He felt the slightest chill of apprehension. This was more than making him point person. It sounded as if she was stepping out entirely. “Well, your work has been very valuable….”
“And I’ll send out an e-mail to everyone,” she said, snapping her laptop shut and zipping it into its case with a loud flourish of finality, “letting them know that from now on, Marion & Co. is your baby. Everything will be in your hands from now on. This is your project—run with it.”
That was when it hit him, and he went cold.
She wasn’t acknowledging his intelligence, his strategy or his skills. She had already determined that this account was a loser, which would piss off the powers-that-be something fierce—and she was distancing herself from it as fast as possible. What was more, she was putting him in front of it, so when it failed, all people would remember was “it was Mark McMann’s baby, and he flubbed it.”
His momma had raised him better than to call a woman names, but he still thought some vile adjectives about Carol, even as he smiled politely. “Thanks,” he repeated, keeping his voice light.
She returned the smile, probably thinking he was too dumb to figure out what she’d just done to him. “Absolutely no problem.”
So now he was in his room, desperately trying not only to salvage the hope of a promotion, but to save his own ass.
There was a knock on his door, and he frowned. Had he ordered room service? He’d meant to, twice, but he’d gotten sidetracked by Internet research—trying to figure out Trimera’s next plan of attack. Now, he couldn’t remember if he’d made a call downstairs or not. He got up, wincing at the stiffness of his legs from sitting at the small desk for several hours, and then opened the door.
Sophie was standing there. She was still wearing the same suit she’d been wearing at the Marion & Co. presentation, looking a little tired and rumpled, but otherwise looking the same as always.
In other words, tempting.
He took a deep breath. “You shouldn’t be here,” he forced himself to say.
She was glancing up and down the hallway. “I wanted to talk to you,” she said. “Can I come in?”
He knew he shouldn’t. Hadn’t he already determined that she was part of the problem? But at the same time, he wanted to hear what she had to say—and he couldn’t very well have a conversation out there, in the hallway. They’d be spotted for sure, by somebody in the industry. This was a fairly large convention, after all.
“All right,” he said. But just for a minute, he assured himself.
Even if he didn’t believe it.
He closed the door behind her, and she turned. Before he realized what she was up to, she had looped her arms around his neck, getting up on her tiptoes and kissing him tenderly. His first reaction was surprise—he’d always been the aggressor, up to this point. She’d always been the reticent one, the careful one.
What’s going on here?
But after that thought, he felt most rational thinking slip away as he reveled in the taste of her, the feel of her heated, compact body against his. He clutched at her hips, pulling her closer to him, and she made a soft moan of contentment.
They finally broke apart, their breathing ragged. “I’ve been missing that,” Sophie admitted in a soft voice.
So had he, he realized. Then rationality set back in. “Where’s the rest of your family?”
“They’re flying home to L.A. today,” she said. “I decided to stay behind for another night.”
“Oh?” He tamped down the immediate thought: She’s here by herself for the night. She can spend the night with you. “Did you have other work to do? Meetings?”
“Nope,” she said, her fingertips stroking over the planes of his chest, the ticklish sensation torturing him beneath his French shirt. “I thought I just needed a break. And I thought you might need one, too.”
“You’re not usually…like this,” he said.
She blushed, and she was more like the Sophie he remembered. “Is it bothering you?”
“No. Not exactly,” he amended.
“Do you…” She paused, then cleared her throat. “I thought we were on the same page.” She looked at him, her indigo eyes wide and vulnerable. “Don’t you want me?”
He sighed roughly. “Of course I want you,” he said. “Sometimes I think I can’t remember what it was like to not want you.”
She leaned against him, her head tucked against his chest, under his chin. “I know how you feel.”
“But we said it would be for one night,” he said.
“We’ve said that before,” she teased, with a shaky voice. “I figured…”
“One more time wouldn’t hurt?” Mark forced himself to take a crucial step away from her, even though his body was now throbbing with need. Just the smell of her perfume was enough to trigger his desire. “Sophie, things have changed.”
She stared at him, then frowned. “Why? Because Trimera didn’t do well today?”
“Didn’t do well. That’s putting it mildly,” he said, more sharply than he’d intended. “We tanked. You guys ran off with that presentation like we handed it to you on a platter.”
“That’s not my fault,” Sophie protested. “I thought you said that what we do—together—didn’t have anything to do with the business, or the competition!”
“I didn’t think it did,” he said, crossing his arms.
“But now,” she said, studying his face intently, “you do.”
He let out a frustrated exhalation. “I don’t know.”
“That’s not fair, Mark,” she said, her voice low and angry. “You’re the one who set the terms of this. I thought it was about…enjoyment. We enjoy each other. That’s it.”
“So you’re here because you were looking for some fun?” he said, his voice caustic.
Her eyes rounded in surprise. “I’m here because I want you.”
“I’ve always had to persuade you,” he said. “I’ve felt guilty because I thought I was putting you in an uncomfortable position!”
“But it didn’t stop you,” she pointed out, and guilt hit him again like a hatchet.
He plowed forward. “Well, it’s stopping me now.”
“No, it isn’t,” she said, her voice as sharp as his was. “You think that sleeping with me is somehow jeopardizing your chances at winning this. That’s why you’re not pressing me, saying we can ‘keep it separate.’ You don’t even believe it anymore!”
“And you do?” he said, feeling angry—and feeling even more guilty, since that was exactly how he was feeling. “Why are you really here, Sophie?”
“Well, it’s definitely not to ruin your chances at the Marion account!” Her eyes blazed. “I came here because I wanted you. Because when I’m with you, I feel better than I can remember feeling in months. Hell, years. Because you’re tender, and amazing, and I have never wanted anybody like this.”
Remorse clawed at him. He’d felt that way, too. He still felt that way.
“But there are bigger things than sex involved right now.” He couldn’t believe he was taking the stance, but there it was.
“This isn’t just sex,” she said. “I would never put my family’s well-being at risk for just sex.” Her voice was dismissive, making it sound as if he should have known that.
As if he were stupid.
He felt his temper, simmering, burst into a full boil. “So what are you putting your family’s business at risk for? Why is this so important to you? This isn’t even a relationship. I don’t know what this is!”
She winced, and he only briefly felt a pang, but his temper was a runaway train and there was no stopping it. “You like sex, specifically with me. You’re willing to put up with a clandestine affair with me as long as nobody finds out.”
“You know why nobody can find out!”
“Would you be willing to wait for me?” Mark snapped. “You want me. This Marion & Co. crap isn’t going to last forever. Can you just put it on pause for a few months?”
“You couldn’t!” Her hands balled into fists. “You didn’t! I can’t believe you’re putting me on the defensive because I’m doing what you were doing!”
“What I was doing,” he said, “was giving in to lust. What you’re doing is using me to blow off steam.”
All color drained out of her face.
“You don’t want anything more from me than a lay,” he said, needlessly cruel. He didn’t know why he said it. Maybe because he’d been in this position before. Maybe…“You haven’t said you want anything more permanent than that. I figure, you either like the challenge—the forbidden-fruit thing. Or, like you said when we first met—you hadn’t had sex in a long time, and work was your life. So I’m just convenient.”
“Nothing about you is convenient,” she spat out. “And at the moment, I don’t want you at all.”
He still wanted her—that was the damnable thing. But he had to focus. They didn’t have a relationship. She wasn’t spouting her undying love, and even if she did, what could they do about it? All she’d admitted to was they were having an affair. He wasn’t about to live his life for that. He was worthwhile, damn it. He was intelligent, hardworking, a good guy.