Staying On Top(53)

“If you had protection, I’d be inclined to say fuck it,” she mumbled, her eyes glazed and an incredibly sexy smile on her lips.

I groaned, then flopped back on the pillows and shimmied out of my own pants. My boxer briefs didn’t do anything to hide my attraction to her, but I left my shirt on because my skin against hers combined with my level of drunkenness would not lead to anything good.

She lay down in my arms, tossing a leg over mine and tucking her head under my chin, fingers toying with the neck of my shirt. The way they tucked underneath the fabric, brushing my skin with the softest touch, made me sigh, and I gathered her closer.

“I have condoms. I lied.”

The confession slipped out before I could imagine the consequences. Things had changed so much in the last twenty-four hours—I felt comfortable with her, with the idea that she might be being honest with me now, in a way that I hadn’t expected. Lying felt slimy.

Blair stiffened in my arms, her fingers clenching a fistful of my shirt. “Why?”

“I don’t understand you, Blair. This whole situation is crazy, and I want to believe that we’re in it together, but you don’t make it easy. I thought . . . I don’t know what I thought. That you would regret it? That I would?” She started to pull away, but I tightened my grip until she stopped moving.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed you last night. It . . . we’re business partners. I proposed we find my father together, and that’s what we’re going to do.”

“Blair, no. Something changed this morning when you told me about growing up in your life. When you kissed me in the river. I don’t know whether it was you, or me, or us, but I know that no matter how our little mission ends, I could never regret being with you. Even if it’s only for another couple of days.”

The pause went on so long that I wondered if she’d fallen asleep. I was about to let go myself when her soft response fell on my ears.

“I feel the same way. If we have sex, Sam, it will be because we both want to—it has nothing to do with my dad. It can’t.”

“I should hope not. That’s just weird.”

She snorted and I smiled into the darkness, the chatter of the hostel’s other occupants muted and far away. The seriousness of our discussion had calmed the heat in my blood, and the warmth of her body against mine dragged me further toward sleep. Her breathing evened out and she snuggled closer, sighing and mumbling nonsense into my chest. No matter what she said, no matter what I said, I knew that even though the last twenty-four hours had brought me closer to knowing Blair, I still really didn’t know her at all.

I fell asleep wondering what it would be like to hold her until she let me past her defenses, no matter how long that might take.





Chapter 13


Blair



I woke up drenched in sweat with a pounding headache, disgusting morning breath, and an insistent itch on my left leg. While I lay still, trying to get my bearings and the will to move, the events of the night before started trickling through my memory.

Sam and I drinking too much, laughing too much, leaning on each other all the way back to the hostel. Him confessing that he had pretended not to have protection the night before because getting closer to me scared him—but that yesterday he’d felt something change.

The cold fear in my stomach mixed with the oily hangover nausea in a way that made the taste in my mouth even worse. Something had changed yesterday—I’d started to wish there was a way to really help Sam. To introduce him to my father and confess that I liked him, that he was a good guy who didn’t deserve to be ripped off.

But it unnerved me that Sam had sensed the beginning of that shift. He’d realized even before I did that my heart had gotten tangled up in business for the first time in my life.

He hadn’t seen everything—if he knew my entire reason for coming to him in Melbourne had been to assist my dad with the remainder of this con, he wouldn’t be curled up against me, hot and solid. He wouldn’t kiss me the way he did, or reach for my hand as though he’d been doing it for years, or look at me as though he wanted nothing more than to be able to read my mind.

The longer I lay still, pressed against him, the more the fear eased. It didn’t go away—I’d spent years accepting that it never would—but now the idea of Sam learning the truth about the extent of my involvement with my father’s schemes scared me more than anything. He would hate me.

It bothered me how much I hated the idea.

I needed time to work this out. To spend time with Sam, to decide whether or not my hormones were somehow impeding my ability to do what was best for my future. Not least of all, to try to guess how my father would react, or the likelihood of his agreeing to return the money.