Just One Night(26)

to do with me.”

Here we go, here we go …

“Well, my articles are mostly about … sex.”

He rolled his eyes. “I know. I think the entire city knows.”

“Well, that’s kind of my problem,” she continued quietly. “Julie and Grace, even

Emma … it’s easier for them to make their stories more personal.”

“More personal than sex?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Nope.”

“Come on,” she said, exasperated. “You’re a guy. You should know more than

anyone that sometimes sex is just … sex. There’s plenty to talk about and nothing

to talk about all at the same time.”

“No offense, Ri, but I’m pretty sure you might be better off having this

conversation with your friends or your sisters.”

“No, I wouldn’t,” she said stubbornly. “Because they can’t have sex with me.”

And there it was.

Riley braced herself.

She’d run through the list of possible reactions. Laughter. Yelling. Swooning,

maybe.

In none of her possible scenarios would he calmly take another sip of his drink,

and even more calmly deliver a calm, quiet response. “No.”

“Hear me out.”

“No need.”

“Sam.” Her hand found his knee, and they both froze. His eyes went first to her

fingers before they moved up to meet hers.

And there was the mad. No, not mad. He was furious. “Save your sexy touches

for another man, Ri.”

She snatched her hand back. “I didn’t mean … I just …”

Tell him everything.

But she couldn’t. Not when he was looking at her with complete disdain. There

was no good way to tell him that she couldn’t tell a personal story about sex

because she hadn’t had sex. Not in any way that counted. And she certainly

couldn’t tell him that the reason she hadn’t had sex was because the only guy

she’d ever wanted was him.

So she stuck with her original plan of a half-truth.

“We want each other,” she said plainly.

He stood abruptly and went back around the bar, retreating to safety. Well, that

was too damn bad. Because Riley was done with safe.

She stood and followed him, feeling a thrill of triumph when he took a step

backward. It was the confirmation she needed.

“Riley …” he trailed off.

“Deny it,” she said in a low voice, stopping a few feet from him.

He didn’t meet her eyes. “Your brother would kill both of us if he knew we were

having this conversation.”

It was a pathetic shield—a complete chickenshit form of self-protection, but he

needed something—anything—to keep him from saying yes.

Because he wanted to take her here. Now.

Badly.

“Liam’s not here,” she said, sounding entirely too rational. “And neither is anyone

else in my family, and they don’t need to find out.”

“You just said you wanted us to have sex so you could write about it!” he

exploded. “I’m pretty sure they’re going to figure it out then.”

“I would never mention your name,” she said quietly.

“Jesus, Riley, why me? There are a million men in New York who would jump at

the chance to sleep with you and would want you to mention their name.”

I don’t want any of them. “I don’t want this to be just another meaningless how-to

article.”

“What the hell headline do you have in mind? ‘I Slept with My Brother’s Best

Friend and Lived to Tell About It?’ ”

“No, I want it to be about friends crossing that line,” she said evasively.

“Find another friend. One who’s actually interested in crossing the line.”

It was a little stab to her heart. One that she’d been prepared for, but one that

hurt like hell all the same.

Still, his expression wasn’t matching his words. His tone told her to get lost, but

his face didn’t show disgust or indifference.

No, his expression revealed terror.

Welcome to the club.

Testing her theory, she moved forward. He moved back, until his ass was against

the bar. His eyes darted from side to side as though plotting his escape route.

“You don’t want me?” she asked, inching closer, although still not touching him.

Sam swallowed. “No.” He cleared his throat. “No.” Louder this time, but husky, as

though the word kept getting caught in his throat.

“Want to prove it?” she asked, moving into him and letting her hands find his

waist.

His hands were like brackets around her wrists as he lifted her hands away from

his body, holding them safely between them so she couldn’t reach for him again.