Page 48

“What brings you to Columbus?” Fenton asks.

“I have a conference in the morning. What about you?”

He slides an arm around the woman’s waist. “Brynne wanted to see an art exhibit at the museum here this weekend. Tate, have you met my wife?”

Tate looks at her and nods. “I have not. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Brynne.”

“Likewise,” she says.

“Fenton, Brynne, this is my date, Kelly,” Tate says. “Kelly, this is Fenton and Brynne Abbott.”

My heart leaps at being put on the spot. I have no idea what to do. Do I stand, too? Shake their hands? Am I supposed to do that double-cheek kiss thing some women do?

Neither Brynne nor Fenton extends a hand, so I stay seated. Fenton gives me a subtle nod. Brynne, however, turns toward me with a bright smile.

“Are you having a nice time tonight?” Brynne asks as her husband engages Tate in conversation.

“Yes. I’ve never been here before, and the food is divine. I’m highly impressed.”

“Have you chosen dessert yet?” She smirks and glances at Tate. “Aside from the obvious.”

I exhale, relieved to be in the presence of a girl’s girl. “Not yet.”

“Let me suggest the blueberry pie, which, I know, is an odd choice. But Fenton insists that every restaurant he opens in the Ruma chain comes with one dessert unique to that location. The head chef here chose blueberry pie as an ode to the Midwest.”

“My boss knows the man who owns this hotel chain. So we stay in his hotels when we travel, if possible.”

“I just realized that you own the hotel,” I say, with a small laugh. “Please pardon what I fear is a look of disbelief on my face.”

“How would you possibly know?”

Fenton turns to his wife. “Are you ready, Rudo?”

Rudo? What does that mean?

“Yes,” she says. “It was nice to meet you, Kelly. Maybe we’ll see each other again soon.”

“It was nice to meet you, too,” I say, withholding my internal commentary that not only will I not see her again, but I won’t see Tate, either.

Tate and Fenton exchange goodbyes.

“I’m sorry about that,” Tate says, sitting across from me.

“No, it’s fine. What an interesting couple …”

“You have no idea. My brother—I mean, my boss—has been friends with Fenton for a long time. I guess he and his wife have quite the story.”

“I got that vibe.”

“From meeting them for five minutes?”

I nod.

“How?” he asks.

“You can tell by how they interact with one another. The way they touched so familiarly, and how they spoke so respectfully. There’s trust there. Respect.” I smile softly. “It was pretty obvious.”

I reach for my drink and take a quick sip, my cheeks ablaze.

“Is that the kind of relationship you’re after?” Tate asks.

My glass returns to the table as my chest tightens. “Me? No. It probably was at one point.”

“Maybe I’m wrong, but being in a respectful, trusting relationship feels aligned with your cozy-girl thing.”

I grin at him. “True. But I’m not after a relationship.”

“At all?”

“At all.” Not right now, at least.

He takes his glass and sits back in his chair, sipping his old-fashioned while watching me over the brim. I’m sure he’s perplexed by my admission. I’m somewhat surprised by it, too. And the longer we stare at one another, the thicker the tension grows between us.

His question, although unspoken, hangs in the air. My answer, also silent, is on the tip of my tongue. Finally, he leans forward and gives in to his curiosity.

“What are you after then, Miss Kapowski?”

He rests his elbows on the table and peers into my eyes. The playfulness on his lips almost kills me. The intensity of his stare nearly melts me into a puddle on the floor.

My brain comes to a war zone, a clash of what I want and need—two very different things. I need an easy introduction to dating with a sweet and patient guy. But what I want—hell, maybe even what I need at this point—is fucked.

My body temperature rises, a sheen of sweat coats my skin, and a desperate ache grows between my legs. The knot that’s been pulling tighter and tighter all afternoon cinches so hard that I nearly grimace. The war zone comes to a screeching halt.

There is a victor.

After all, Tate is the perfect candidate. He’s attractive and into me, and I’ll never have to see him again. I can be wild and enjoy myself without worrying he’ll call me the next day.

Go for it.

“I’m looking for one thing,” I say, dragging my fingertip around the rim of my glass. “But it would only last one night.”

“It’s never a one-night stand,” he says.

“It would be with me.”

“You say that now.”

“And I assure you that I’ll say that after.”

The air grows hotter, tension building rapidly as each second ticks by. He doesn’t reply to my statement, and I don’t follow up with an explanation. He’ll either go into this knowing exactly what my conditions are or return to his room alone.

Please make the right choice.

Sean returns, causing me to jump. “Excuse me, please. How are you doing? Can I get you anything else?”

My heart pounds so hard that I can’t speak.

Tate drags his eyes away from me as if it pains him. “We’re great.”

“Mr. Abbott has paid your bill this evening, and I have been asked to serve you our famous blueberry pie for dessert. Would you like that now?”

Tate looks at me again with a fire so hot in his eyes that I nearly whimper.

What can this hurt? It’s just one night because he doesn’t even know my name. I lick my lips. It’ll be one hell of an adventure.

I hold Tate’s gaze. “Sean, can we get that pie to go?”

Tate’s eyes darken, and he stills.

“Absolutely,” Sean says. “Let me grab that, and I’ll be right back.”

“Thank you,” I say sweetly.

Tate removes his wallet and pulls out a few hundred-dollar bills. He tosses them unceremoniously onto the table.

“So you’re just looking for tonight, huh?” he asks.

“That’s it.”

“What should I do when you call me in the morning?”

I grin. “I don’t have your number and won’t ask for it.

So that won’t be a problem.” I study him closely, and he almost looks …

disappointed. Surely, he’s used to this type of arrangement .

I don’t want to ask the question rolling around my head, but the words slip past my lips before I can stop them. “What are you after, Tate?”

He holds my gaze unabashedly.

“The mother of my children,” he says without apology.

The words, the idea , burst through my veins and pool in my core. I’m not one to be turned on by the thought of having a child, but it’s insanely hot coming from him. Instead of looking for the next warm body or a good time, he’s looking for a family.

He’s too good to be true.

“I’m not her,” I say. “But I can provide you with a distraction.”

He licks his lips. Before he can reply, Sean is back like a bad habit.

“The note said to bring you an entire pie,” he says. “I put it in a box for you.”

Tate hands Sean the cash he had tossed on the table. “Thank you for your service this evening. You were great.”

“Yes, thank you,” I say.

“I appreciate that.” He dips his chin. “Can I get you anything else?”

Tate shakes his head. “I think we’re calling it a night. Thanks again.”

“Have an enjoyable rest of your night,” Sean says.

Tate stands, stalking around the corner of the table like a predator on the loose.

I hitch a breath, holding it as his fingertips slide across the top of my exposed back. A chill races down my spine at the contact, and I struggle not to moan. He pulls out my chair, and I get to my feet, bringing my rose and purse with me as I rise.

He’s a wall of muscle behind me as his lips lower to my ear.

“Are you ready to get fucked, Miss Kapowski?” he whispers just loud enough for me to hear.

“My room is across the hotel.”

“Mine is directly above us.”

“Yours, it is.”

His laugh is low as he takes my hand, laces our fingers together—grabs the pie—and guides me out of the restaurant.