Unguarded (5 page)

“You know it can only be business between us, Shawn.”

And there it was, the line he'd been waiting for. “Why?”

“Because you're a client, one whose event is going to bring in big word of mouth for my firm. I can't afford to get tangled up with you.”

“Okay.” He shrugged. “You're fired, then. Problem solved.”

Her eyes widened. “The problem is definitely not solved. I can't afford to let you fire me. My boss would kill me.”

“Well, then, what do you suggest we do? Because I'm not willing to just forget being with you, talking to you, simply because I hired your firm to do my party.”

“It's a conflict of—”

“Don't give me that tired old line about conflicts of interest.” He moved closer to her, crowded her just a little bit even as he told himself it was the wrong move.

But he couldn't help it. He wanted to be near her, wanted to feel the silky soft brush of her skin against his again. Wanted to smell her sweet honeysuckle scent. He didn't touch her—he still had enough control not to do that—but he couldn't make himself take that step back, no matter how much he knew he should.

“Because if you feed me that line, it means one of
two things. Either you're not interested in me and you're looking for a convenient excuse to step back gracefully, or you are interested and I should just eliminate the conflict so that we can move forward.” He took a deep breath, inhaled her into his lungs. “So which one is it, Rhiannon? Do you want to go on a third date with me or don't you?”

“This isn't a date,” she protested, but it was weak and he could tell she knew it.

“Yeah, well, it sure as hell isn't a business dinner.” He glanced at the clock. “At least, not exclusively a business dinner.”

“It was supposed to be.” Her voice sounded desperate, and her big coffee-brown eyes pleaded with him to let the subject drop.

He didn't want to. He wanted to follow the thing through, to figure out where they stood once and for all. But she was looking a little panicked and he couldn't ignore that—not when he'd made certain, his entire life, never to deliberately make a woman uncomfortable.

“All right, then.” He forced himself to ease back, but it was a lot harder than it should have been. “Business, it is. For now.”

He nodded to the gift bag still in her hands. “Enjoy the movies. Start with the top one—it's the best.”

Tension throbbed between them, though he did his best to alleviate it by walking around the bar and putting the width of the thing between them. He poured himself a whiskey, then asked, “Do you want anything?”

“No. I'm driving.”

“Right. Of course you are.”

“Don't be mad, Shawn.”

“I'm not mad. I don't play that game. I'm just…disappointed.”

“Why?” she asked, and he could tell she was talking about a lot more than the fact that she'd turned him down. The vulnerable look in her eyes said she was asking why he was interested in her to begin with.

“Don't you feel this thing between us, Rhiannon? You have to, right? I can't be in this alone, not when it feels so incredibly right to be near you. To listen to you talk. To try to make you smile, which isn't very easy, by the way. To watch you—”

She cut him off by leaning across the bar and pressing her lips against his own.

It was over almost before it began, as Rhiannon broke the kiss off and backed away.

He followed her, forcing himself to walk around the bar instead of jumping over it as his suddenly rampaging libido had him contemplating.

“I think,” she said unsteadily, “that we should both concentrate on making this party successful.”

“I'm a great multitasker. I can concentrate on more than one thing at once.” The tension between them stretched taut as a fishing line and he took another step closer to her. He wanted to taste her, wanted to feel her lips against his one more time before she walked away.

Rhiannon swallowed convulsively and her hand came up to rest on his chest. At first he thought she meant to push him away, and he started to back up, ruthlessly squelching the surge of disappointment that swept through him.

But then her fingers twisted in his shirt, clung. And he knew he had her—even if it was just for this moment.

“Let me touch you, Rhiannon.” He murmured the request softly, not wanting to spook her. Still, if he didn't kiss her soon—really kiss her—he was afraid he might embarrass himself for the first time since he was a teenager.

“You are touching me.” Her voice was even softer than his.

“Actually, you're touching me.” He brought his head lower, until only a breath separated them. “Let me kiss you.”

Her eyes widened, the pupils dilating against the dark brown of her irises, and he felt her fear—and her arousal—in every cell in his body. “I want—”

“I won't hurt you. I promise.” He stroked her cheek soothingly. “I just want to know what you feel like. What you taste like.”

She was trembling, from fear or desire he didn't know. The idea that he had inadvertently frightened her upset him, and he started to back away, but once again, at the last possible second, she leaned forward and closed the distance between them. Her mouth brushed against his—once, twice—as tentative as a hummingbird. As sweet as a flower petal.

He wanted to let her control the kiss the first time, to let her take him instead of the other way around. But as her lips parted in a warm, sweet sigh, he lost everything but the driving need to taste her.

Sliding his hands around to the back of Rhiannon's head, he tangled his fingers in her hair, then brought her in closer until his lips were a steady pressure on hers.

His tongue stroked across her mouth, exploring the funny little indention in the center of her upper lip, the plump fullness of her bottom lip.

Toying with the upturned corner of her mouth.

Licking over the scar that ran to the right of her dimple.

She tasted delicious, exotic, like roses and pomegranates and the darkest, richest honey. He wanted to savor her like the finest cognac, to take her slowly and enjoy every nuance of her heady flavor.

He also wanted to gobble her up like the tastiest of treats, to rush to the end zone and then start all over again at the zero yard line.

In the end, he did a little of both. He played with her lower lip, pulled it between his teeth and nipped gently. She moaned and the fingers that were still tangled in his shirt dug deeper as she returned his exploration with her own.

It was his turn to groan as need all but overwhelmed him. His hands swept down her back, enveloped her, pulled her in closer. Her mouth opened on a sigh and he took her breath deep inside of him, then slipped inside her to explore her warmth.

He licked over the top of her mouth, stroked his tongue along her cheek and the inside of her upper lip. He'd just begun to wonder how Rhiannon felt about making love against the wall when she wrenched herself away from him.

She stood there for long seconds, breathing hard. Her lips were swollen, her hands curled into fists. And her eyes—her eyes were more turbulent than he had ever seen them. And more empty.

“Rhiannon.” He reached for her, but she was already turning across the family room, through the foyer, out the front door to her waiting car. He let her go, because he wanted—too badly—to stop her.

W
HAT HAD SHE DONE?
Rhiannon wondered as she sped away from Shawn's house. What had she been thinking, kissing him like that? Letting him kiss her like that? Her lips still burned from where he'd licked and sucked at them.

She didn't want this. Not now, maybe not ever. And certainly not with a man she barely knew.

After she'd been raped by a source she had considered completely trustworthy, her husband had had a hard time understanding her moods and her phobias. He'd had an even harder time dealing with her fear of being touched by a man, any man—even her husband. He had tried to get through to her, had tried to reach her behind the solid wall of ice she had erected between herself and the rest of the world. But finally Richard had given up, walked away. Divorced her and moved on in a way she hadn't been able to.

And he had always been a stand-up guy—still was one, if she was completely honest about it. Smart, responsible, loving, he'd been a good husband, all the way until the divorce.

The problem had been within her. Her inability to get beyond the attack, to find her way through the fear and depression and hopelessness to connect with him, had eventually been too much for him to take. If one of
the most dependable men she'd ever known could get fed up enough with her to walk away after fifteen years of marriage, it was crazy to think that Shawn—with his crooked smile and life's-a-party attitude—would stick around long enough to even skim the surface of her issues.

Besides, even if he did stick around, it wasn't like she could handle his interest, not when some days she still felt like she could fall apart at the slightest provocation.

So, what the hell had she been thinking? Had she really thought she was healed enough to kiss him?

Had she really thought attraction would be enough, when her very handsome, attractive husband hadn't been able to reach her, no matter what he'd tried?

When the only way she could get through the day was by controlling herself and every element in her life?

She had to have been insane. There was no other explanation for it. She'd known that he was interested when she went over there, had certainly known he wanted to pursue something when she'd realized he'd made her dinner…and bought her a present. And still, she hadn't walked away.

No, not her. She'd been stupid enough to think that maybe, just maybe, she could do this thing. It didn't have to be serious, didn't have to be a big deal. As she'd looked at the red bag dangling from his fingertips, she'd decided that maybe it could be okay. Maybe she could just hang out with a handsome, exciting man who made her laugh.

Instead, she'd kissed him and then totally freaked
out, running out of the house like the hounds of hell were after her. It was too humiliating for words.

And if it wasn't bad enough that she had just completely embarrassed herself, it wasn't like she could go home and hide away in shame until she found a way to move past the whole, terrible episode. No, she had to see him again in a few days, had to talk to him. Had to go over party plans with him.

How the hell was she supposed to do that?

Stopping at a red light, Rhiannon rested her head on the steering wheel and counted slowly to ten as she reminded herself that this was not the end of the world. She'd gotten through a lot worse than this. She might not be whole, but she was still standing. That had to count for something.

And as for Shawn, from here on out, she would deal with him as she would any other client. She would email him about the party, make sure to keep their phone conversations strictly professional, and in no way encourage him ever again.

Ever. Again. She wasn't ready to do this male-female thing and she was done trying. Attraction or not, she was taking herself firmly out of the game Shawn had pieced together for them.

It was better that way. She'd spent long enough on an emotional roller coaster. It was time to get off the ride.

 

R
HIANNON WAS DRIVING
him crazy. Insane. Completely bonkers with her refusal to pick up the phone when he called or to return his messages. It had been more than a week since she'd yanked herself from his arms and gone running out of his house like the place
was on fire and he hadn't been able to get her to say one word to him. Not one word.

Oh, she'd been in touch with him. She'd emailed him the proposed budget, faxed him a few ideas for the menu that she wanted him to look over, even texted him with a few questions that she needed clarified. But not once had she actually spoken to him, no matter how many messages he'd left her.

It was enough to make a perfectly sane man lose his mind. It was more than enough to drive that same man to do an insane amount of grueling exercise.

Shawn pounded up the last hill that separated him from his house, his steps steady, his breathing easy despite the five miles he had just put in running up and down the hills that surrounded Lake Travis.

Maybe he'd stand a chance in that marathon Robert had signed him up for, after all. It was in four weeks, and like nearly everything else in his life that he didn't like to do, his training schedule had been haphazard at best. At least until Rhiannon had messed with his mind—and his libido.

But then, why would he want to train seriously for the stupid marathon anyway? He didn't know why he was running the thing—except for the fact that Robert had issued the challenge. Of course, he'd only done so because he wanted someone to run with him, and he'd known that the one thing Shawn had trouble passing up was a challenge.

That was one of the many reasons he was so interested in Rhiannon—she was a hell of a challenge. Extremely difficult to get a handle on and more work than any woman had ever been for him, bar none.

But with Rhiannon, he didn't mind the work. He
actually kind of liked it, he acknowledged as he ran steadily toward his house, despite the fact that she sent out so many mixed signals that he barely knew whether he was coming or going with her. And he was trying to respect the fact that she didn't want to go out with him. After the first message he'd left, the others had been strictly professional, focusing on the party and all the questions she needed answered.

At the same time, he couldn't help remembering the way she'd kissed him—with a passion so hot it had nearly burned him. He wanted to feel that heat again, wanted to feel
her
again. Giving her time to work things out in her own head was driving him nuts, especially since he was afraid she'd already done so—just not in his favor.

He wanted to get to know her, wanted to find out what was underneath that cool, collected exterior. Maybe that's all she was—calm and competent, through and through. But that kiss last week had been anything but calm. Anything but collected. He'd dreamed about it the past several nights—had dreamed about her—and had woken up each morning hard and aching and desperate for her.

It was crazy, he thought again as he slammed into his house and headed straight for the shower. Crazy how she'd gotten under his skin. Even crazier how he couldn't get her back out again.

So what was he supposed to do? he wondered, as he stepped under the hot water and let it beat out the tension in his shoulders. Was he supposed to chase after her like a puppy, hoping for a little of her time? Or should he move on, forget all about the fact that she made his mouth dry and his hands shake? It wasn't like
he needed that kind of complication right now, anyway. Wasn't like he wanted to fall for her. Walking away was definitely the smarter move.

Yet smarter didn't always equal best, and he couldn't help wondering if this was one of those times. Closing his eyes, he shampooed his hair before letting the warm water sluice the suds away. That was the problem—from the minute he'd seen her at Robert's party, he hadn't been thinking clearly, hadn't been on his game. And while he normally liked to just take things as they came—to fly by the seat of his pants—everything inside of him told him that wasn't going to work with Rhiannon.

For her, he needed a very detailed plan, much like the mock-ups he did for his novels before he actually started the artwork. He needed to lay down his battle strategy according to the rules she'd provided, sketchy as they were. Because if he'd figured out anything at all while he'd been running his ass off this week, it was that he wasn't ready to see the last of her. Not even close.

Turning the water off, he stepped out of the shower. Grabbing a towel on the fly, he headed straight for the phone on his nightstand, with only one thought in his mind.

Game on.

By the time he was done, Rhiannon wouldn't even know what had hit her.