Adam wondered if she wanted to stay up here with him. The thought almost made him smile, but smiling didn’t seem like the right thing to do. Not yet, not with Jenna still bristling with tension. When she turned to look at him, her expression softened.

“Why did you change hotels?” she asked. “This obviously isn’t where we—” she paused, glancing away. “Where we met up last week.”

“Belmont likes to woo consultants with the nice digs up front, but for long-term contractors, this place makes more sense. Better weekly rates, and all the suites on the tenth floor have kitchens.”

Jenna sighed and leaned back against his arm, and Adam tried not to revel in the softness of her shoulders. “You know, I knew that about Belmont. About which hotels they use. Also a sign I should have picked up on, right?”

“Don’t beat yourself up, Jenna. We both could have been a little more inquisitive about each other’s identity.

” He hesitated, knowing he should probably pull out his phone and dial the front desk, but not wanting to make the move until she did.

“Why are you here, anyway? You look like a refugee from a garden party.”

She shrugged, studying her hands. When she looked back at him, her expression was guarded. “Mia’s wedding reception.”

He waited for the words to slice through him the way they might have two years ago. There was a dull ache in his gut, but it might have been the ham sandwich. Too much mustard. Or hell, maybe he was still affected by the thought of his ex-wife with another man. With the man she’d?—

“I thought Mia was already married,” he said, interrupting his own thoughts.

“They got married in Kauai a few weeks ago—at Mark’s parents’ place. Private, only immediate family. They’re having a reception here to celebrate with the people who couldn’t be at the wedding.”

Adam nodded, letting the words sink in, feeling nothing. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He felt something, but he wasn’t sure he could name what it was.

Some counselor you are.

“That’s smart,” he said, sticking with the basics. “Having a smaller, more intimate ceremony. I wish we’d done that the first time.”

She met his eyes and nodded. “I heard the first wedding was quite a show.”

“More than four hundred guests. Most of them friends of Mia’s mother. It was a nightmare. We wanted to serve chicken because several people in my family don’t eat red meat, but Sally—that’s her mother—insisted filet mignon was more high-class.”