Free One Night Standards by Cathy Yardley Page B

more hysterical than carefree. “Oh, I’m fine,” she responded. Just as long as I don’t think too clearly. She took two more large swallows of the wine, then put the glass down on the dresser. “So, how do you want to do this?”
    He frowned. “Do what?”
    â€œThis. Us,” she said, making a vague sweeping gesture with her hands that encompassed him, her…and the bed.
    He studied her, and she squirmed under his attention. “Come here,” he said, keeping his voice soft, as if he were approaching a wounded animal.
    She took a deep breath, then stepped toward him.
    No turning back now.
    He took her into his arms, his body feeling hot and hard and fantastic against hers. But to her surprise, he only stroked her arms and her back. He didn’t kiss her, much as she wanted him to. She was trembling, and absently she realized it had nothing to do with desire—and everything to do with fear, at what she was doing, and what she might be ruining.
    â€œYou don’t have to do this, you know,” he murmured against the top of her head, pressing a soft kiss against the crown of her hair. “You don’t have to do anything that makes you feel uncomfortable.”
    She curved against him, her arms wrapping around his waist and holding him tight. For a second, conscience warred with desire.
    â€œIt’s different when we’re…you know. Actually in it,” she said slowly, pulling away from him enough to look into his eyes. His face was etched with obvious strain—and an overwhelming tenderness that almost took her breath away. “When I think about you, and the night we almost—you know—it’s the easiest decision in the world to make.”
    He stroked her back, small, lazy circles that made her blood warm. She felt her nipples peak in a rush, and her breathing went shallow. “But…?” he prompted, his voice taut.
    â€œBut then I think about everything else,” she countered. “I think about what we’re doing, and what could happen. And I wonder if I’m making the biggest mistake of my life.”
    He sighed, then sat on the edge of the bed, tugging gently until she sat next to him. He kept an arm around her, and she felt ridiculously comforted by it. She gave into the urge, and rested her head against his broad shoulder. “And what are you afraid is going to happen?” he continued.
    She closed her eyes, picturing the worst. “I’ll screw up the account,” she said softly. “Someone will find out. Mrs. Marion will think I’m not taking it seriously. I’ll get Diva Nation tossed from the running because I look like I lack ethics.”
    â€œYou don’t lack ethics,” Mark quickly protested. “We haven’t shared any secrets, for God’s sake!”
    â€œI know. But I also know that, if you asked me, I might let something slip,” she admitted, her voice shaking.
    He processed that silently, and she wondered if he understood how big a concession that was—especially from someone like her, whose business was her life.
    â€œI would never ask you,” he said. “I know I might’ve tried to charm you, a while ago, but this is different. Hell, I’ve never felt anything like this before.”
    â€œI know,” she said. “It’s not even like we have a relationship. Who would believe that we just wanted each other so much, business had nothing to do with it?”
    He sighed again. “If I hadn’t experienced it myself, I probably wouldn’t believe it, either,” he admitted.
    â€œSo why are we doing this?” she asked helplessly.
    When she opened her eyes, his face looked haunted—tortured. “Sophie, I never meant to hurt you.”
    She quickly kissed his jaw, causing the muscles beneath her lips to bunch. “Shh,” she breathed. “You asked how I felt. I didn’t tell you to make you feel