He rose to his feet and pulled Amy up with him.
“We’re calling it a night,” he said to their friends. He needed to get her to her room before she got herself into trouble—or before he got himself into trouble. “I’m going to walk Amy back to her hotel room. Jamie, Jessica, enjoy your last night of freedom.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Jamie rubbed noses with Jessica. “Who needs freedom? All I want is to wake up with Jessica in my arms for the rest of my life.”
Yeah, and all I want is to wake up with Amy in my arms.
He shifted his eyes to Amy, standing before him pink-cheeked, glassy-eyed, and sexier than hell in that skimpy little black number that looked painted on and high heels that did something amazing to her long, lean legs. He forced his eyes north, over her perfect small breasts to the sleek line of her collarbone, which he wanted to trace with his tongue. Her hair fell over one of her heavy-lidded green eyes, giving her a sultry look that sent heat to his groin. When she trapped her lower lip between her teeth, it took all his effort to force something other than, Damn, you look hot, from his lips. Well…how was he supposed to resist her now?
She slid her arm around his waist and leaned her head against his chest.
“Okay, big guy. Take me home.”
If she only knew what those words coming from her while dressed in that outfit did to him. As he’d done for too many years to count, he bit back his desires and walked her back to her room. He pulled her room card from his pocket, and it dawned on him that he always carried Amy’s stuff. Her keys, her wallet, her phone. At some point, his pockets had become her pocketbook.
Tony held the door open for Amy and kept one hand on her hip as she walked unsteadily past him.
He closed the door and took in her hotel room. Standard upscale fare, it looked like his room, with a king-size bed, a long dresser and mirror, and a decent-size sitting area. Amy’s perfume and lotions were lined up neatly on the dresser, along with her birth control pills, which made his gut twist a little. He didn’t want to think about Amy having sex with anyone. Well, except maybe him, but—
“Hey.” Amy reeled around on him, stepping forward in those sky-high heels. He didn’t need to inhale to know that she smelled like warm vanilla, a scent that haunted him at night.
She wobbled a little, and instinct brought his hand to her waist. He’d held Amy in his arms a million times, comforting her when she was sad, carrying her when she was a little too drunk to be steady on her feet. He’d cared for her when she was sick and sat up with her after each of her girlfriends had fallen in love, when she simply couldn’t handle being alone. He had a feeling those nights were their little secrets, because he’d never heard Bella, Jenna, or Leanna ever make reference to them, and those girls talked about everything. Now, as she stepped closer and touched his stomach with one finger and looked at him like she had years ago, not like the sweet, too-good-to-be-true Amy that she never strayed from around him unless she was drinking, he found himself struggling to remain detached enough to keep his feelings in check.
He forced himself to act casual. “What’s up, Ames?”
She trapped that lower lip of hers again, and his body warmed.
Amy stumbled on her heels and caught herself against his chest. She slid her hands up the front of his shirt, and his body responded like Pavlov’s dog. Amy had that effect on him, but he’d always been good about keeping it under wraps. What was happening to him? Was it the romance of the impending wedding? Watching his best buddies whisper and nuzzle their fiancées while he had walls so thick around his heart that he didn’t know if he’d ever be able to move forward and love anyone else again?
She gazed up at him with naive curiosity in her eyes, and it was that innocence that threatened his steely resolve. It almost did him in every time they were alone together. Only this time she had the whole hips-swaying, breasts-pushing-against-him thing going on.
Christ. He covered her hands with his and breathed deeply. With those heels, they were much closer in height. A bow of his head and he could finally taste her sweet mouth again.
With that selfish thought, he pressed her hands to his chest to keep them from roaming and to keep himself from becoming any more aroused. She gazed up at him, looking a little confused and so damn sexy it was all he could do to squelch his desire to take her in his arms and devour her.
“What do you need, Ames?”
“I’m pretty sure you know what I need,” she said in a husky voice as she pressed her hips to his.
You don’t mean that. You’re just drunk. He clenched his jaw against his mounting desire. She was all he ever wanted, and she was the one person he knew he should walk away from.
“Amy.”
“Tony.” Her voice was thin and shaky.
“You’re drunk.” He peeled her hands from his chest. She got like this when she was drunk: sultry, sexier, eager. As adults, she’d never taken it this far. She’d made innuendos over the years, but more in jest than anything else. He wasn’t an idiot. He knew Amy cared about him, but he also knew she sometimes forgot things. Important things. Life-altering events that were less painful if forgotten. He was certain it was why she drank when they were together and why he’d spent years protecting her. Not that she needed protecting often. Drinking was a summer thing for Amy, and really, she rarely drank too much. She didn’t drink when she wasn’t at the Cape. He knew this because over recent years, after Amy had graduated from college and settled into her business, he’d begun texting her more often. He’d been unable to ignore his need for a connection to her any longer. He could count on one hand how many times she’d made reference to drinking.
“I might be a little drunk.” Her sweet lips curved into a nervous smile. “But I think I know what you want.”
What I want and what I’ll let myself have are two very different things.
He exhaled, took her hand, and turned toward the bed. “Sit down and let me help you get out of your heels and then I’ll go back to my room. I don’t want you to break your ankle.”
She swayed on her heels and attached herself to his side again. “I don’t want you to go to your room.”
Tony stepped back. The back of his legs met the dresser. “Amy—”
“Tony,” she said huskily, taking him by surprise.
“Ames,” he whispered. She was killing him. Any other man would have silenced her with a kiss, carried her to the bed, pushed that damn sexy-ass dress up to her neck, and given her what she wanted. But Tony had made a career out of resisting Amy, protecting her. He respected her too damn much to let her make a mistake she would only regret when she sobered up.
He gripped her forearms and held her at a safe distance.
She narrowed her eyes and reached for his crotch.
For a breath he closed his eyes and let himself enjoy the feel of her stroking him in ways he’d only dreamed of. Every muscle in his body corded tight as he reluctantly gripped her wrist.
“Amy, stop.” He’d learned his lesson with her when he was a teenager, and he was never letting either of them go back to that well of hurt. “We’re not doing this.”
The dark seductiveness that had filled her eyes when she was touching him was gone as quickly as it had appeared. Her shoulders rounded forward, and hurt filled her eyes.
“Why?”
He felt like a heel. A prick. A guy who should have taken her to bed, if only to love her as she deserved to be loved. Even if she might not remember or appreciate it in the morning. He draped an arm over her shoulder and pulled her into a hug.
“Come on, Amy. You’re drunk and you won’t remember any of this tomorrow. Let me help you get ready for bed.”
“Don’t you want me?”
Her broken voice nearly did him in, and when her arms went limp, he tightened his grip on her. “Amy,” he whispered again.
In the space of a few seconds she pushed away from him, determination written in the tension around her mouth and the fisting of her hands.
“Tell me why you don’t want me. What is it? Am I too flat-chested? Too unattractive?”
“No.” Fuck. You’re the sexiest woman I know. Anger felt so wrong coming from her that it momentarily numbed him.
“I know I suck at seduction, but don’t these fuck-me heels or this stupid dress turn you on? Even a little?”
“Your fuck-me heels? Boy, you are drunk. You don’t realize what you’re saying. Come on.” He reached for her hand and she shrugged him off again.
“Goddamn it, Amy. Let me help you.” Before I give in to what I really want and lay your vulnerable, gorgeous, sexy body beneath me and devour you.
“So that’s it. I don’t turn you on.” She paced the room on wobbly ankles, looking like she was playing dress up in her mother’s high heels—and it did crazy things to Tony’s body. He followed beside her in case she stumbled, fighting the urge to give in and show her just how much she turned him on.
“Maybe if I had bigger boobs, or if I were better at acting sexy, or if I were smarter, you’d want me.”
It surprised him that she avoided the secret they’d buried so long ago, but then again, after that summer, she’d never said another word about it. And he’d let her get away with that, believing it was the only way she could survive what had happened. Just like him.