Chapter Sixteen
A few minutes later, Alisha and Brett were standing in front of his room’s door, which just so happened to be right next to hers. She put a hand on one hip and arched an eyebrow at him.
He grinned and shrugged a shoulder. “I was optimistic.”
There it was, that unrepentant, boyish charm Alisha couldn’t resist. “Apparently. Is that all it takes with most women? A connecting door?”
Still smiling, he crossed his arms in front of himself and leaned against the wall. “Usually much less. I’ve never had to work this hard to be with anyone.”
Alisha inhaled sharply. “Well, you can stop working at it because we’ve already agreed nothing is going to happen.”
He straightened and opened the door to his suite. “Which is why it’s perfectly safe for you to come in and see the view from the balcony. It’s spectacular.”
“I’m sure it is.” Even though she trusted him, going inside would test her resolve as well.
“Afraid?”
“No.”
“Worried you won’t be able to keep your hands off me?”
She made a sarcastic sound in her throat. “Hardly.”
He stepped through the door and held it wide open. “Then come see the view.”
“I’m right next door. I have the same view.”
“Really?”
The way he asked piqued her curiosity. She peered inside. “Holy shit. This is what a suite looks like?” She stepped past him and craned her neck to see the second floor. The room was easily eight times the size of hers with floor-to-ceiling windows on two sides and a large balcony with a hot tub.
“I was pleasantly surprised myself.”
After gazing out the window, Alisha spotted a baby grand piano in a corner of the large living room area and moved toward it. A butler appeared, temporarily occupying Brett’s attention. Alisha ran her hand over the top of the piano, then pressed a few keys. It was nicely tuned.
Brett’s voice at her side made her jump. “Do you play?” he asked.
“We all do. Your mother played when she was young. It was important to her that we all learned as well. She paid for my lessons because my mother couldn’t afford them. She always made sure to include me.” A sad thought occurred to her that prompted a question before she had time to reconsider asking, “Do you play?”
“No,” he said abruptly.
“I’m—”
“Don’t say it. My mother’s choices are hers to apologize for.”
Alisha tried to think of something to say that would make it better, but fell silent when she failed.
He sighed. “She might have asked me to take them. I don’t remember. If she did, I’m sure I declined the offer. I didn’t want any part of the new family she’d made for herself.”
There was a longing in his voice that she understood all too well. Even though she loved Stephanie and her children, when things had fallen apart, they’d pulled together—without her. It hurt, and she saw that same pain reflected in Brett’s eyes. More than anything, she wanted to give him a bridge to them. “Would you like to hear your mother’s favorite song?”
Their eyes met and held for a long moment. “Yes.”
That’s all it took for her heart to beat wildly and her body to quiver with desire she refused to give in to. The air sizzled. She was aware of every inch of him so near, every breath he took. He was as focused on her. It was dangerously intoxicating.
Alisha gave herself an inner shake and took a step back. She quickly sat at the piano and began to play the melody she’d heard Brett’s mother return to again and again over the years. The ragtime tune was exactly the distraction she was looking for. “It’s called ‘Blame It on the Blues.’ Stephanie said it was her father’s favorite. When her mother met him, he was playing in bars for extra money. That stopped when they got married, but he still wanted to smoke a cigar and have a whiskey while he played. Her mother hated that, but she hated the idea of him going off to a bar to play even more, so she’d open the windows and let him. I never met him, but there’s a photo of him at your mother’s house, and I can imagine him so clearly whenever I play the song.”
“I’ve seen photos of him.” Brett sat down on the bench beside Alisha. “He did love a cigar and a whiskey.”
The warm expression in Brett’s eyes had Alisha momentarily fumbling to remember the notes. I can’t think about how much I want those lips on mine or on any other part of me they’d like to wander to.
I shouldn’t even be here.
I should have said no and gone straight to my room.
But we’re not doing anything wrong.
I’m simply savoring the little time I’ll have with him. I can do that without taking this anywhere I’ll regret.
I won’t forget about everyone back home.
Alisha transitioned to a more modern beat. “Spencer always preferred contemporary artists.” She flowed from one song into another as she spoke. “Rachelle loves holiday music. Nicolette is a huge Mozart fan because she loves numbers and puzzles.”
“What about you?” he asked huskily.
His simple question was thick with intimate meaning, but she refused to acknowledge it. She was tempted to turn her head toward him, but if she did, she knew he’d kiss her.
And her resolve would crumble.
“I like jazz. I close my eyes and the peace of it sweeps over me.”
Swept away was close to how Brett felt when Alisha played as she described and gave herself over to the music. There was nothing overtly sexual about what she was doing, but he was torturing himself with the image of her talented fingers dancing their way off the keyboard and onto him.
He reminded himself of his promise: they would spend the next two days together without the pressure of more. Which meant he couldn’t give in to the urge to lean over and kiss her bare shoulder. He definitely couldn’t run his hand from her bare knee up her thigh, slide it beneath the light material of her dress to cup her sex. Taking her by the shoulders, turning her to face him on the bench so he could ease her down onto her back, was also strictly off-limits. As was ripping away her underclothing and spreading her wide for his hungry mouth.
If I’m not going to do anything, why the fuck did I invite her in?
Because no other woman has ever reduced me to this.
“You need to go,” he growled.
The music instantly stopped. Her eyes flew open, and her cheeks turned an embarrassed bright shade of red. “Oh. I didn’t mean to give you a full concert. I’m—” This time she stopped herself. “I haven’t played in a while, and it felt so good.”
Brett’s cock hardened at her choice of words. He stood. “I’ll show you out.”
He didn’t let the disappointed expression on her face deter him from opening the suite door and hustling her out of it. She looked confused by the snap in his voice, but he wasn’t about to explain that he was angry with himself for wanting to pull her back inside and fuck her against the door.
He was always in control—of himself and usually those around him. Alisha had somehow turned that all around. Turned him around. He could barely recognize himself when he was around her.
If the look in her eyes earlier was anything to go by, he was reasonably certain her no would turn to a moan of yes if he kissed her. She was as hot for him as he was for her, which only made it harder to keep his hands off her.
So why not do it?
Do her.
One time.
Or two. Maybe three.
And then we’d both be able to think straight again.
But then what?
Her promise to Rachelle is important to her, and her loyalty is part of her beauty.
Do I really want to take that from her?
“Good night.” His finality might work in business situations, but instead of leaving, Alisha stepped closer.
She cocked her head to one side and asked, “Are you angry with me? Did I say something wrong?” How could she think that?
He took a deep, fortifying breath. She’s only asking because I’m acting like an utter ass. “No. Tonight was great.” Just great. “See you tomorrow.”
“Sure.”
After watching her walk to her room and let herself in, he closed the door with more force than he’d meant to. He spent a while looking at the connecting door on the inside wall. What would he do if she knocked?
I’d let her in.
That was a stupid question.
She didn’t knock, so he made his way up the stairs to his bedroom, shed his clothes, and took a very cold shower.