“Oh, um, right…” Hayden sat up and tucked her dark, unruly hair behind her ears. She looked so fragile in the center of the enormous bed, so uncharacteristically unsure all of a sudden, that he hated himself for getting up so abruptly. He fought the urge to toss the pants back on the ground and join her again. Coax the confident sex kitten back to the surface. “The tailor’s card is in the inside pocket. It’s a two-week rental, so there’s no rush.”
Brent acknowledged that with a nod and continued dressing, painfully aware of the awkward silence in the room. Also positive that if she gave him the slightest encouragement, he’d be back between the sheets with her in seconds.
“Brent?”
He froze in the act of buttoning his shirt. “Yes?”
“What did you say to Stuart earlier? In the kitchen, I mean.”
Disappointment settled thick his gut. “I asked him if he needed an explanation of the word ‘no.’ That’s all.”
She stared at him in silence for a moment. “Thank you.”
When their gazes locked across the bed, he didn’t think he could walk out the door. It felt like sacrilege, leaving her behind looking mussed-up and vulnerable. She wanted one night only? Hell, it wasn’t even midnight. Didn’t they at least have until morning before reverting back to their old ways?
“Hayden…” He trailed off. Asking for more would be a big step. She could very well say no. Was it worth the risk? God, yes. “Listen, I, uh—”
“Oh!” She visibly shook herself, her face transforming with…embarrassment? A robe went on over her shoulders as she crossed the room. Brent watched in confusion as she picked up her purse and removed a wallet. “We never discussed…what you wanted to be paid for tonight. Just tell me how much you wanted…whatever you think is fair.” Finished with her ramble, she looked up at him expectantly.
It took Brent a moment to process her meaning. When it finally hit him, anger washed over him in a wave. Here he stood, about to beg for another few hours in her bed, when she’d merely considered him a business transaction. He averted his eyes. “You certainly didn’t waste any time putting me in my place, duchess.”
She paled, the purse dropping to her side. “I thought…”
“You thought what? I’m so hard up for cash that I need to suffer through three hours of canapés and smooth jazz to make a buck? Keep your money. I’ll sleep in Grand Central Station before I ever take a dime from you.” Brent snatched his jacket off the ground. “No, I did it to teach you a lesson. Plain and simple.” He jerked his chin toward the bed. “I had no idea you’d be such an eager student.”
“Oh, fuck off, Florence.” She yelled as he reached the living room. “Don’t let the door hit you on your well-spanked ass on the way out.”
“Your concern is touching, sweetheart. Miss you already.”
He wrenched open the front door and walked into the night.
…
Hayden pushed open her window and let the cool air off the Hudson blow across her overheated skin. Pressing her palms to her cheeks, she tried to banish the sting of humiliation, but couldn’t seem to manage it. If she made it through a single day for the rest of her life without seeing a replay in her mind of what had just taken place, she’d consider herself lucky. In some kind of weird Pretty Woman role reversal, she’d offered a man money, moments after sleeping with him. Brilliant.
For a split second, before he’d transformed back into her adversary, she’d caught a flash of hurt move across his features. God, that bothered her. She couldn’t stop thinking about it.
She’d just been at such a loss over how to proceed. Standing at the end of her bed, he’d looked at her as though he wanted something more, but didn’t know how to ask for it. Maybe she’d wanted that thing to be her, but his flippant, sex-is-no-big-deal attitude told her she was wrong. He’d practically jumped out of bed to get away from her, so why would she assume he wanted to stay? Why had she wanted him to stay?
Dammit. Just dammit. She’d made a huge mistake in judgment. Not just by offering him money. Cringe. Bringing him here. Thinking they could be mature enough to scratch the itch and move on. That had been her mistake. Now she’d made herself look like the materialistic dingbat he’d assumed her to be. But worse, so much worse, the pigheaded jerk had rocketed her into another stratosphere in bed. Going into this ill-advised endeavor, she hadn’t known what to expect. Would sex with Brent be awkward since they hated each other? Would he simply lie on top of her and work out his own lust like the men of her experience? None of the above. He’d let her take the lead. Mostly. It hadn’t been easy for him, letting her set the pace, but he’d known exactly how to encourage, to force a response from her without being patronizing or obvious.