One Wild Night With Her Enemy by Heidi Rice

CHAPTER FOUR

Ash. Help! I slept with Luke last night! Luke Broussard of Broussard Tech. The guy I’m supposed to be checking out for Temple. What do I do now? I’m freaking out. You have to help me. You so owe me, Ms Don’t-Wear-a-Bra-with-That-Dress. xx

LUKEPROPPEDHISshoulder against the kitchen doorframe and watched Cassandra furiously tapping with her thumbs and chewing on her bottom lip while she typed what looked like a novel into her cell phone. She kept pausing and looking into the middle distance, then tapping some more. But he could tell by the pucker on her brow that she wasn’t seeing the ocean beneath the cove, quiet now, and gilded by a bright new day after last night’s storm.

His body tightened. As it had so many times during the night. He eased himself upright, careful not to make a sound. He didn’t want to alert her to his presence—not yet—only too aware of the storm in his gut which still hadn’t been tamed. And the storm in his chest which refused to go away.

Jesus, how could she look even more stunning, with her tangled, sleep-mussed hair tumbling over her shoulders, her bare legs going on for miles under the T-shirt she must have snagged from his dresser while he was comatose?

Heat bloomed in his gut and he tensed. By rights he should be well satisfied and still comatose. From the angle of the sun, filtering through the forest behind the house on the east side of the inlet, it wasn’t much past nine. But when he’d woken up, he’d reached for her and found her gone. And then he’d seen the spots of blood on the bed sheets. And he had wondered, just as he had suspected when he’d thrust heavily inside her last night and felt her flinch... Had she been a virgin after all?

And, if so, why had she lied?

Waking up with an erection was nothing new. But why did the possibility of her virginity make it seem more intense? She might be inexperienced, but she was a grown woman. How the hell she might have managed to stay untouched for so long, he had no idea, but it was her choice—he hadn’t pushed or pressured her—in fact he’d gone out of his way to do the opposite. She’d even accused him of being ‘gallant’ for the first time in his entire life.

He hadn’t exploited her or taken anything from her she hadn’t been willing to give.

And if she had been a virgin, it didn’t make him a bad guy.

But, as he continued to watch her unobserved, something told him that for the first time in his life, with Cassandra James, all the usual rules didn’t apply. She’d changed them. And he didn’t like it. Because normally after a one-night booty call he’d be looking to find a way to get her out of his home without things getting too awkward. But instead all he could think about right now was walking up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, inhaling that glorious scent which had invaded his dreams last night and finding out if she’d picked him to be her first lover. And if she had, why had she?

But how could he do that without making this even more intense and awkward? Even more weird? Why had he broken his own rules with her, bringing her here?

Would she expect something from him now? Something more than pleasure? Even though he hoped he’d made it clear he couldn’t offer her more?

He felt a strange contraction in his chest as he imagined her turning round and opening her arms to him with the same enthusiasm and spontaneity she’d shown last night.

He frowned.

How did she do that? How did she make him forget that this situation was now all kinds of screwed up? He couldn’t touch her again. It would only make him feel more invested.

Whatever happened now, he needed to lay off her until he could get her off the island.

Perhaps she was expecting him to ask again about her virginity—but he wasn’t falling into that trap.

Why did it have to be a big deal? They were both adults. And the sex had been incredible. She’d been so responsive, so cute and sweet and hot and uninhibited. No reason to make this anything else than what it had always been intended to be. And if she brought it up—which she probably would eventually, because why else would she have kept her virginity a secret other than to use it at a later date—he’d tell her the truth: that her virginity was her business and had nothing to do with him.

She finally stopped tapping on her phone and placed it on the countertop. The sharp click of metal against granite echoed in the silent room. But she continued to stare at her phone as if it might leap up and bite her. Kind of the way she’d stared at the bike helmet the night before, until she’d decided to take it.

He cleared his throat, deciding it was time to stop thinking and start doing. He needed to get past the awkwardness so he could get her off his island.

She spun round. A blush blazed across her cheeks and hunger fired through his gut on cue.

He forced a smile to his lips. Relax, man. ‘Good morning, cher,’ he said.

Her gaze dipped to his naked chest, then shot back up again as the blush climbed to her hairline. After everything they’d done last night, he wouldn’t have thought it was physically possible for her to continue to blush so readily. Unfortunately, it only confirmed what he already knew. Virgin or not, she had not been as experienced as she’d made out.

He crossed the kitchen, then sank his hands into the pockets of his sweats in order to resist the powerful urge to cradle her cheeks and feel the heat from her skin seep into his palms.

You’re not gonna jump her again. Remember?

‘How you doing?’ he asked, because she looked hesitant—in a way she hadn’t been last night.

‘I’m...great, thank you,’ she said, her bright tone brittle.

He let it slide and fisted his fingers in his pants’ pockets to resist the powerful urge to touch.

‘The storm has passed,’ she said, turning to study the view as if her life depended on it.

‘Yeah,’ he said, studying her instead. So they were going to talk about the weather. ‘Not too much damage done.’

‘Do they usually?’ she asked, her eyes widening as she turned back towards him. ‘Cause damage? The storms? It was so overwhelming last night. I wouldn’t be at all surprised.’

He wondered if they were really talking about the weather, or something else entirely, as her blush continued to glow.

‘I’ll need to do a thorough check before I know for sure,’ he said.

The splash of colour on her cheeks went scarlet.

Nope, not talking about the weather at all.

He braced himself, waiting for her to address the huge elephant in the room.

But all she said was, ‘I see.’

Her gaze skimmed over his bare chest again, and the heat in his gut blossomed. He tensed, but then his stomach rumbled loud enough to be heard in Washington State.

At least this was one hunger he could satisfy.

‘You want some breakfast? I could make pancakes?’ he said, then frowned.

When was the last time he had offered to cook a woman breakfast? Probably never. Especially when he was supposed to be trying to get rid of her.

‘That would be wonderful, but I really don’t want to put you to too much trouble before we fly back to the city.’

The casual mention of their trip back surprised him. Truth was, it should have relieved him. If she wasn’t going to make a big deal about last night that was good, right? But it didn’t relieve him. Somehow it just annoyed him more. She’d dropped a bombshell into their casual one-night booty call and now she thought she could just ignore it? Seriously?

‘No trouble,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you grab the eggs and milk out of the fridge?’ he added, needing to keep things short and sweet.

He’d cook her pancakes and then take her back to the city. End of. That was what they’d arranged.

She returned with the fixings and he set about making the batter.

‘Do you need me to do anything?’ she asked.

‘No, I’ve got this,’ he said, cracking the eggs into the bowl one-handed and trying not to notice the way his old T-shirt inched up her thighs when she perched on one of the stools at the breakfast bar.

The sudden blast of heat as he recalled having those long, supple limbs hooked around his waist had him scattering the flour a bit too generously as he added it to the mixture.

‘You’re very good at that,’ she said.

‘Yeah,’ he murmured, still distracted by the smooth, toned skin as she crossed her legs. ‘I was a short-order cook in a diner the whole of my sophomore year in high school,’ he added, to distract himself from the heat starting to pound again in his pants.

‘Was that one of those minimum wage jobs you were talking about yesterday?’ she asked. ‘In the small town near Lafayette?’

‘Sure, but this was in Lafayette. Nobody would hire me in my hometown,’ he said, trying not to get fixated on the memory of how sweet she’d tasted when he’d...

‘Why not?’ she asked, sounding upset, and the indignant tone interrupted his wayward thoughts.

‘Because of my old man’s reputation.’ He picked up the whisk and dragged his gaze away from the danger zone.

You’re not jumping her again, Broussard, this booty call is over.

‘That seems very unfair.’

‘Huh?’ he said, having totally lost the thread of their conversation.

‘Why should you be blamed for your father’s bad reputation?’

He stared at her sympathetic expression as the guileless question registered and the slow throb of his pulse became a gallop.

Hang on a minute? He’d told her that? What the...?

He never spoke about his father, or that time in his life. Certainly not to a hook-up. Because he’d gone to some pains to cover it up when he’d been starting out. He hadn’t wanted his father’s crimes tarnishing his company the way they had tarnished so much of his childhood and adolescence. But now, as she stared at him, the concern in her gaze had his ribs feeling tight. The way they had during the night, when he’d held her in his arms as they’d both dropped into sleep.

His galloping pulse charged into his throat.

Hell, no.They were not going to have this conversation. Talking about his old man was off-limits.

‘How about you go find yourself something to wear in the housekeeper’s annexe while I get these done? Mrs Mendoza’s about your size—you can get to it through the mud room.’

He had to get her out of that thigh-skimming T and into something a lot more substantial before he got so damn distracted he ended up blurting out his whole life story.

‘I’m guessing the gold dress is a write-off,’ he added.

‘Um...yes—yes, it is.’

Her eyes widened, and a flush rose up her throat—making him almost feel bad for changing the subject so abruptly. Almost.

‘Won’t Mrs Mendoza think it’s a bit odd that I came all this way with no clothes,’ she asked, as the blush hit her cheeks.

And then he figured out the cause of her embarrassment. This had to be the first time in her life she’d ever done the walk of shame after a booty call.

His ribs contracted again. Bingo, buddy! Now you feel even more invested. Terrific.

‘Mrs Mendoza’s not here,’ he said, his tone gruffer and more impatient than he had intended. ‘I get the staff to vacate when I’m on the island,’ he added. ‘Like I said, I prefer my privacy. Take whatever you need and I’ll make sure she’s reimbursed.’

‘Oh, okay...’

Her gaze flickered away from his face and he felt like a jerk, which didn’t improve his mood at all.

She slipped off the stool, and her unfettered breasts bounced enticingly under the soft cotton of his old T. A shaft of heat hit him square in the gut. It came with a brutal side order of regret that he wouldn’t be able to feast on those ripe, responsive nipples again.

‘I’ll go and see what I can find,’ she said, flicking a thumb over her shoulder. ‘And be back ASAP.’

‘Don’t rush on my account,’ he said, going the full jerk and trying not to care. Better she knew this was the end of the road. ‘The batter needs to sit for a while before I start flipping.’

She’d complicated things with her possible virginity. Made him feel responsible in a way he never had before and blurt out stuff he’d never told anyone. Not to mention deal with the worst case of FOMO known to man as his gaze tracked the sweet, sultry sway of her hips under the butt-skimming T-shirt as she headed for the mud room.

The journey back to the city in his seaplane, surrounded by her scent and tortured by memories of last night, was going to be an hour-long lesson in sexual frustration.

He’d just sprinkled some more flour into the egg and milk mixture, trying to concentrate on getting through the next couple of hours without losing what was left of his mind, when he heard a rattling hum and spotted Cassandra’s cell phone, vibrating against the granite countertop. He picked it up, intending to switch it off, but caught sight of the notification that flashed onto the home screen.

His brows drew down as he read the message from someone identified as ‘Ash’.

His stomach twisted into a painful knot and suddenly sexual frustration was the least of his worries, as the cruel wave of betrayal washed through him like acid.