Chapter Nine
Since when did it take her so freaking long to choose an outfit? Bea blamed a certain six-foot-five slice of blond hair and blue eyes for her sudden indecision.
Whatever. The flower-print romper with a triangle cut-out in the back paired with gladiator sandals would be dressy enough without being over the top. Thanks to her conversation with Felicity, she didn’t have time to do much with her hair, so she left it down. She just hoped the light makeup and casual jewelry she’d put on would all add up to something that Zane appreciated.
Not that she wanted him to appreciate her, or anything about her.
Because she was not going to sleep with him again. Under any circumstances.
But dammit, she was actually feeling giddy to see him. Almost jittery with anticipation. Not a great sign. She hadn’t allowed herself to feel anything for any man in a long time.
Not since him.
Evan.
He had been her high school-slash-college boyfriend of over two years. He’d been the cute older lacrosse player in high school who came from a well-to-do family in DC—like her—whom she had been crushing on since eighth grade. Needless to say, when he came sniffing around her as a college sophomore while she was still a junior in high school, she’d been so smitten she hadn’t cared about his reasons for finally approaching her. It also hadn’t hurt that his daddy was a prominent DC businessman and her own father had been eager to give his blessing to the relationship.
It had taken her two whole years to figure out something was wrong.
She hadn’t even realized how much control Evan was exerting over her—isolating her from her friends, having opinions on what she wore and how she looked, deciding how they would spend their time without giving her a choice. Even dictating whom she could and could not speak to when they were in public together.
The most shameful part of it was the fact that she’d given up her scholarship…for him.
She had been offered an athletic scholarship to the University of Oregon—mecca for all track and field athletes in the country—and she had turned it down. Evan had convinced her that he couldn’t take being so far apart from each other, since he was still at Georgetown. He loved her too much to let all that distance come between them.
What a crock of shit.
But she’d fallen for it.
Embarrassingly, though, that hadn’t even been the worst part.
The worst was her being so blinded by “love” that she hadn’t even come to the realization that Evan was a world-class asshole on her own. It had only happened when she’d eavesdropped on one of his conversations and discovered the truth of their relationship.
They had been at a dinner party one night when she’d overheard Evan telling his snobby friends how much Congressman Paxton loved him and already saw him as a son. The final blow had been hearing his callous comment that the only reason he’d pursued her in the first place was to get into her father’s good graces. That having a political figure like her father on his side would open a lot of doors for him as a businessman when he graduated.
Right before storming out of the party, she’d dumped his ass. But she’d wallowed in her anger and betrayal and self-loathing for months.
That was when she realized the type of person she had become—easily manipulated by her naive feelings for the prick.
She’d turned down one of the most prestigious athletic programs in the country for a lie. She had set state records in the 1600 meters. Everyone told her she had such potential. What kind of success could she have had in college with some of the best track coaches in the nation behind her? National championships? Endorsements? The Olympics?
She would never know.
Because she had let a man, who hadn’t even cared about her, influence a decision that very well could have changed the course of her life. Allowed him to steer her life in a direction he wanted it to go.
Not that she didn’t love being an interior designer, because she truly did. Running and design were her two passions.
She just couldn’t help but wonder what might have been.
Evan had made her feel used, deceived, and more than anything, incredibly stupid.
She had solemnly vowed that she would never again be so blind when it came to a man.
Nobody would control her life but her.
And since then, no one had.
So, yeah. Drinks with Zane sounded great. Sex with him sounded even better. But it was not going to happen again. Because she could see herself falling for that handsome alpha-male thing again far too easily, and she didn’t want to take any chances.
Resolved, she made her way into the bar—her heart suddenly beating a mile a minute—and searched the sea of patrons for the sexy Brit. Thanks to his size, it didn’t take her long to spot Zane at a table by the wall, sitting with some bearded guy. That must be the “mate.”
Stupidly, her legs started to feel shaky the closer she got to Zane. It was even worse when his attention moved abruptly away from the television and fell on her. His mouth broke into a huge smile—his whole face actually lit up—and she about tripped over her own feet
“Hey, you made it,” he greeted her when she reached their table. He stood and looked like he wanted to lean in and kiss her, but he didn’t.
“Yeah. I decided to show you Brits how we have fun in America.”
“Are you saying my people are dull?” he asked, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
She shrugged, unable to tamp down the excitement her whole body vibrated with at seeing him up close. “I guess you’ll have to prove you’re not.”
He chuckled, then indicated the man sitting at the table watching them with interest. “Allow me to introduce my friend, Mike Truman. Mike, this is Bea Paxton, the interior designer for our new store. Mike is living in DC to do his doctoral research. He’s actually my boss’s cousin, so we’ve known each other for a while.”
“Nice to meet you,” she said, shaking his hand.
“Likewise. So, you two work together?”
“Not every day,” she replied. “But yes.”
“And is he as overbearing at work as he is with his friends?”
She glanced up at Zane to see him watching her intently. “Probably more so.”
Mike laughed as he took a drink from his beer.
It wasn’t exactly a lie. The two of them frequently disagreed, mainly because Zane was such a control freak, and she was…well, a bit stubborn. He had a real problem delegating tasks because he wanted to do everything himself. And naturally, her way was almost always the best way, so she didn’t like anyone telling her she was wrong.
It made for…interesting work days.
“Hey, I took you paintballing, didn’t I?” Zane said defensively. “I don’t think that qualifies as dull or overbearing.”
They stared each other down for several seconds before she nodded. “I’ll give you that one.”
“And I can dance, as you know,” he added, inching even closer, until their bodies were almost touching.
It reminded her of the night in the club when he ground against her, making her so hot for him she could hardly breathe. Then he’d fucked her so hard and so good she could barely believe it hadn’t been a dream.
The look on Zane’s face told her that putting those thoughts into her head had been his entire goal.
“What else do I have to do to prove I’m not dull?” he asked, all innocence.
“Show me you can drink,” she answered without hesitation. She looked down at their mugs. “What are we drinking tonight?”
“Yuengling,” Zane replied. “One of my favorite American beers.”
“You know it’s the oldest brewery in the country, right?” she asked.
Something sparked in his eyes, though she couldn’t put a name to it. Whatever it was gave her butterflies and she had to look away.
“No, I didn’t,” he said quietly.
She cleared her throat and addressed both of them, needing to wipe that too serious look from Zane’s face. “Care to make things interesting, boys?”
“Oh, I love a good wager,” was Mike’s response as he sat forward in his chair.
“I bet I can chug one of those mugs down faster than both of you. If I win, you have to take a shot of my choosing. If I lose, I’ll do a shot that you choose.”
The two men looked at each other with perplexed expressions, then exploded into laughter. She rolled her eyes, used to the reaction. Men always underestimated her.
“You think you can beat both of us in a chugging contest?” Mike wheezed out between laughs.
She threw her clutch down on the table in an I-mean-business gesture. “Yes.”
“Both of us?” This from Zane. “I’m sorry, luv, but I don’t even want to take you up on that.”
She put her hands on her hips and shot him a look of disdain. “Chicken?”
Zane’s smile disappeared. After working with her for two months, he had clearly learned not to mess with that look. He acted as though there was real danger of her going all dramatic on him, accusing him of being a sexist, and throwing his mug of beer in his face. His hand was even carefully inching the mug across the table, away from her.
“I just…” He faltered. “Look at you.” He gestured at her body. “Where would you put all that beer?”
“Oh, Mr. Price. I have talents you’ve never seen,” she told him, lowering her voice suggestively.
“I…” His pupils dilated, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I’m—”
“You big, strong, manly Brits aren’t afraid of losing to a li’l ol’ southern gal, are y’all?” She batted her eyelashes.
Again, they exchanged a look, but this time they seemed nervous. “No,” they said in unison.
She nodded. “Good. I’ll get the beers.”
She was so winning.
Which, of course, she did.
When the guys finally realized they were going to lose—and badly—they actually stopped drinking to watch her last few gulps.
She laughed at their stunned faces and waited for the questions she knew were coming.
“How in the bloody hell did that just happen?” Zane demanded, giving her body another once-over—probably to make sure she didn’t have a plastic tube running out of her somewhere.
She could feel every place his gaze touched her, sending shivers down her spine.
“Fast metabolism and a lot of house parties in college,” she said with a grin, then left them sitting there speechless and went to go retrieve their loser shots from the bar.
When she placed the glasses down in front of them, Mike asked warily, “What is it?”
“You probably don’t want to know until after.”
Zane shook his head and blew out a curse under his breath. “A deal is a deal.” He held out his glass to Mike, clinking them together. “To God and country.”
They tipped their heads back and swallowed down the offending liquid. She shuddered just thinking about what they were drinking, knowing it was nothing short of disgusting.
Their coughing fits lasted a good two minutes, their throats and stomachs rejecting the substance. She knew it wasn’t nice to laugh, but she couldn’t help it.
“Not your cup of tea?” she mocked in her best British accent.
Zane let out a, “Bollocks!” as he tried to catch his breath.
At the same time Mike shouted, “Bloody Christ!” before chasing the shot with the rest of his beer.
“My God, woman. What was that?” Zane asked as he chugged down half a glass of water sitting on the table.
“Gorilla Puke.”
Their heads simultaneously whipped up. Mike asked, “Do we even want to know what that is?”
She faked a sweet expression that felt more devilish than anything. “Bacardi rum and Wild Turkey bourbon whiskey. Stuff is lethal. But you both took it like champs. I only saw a few tears.”
“Oh, this isn’t over,” Zane said in his deep, rumbling voice.
Her lady bits perked right up. “No?”
“No. This means war.”