Passing His Guard

“I don’t know, Rya

What was his deal? Now, all of a sudden the player was getting cold feet? She thought he would have jumped at the no-strings-attached opportunity. The guy was the king of flings.

Looking as if he were fighting an internal battle, he said, “I don’t think it’s going to be that simple. I’ve done this sort of thing—a lot—and something about this feels different. Someone could get hurt.”

Was he seriously considering refusing her? And by “someone” she was pretty sure he was talking about her. He said it himself—he was a pro at this, the master at not letting his emotions get involved. And she was what, the naïve, foolish, inexperienced little groupie? More than anything she wanted to prove him wrong. She could handle this. People had flings all the time, and she was long due hers.

Giving him her sauciest smile, she asked, “What’s the matter, Aiden, afraid you’re going to fall in love with me?”

At that taunt, he tensed, sitting a bit straighter, those impossibly wide shoulders thrown back, the fighter in him inherently responding to the challenge. Thoughtfully, his tongue toyed with the loop piercing ru

Yep, of course it was going to be her. He was afraid she wouldn’t be able to handle it. Well, it was sixteen hours from here to Manhattan, two days of driving, less if they could get out of here at a decent time tomorrow. What could possibly happen in two days?

CHAPTER

20

Was Rya

Emotions were going to get involved; it was inevitable, and she was going to get hurt. But hey, it wasn’t like he didn’t try to warn her, right? He’d have to be a total idiot not to jump at Rya

Yet, something inside him, some nagging part of his conscience, told him this was a mistake. But that didn’t stop him from telling his Jiminy Cricket to shut the fuck up. So why was he hesitating? Maybe you’re afraid you’re the one that’s going to get hurt, asshole.

Rya

You couldn’t miss what you never had, so relationships had fallen to the bottom of his priority list. Then, when he’d gotten to Vegas, the women he’d encountered never wanted anything more from him than a good time, not that he’d been looking for more, and the hours he’d spent in the firm were now replaced by hours in the gym. But, what if . . . ?

Rya

“You should see yourself,” she teased. “I can’t tell if you’re about to leap across the table and attack me right here, or bolt out of this place and run for the hills.”

Neither could he—hence, the hesitation. She was pretty, with that flirtatious sparkle in her eyes, that wine-kissed flush to her cheeks. In this low lighting, her hair looked almost black, were it not for the fire’s glow reflecting against her deep copper strands. Fuck it. Reaching across the small intimate table, Aiden caught Rya

A small whimper escaped her throat when he pulled away, but dammit, if he didn’t stop now, he might not have the willpower to do so. And the last thing he needed was to wind up back in the Portage Police Department, this time for public indecency.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Rya

Shock and amazement were just about the only words to describe the look on her beautiful face. Aiden gave her a crooked grin that promised all sorts of debauchery. And feeling triumphant, with his point well made, he turned his attention to the waiter approaching with their di

Di

“You feeling all right, Rya

Aiden took a bite of the medium-rare meat and gave her a closed-lip grin. “I gotta admit, I was skeptical at first. Just goes to show, you can’t judge a book by its cover.”

She got the feeling he was talking about something other than the restaurant. Not that she could call him out on his enigmatic comment. So Rya

His cocky smile fell, his chewing halted, and she nearly busted out laughing. “You never told me your story. You know, about your worst date ever.”

He resumed chewing and relaxed a bit, easing a touch of the tension crackling between them. She tried not to notice the way his throat worked as he swallowed, or the thick ropes of flexing muscles as he lifted his pint of beer and downed another third. When he set his glass down, she saw he was smiling—a genuinely humorous, wholly infectious grin. “You sure you want to hear it? It involves a prostitute, a bar fight, and a rubber chicken,” he warned.

“What?” Rya

“God, I wish I was,” he grumbled, but humor laced his voice.

“Of course I want to hear it. You can’t preface a story with a rubber chicken and not tell me.”