Pipe Dreams(24)

The water shut off, and Lauren kicked off her shoes, preparing to greet whoever was tidying up the bathroom.

But the person who emerged was Mike Beacon.

Startled, her brain tried to make sense of the picture. He had his tux  jacket thrown over one arm, and a wine bucket in his hand. His bow tie  was undone, and the top couple of shirt buttons, too. Lauren got a  glimpse of the tan skin at his throat, and a dusting of chest hair below  that.

When he spotted her standing there by the door, he did a double take.  "Hi," he said, his face breaking into a smile. "I didn't hear you come  in."

"My apologies," Lauren snapped, since snappishness was her only weapon  when they were in the same room. "I didn't mean to startle you in my  hotel room."

"No problem," he said, his smile widening. "Come in and take a load off."

That's when Lauren's head almost exploded. "How did you get in here?  Wait-I don't even care how. Just go, okay? It's been a long day."

He moved, and she scooted away from the door to give him a wide berth.  But instead of heading for the door, he walked into the bedroom. What  the hell? Stunned, Lauren just gaped at the open doorway. The sound of a  cork popping was the next one she heard.

"Forgot the glasses," he muttered. Mike reappeared, looking as handsome  as he ever had in his life. But this time it only made her fingers itch  to punch him. He trotted over to a cabinet against the wall and plucked  two champagne flutes off a shelf.

"Mike!" Lauren spat as he turned his back and headed into the bedroom.

"Yes, Lo?"

Her blood would probably boil over any second now. "This is not your  room! Take your wine and hightail it back to wherever you're staying."  She stomped over to the bedroom doorway just to try to make sense of  this odd scene.

He sat calmly on the edge of the bed, bottle in hand, pouring a glass of  champagne. It was Moet & Chandon. Our brand, her traitorous memory  offered up. Lauren licked her lips unconsciously. She'd always loved  champagne. "The first glass is for you," he said quietly, holding it  out.

Although she had an urge to grab it and guzzle it down, she resisted. "I  don't know what you're playing at. But stop, okay? You can't bluff your  way into my room and pretend the last two years didn't happen."

His big brown eyes took measure of hers. He set the glass down on the  bedside table and picked up the empty one, filling it slowly so that it  wouldn't bubble over. "I'm not playing," he said quietly. "I'm well  aware that the last two years happened, and they were terrible." He set  the second glass down and placed the bottle carefully into the ice  bucket on the floor.

When he straightened up again, he began unbuttoning his shirt. "But  we're both here and I have missed you. So here I am, Lo. Come and have a  glass of champagne with me, because you're the only one in the whole  goddamn state of Florida that I want to talk to, anyway. What are we  waiting for?" His face was dead serious, that handsome cleft chin  pointing at her, waiting.                       
       
           



       

Lauren stood in the doorway, feeling agitated. He made it sound so easy.  She was still too angry to just go along with this little fantasy.  "Maybe I wore the dress just to make a point. It's not like you don't  deserve it."

He nodded slowly. Then he picked up both glasses and offered her one.

She shook her head.

Mike took a sip of one of them, then he closed his eyes in pleasure.  "There hasn't been enough champagne in my life lately," he said, taking a  second sip. "Not much to celebrate."

"Likewise," she said, because twisting the knife was something she did often when he was around.

He eyed her over the rim of the glass. "See, I considered that maybe you  wore that dress just to piss me off." He took another sip of champagne,  and she watched his throat work as he swallowed it, his Adam's apple  bobbing. A dark dusting of stubble on his rugged jaw was visible even  from this distance, and her traitorous mind wondered how rough it would  feel under her hand.

Lauren's mouth watered, and she wasn't sure if the cause was the wine, or the man drinking it.

". . . But then I realized that can't be it," he mused, admiring the  tiny bubbles rising up the sides of his glass. "The Lauren I know isn't a  bitter person. She wouldn't torture me, even if I deserved it. So I  decided I was right the first time-the dress was a summons. An olive  branch. I accept, baby. Have some champagne and sit with me." He patted  the bed beside him. Her bed. In her private suite. How did he even get  in here?

"Let me get this straight," she said through a throat constricted by  anger and surprise. "Either I jump on your dick in gratitude, or I've  become an angry, bitter person?"

His eyes flared with both heat and amusement. "That's an oversimplification, but I do like the sound of that first thing."

She folded her arms in front of her chest, clasping her elbows to  prevent her hands from shaking. Every nerve ending in her body was  standing at attention. So this is what fight-or-flight feels like.  "Maybe I didn't mean to make a statement, Michael. Maybe it's just a  dress."

Slowly, he shook his head, his glimmering eyes fixed on hers. "It's not  just a dress. And I'm not just some guy you used to date. A lot went  wrong between us, and I take all the blame, okay? But we're both here.  Right now. Just us." He stood up suddenly, grabbing the other glass of  champagne off the table and stepping toward her. "Please." He held out  the glass. "There's eleven hours until we get on the bus to the airport.  Spend them with me."

Her mind reeling, Lauren grabbed the glass and took a much-needed sip.  The bright taste of champagne burst across her tongue. Ten days from now  she would probably be giving up wine on her obstetrician's orders. And  giving up men was also a certainty.

Last chance, her subconscious whispered.

The bubbles tickled her throat as she swallowed. "I'm still angry at  you," she said, eyeing the attractive man standing in front of her. "I  don't think that's going to go away even if I let you talk me out of my  clothes."

It was tough talk. Except she left out the part about how she was still in love with him.

"I know you're still mad," he whispered. "I'm still mad at me, too. So  we'll have that in common." He leaned forward and brushed his lips  across her cheekbone.

Lauren inhaled a deep breath scented with both his aftershave and the  wine in her glass. She felt hyper-aware of everything happening, as if  the moment were transpiring in slow motion. The rustle of his shirt  fabric against her shoulder felt louder than it should have. And the  warmth of his body leaning close to hers gave her goosebumps.

"It can't be that easy," she said, her voice low. She wouldn't bother to  pretend that she wasn't tempted. But still. "After all this time, it  would be weird."

"That's the thing. It won't." He drained his glass and set it on the  bedside table. Then he moved around to stand behind her. "Drink your  bubbly. It's a good bottle. I still love champagne."

She took another sip on command. So much for giving him a piece of her mind.

A warm, calloused hand landed on her shoulder. With his other hand, Mike  gathered her hair and smoothed it away from her neck. "The guys tease  me for drinking it," he said, his voice low and private, his thumb  tracing the curve of her neck. "Sometimes I'll order a glass at the bar  after we've won a road trip game. Doulie will rib me about it while he  slugs back the Scotch. But I drink it because it makes me think of you."                       
       
           



       

Lauren closed her eyes and let herself be overwhelmed by the sensation  of his hands on her body. Too many hours had been spent trying to  remember how this felt. This man's loving touch had always made her  pulse race. The drag of his fingers over her skin made her feel more  alive than she had in months.

"Lo," he whispered, his breath at her ear. "Let me love you tonight."  His lips landed at the juncture of her neck and shoulder, and she  shivered. He began to drop teasing kisses on her sensitive skin, and she  barely held in her gasp.

As he continued this torture, her eyes stayed slammed shut, and her  mouth hung open. When the backs of his fingers traced a slow line down  the side of her dress, she bit her lip until she tasted blood.

Thank God he was standing behind her, because she couldn't possibly keep  the shock and lust off her face. He probably knew that, though. He was  giving her a few minutes to get used to the idea.