She jammed a hand against the strong, firm chest that she knew intimately. The fucker. "I had reasons. Real reasons. Life and death reasons," she said in a low hiss.
He shut his eyes briefly, then somehow his arms were around her, and this time his touch wasn't sexual. It wasn't lustful. It was an embrace. From someone who knew nearly everything about her.
"Are you okay? Are you safe?" he asked in a whisper into her hair.
A tear had the audacity to slip out of her eye. To slide down her cheek, and fall onto his shoulder. It was a Pavlovian reaction. Too many tears had fallen on that shoulder.
"Yes," she said quietly, with a nod. "I am. It's fine. It's all fine."
He pulled back, tucked a hand under her chin, and lifted her face. She was so close to him she could trace the outline of his jaw, could run the pad of her finger over his stubble, his unbearably sexy eight-o-clock shadow. She could drag her fingernails through the soft, thick strands of his hair that belonged between her hands. She could look in his eyes as he moved in her, those deep, soulful eyes that understood her. Somehow, he was rough and gentle, he was charming and fierce, and he was funny and dirty. He was the man she'd wanted to spend the rest of her life with.
///
"Are you sure?" he asked, so much tenderness and worry in his tone.
She gathered herself, and willed that obstinate organ in her chest to stop beating in double time. She ordered her traitorous body to cease trembling just from being near him. "Yes. I'm sure."
He let her go, and tipped his forehead back to the bar. "I should get out there. They'll start wondering. See you in a few."
And he walked away. Like the last time she'd seen him, when he had so easily disconnected from her.
She pushed open the ladies room door, walked to the sink, dropped her hands onto the cool tile and let out the longest, hardest breath. She hoped to hell this was the only time she'd have to deal with Brent Nichols.
When she was near to him like that, she couldn't think straight. She could only feel. And that was far too dangerous for her heart.
CHAPTER FIVE
Brent couldn't let her leave.
Now that she'd reappeared in his life and was within the same fifty-foot radius, he had to secure time alone with her. Without James. Without Colin.
A few moments outside the restroom weren't enough.
On the return from the hallway encounter, he pressed his fingertips to his temple, weighing options.
Then he spotted a shimmer of silver on the floor under the table. A long shot, but it was his best opportunity so he grabbed the edge of the fabric as James and Colin were focused on business matters.
An hour later, the four of them held glasses and raised them high. The deal was done-all that was left was the signing of it.
"We'll draw up the papers this week, and get this show on the road," James said, then snapped his fingers. "Oh, and Shay, can I get your number, too?"
Brent reined in a grin. James didn't even know he'd just become his wingman and secured the ten digits Brent had most wanted in the world. As Shannon rattled off her number, James tapped it into his phone, and Brent repeated it in his head. Then James looked at his watch. "And on that note, I have a wife and a two-year-old who likes for his daddy to say goodnight to him. And I believe our friend Colin has a date."
Brent clapped his business partner on the back. "Get the hell out of here. I'll see you tomorrow. I'm going to catch up with Miles over at the bar. And Colin, hope the rest of your night goes well, too."
"Thank you," Colin said, as he stood up. Shannon did the same.
"It was great chatting with you. I look forward to the partnership with Shay Productions," Brent said, extending final handshakes to both.
"As do I," she said, flashing that same, professional smile she'd given him earlier.
As she reached for her purse, his shoulders tensed. He hoped that she wouldn't realize what she was missing. But she hadn't noticed all through the meeting, so perhaps she wouldn't notice now.
The three of them left.
Brent watched Shannon as she weaved her way through the tables to the exit. The black dress looked as if it had been painted onto her luscious body. Those red shoes, with the crazy, crisscross straps, were a beacon, guiding him home to where he wanted to be-between those absolutely, fucking perfect legs that he was dying to feel again. Her soft, smooth skin. Her toned muscles. Her curves. Most of all, the way she used to wrap her legs around him. His hips. His back. His shoulders. His face.
He scrubbed a hand across his jaw as his cock rose up.
Down boy.
Neither his dick nor his heart had forgotten Shannon Paige-Prince. They both worked overtime when she was near.
She turned the corner to the elevator banks. Out of sight. He leaned back in his chair, trying to catch one final look at her. No such luck.
He hated that he had to let her walk away, but if he was going to talk to her again-the way he wanted to-he had to play it smart. After three minutes, he figured she was down the elevator and walking across the lobby, but not yet gone. He texted her.
You left your scarf. Want me to bring it by your office tomorrow or do you want me to bring it down to you now?
He waited.
She might not respond. She might text him now or in the morning. She might simply send a messenger service to pick it up.
His phone buzzed. He slid open the message.
Hold onto it for me.
He stared at the screen for several seconds. What the hell was that? That answer was not in the multiple-choice rubric. He squinted as he reread it, as if that would translate her words into a clue what would happen next.
Ah hell. Maybe tonight wasn't the best time to talk to her.
He stood up, pushed away from the table, and grabbed the scarf from under his leg. If she wanted him to hold onto it, that was what he'd do. He'd figure out how to meet her alone and talk to her without her brothers being around. Hell, he could probably benefit from some time to plan what he wanted to say to her. She was the last person he'd expected to see tonight, so he hadn't scripted his lines. How do you apologize for the kind of idiocy he'd perpetrated when he was twenty-one? He'd been young and selfish-he'd wanted everything that was in front of him.
///
He went to the bar to close out his tab and plot his next steps. He should sit down with his good friend Mindy and ask for her advice. Mindy was as solid and straightforward as they came, but she was diplomatic, too. She'd guide him through this unexpected reunion .
But when he tucked his credit card into his wallet and turned around, he came face to face with his own lack of planning. Time to improvise.
Shannon held out her hand. "My wrap please," she said, her tone even, her face unreadable. "It's my favorite."
"I didn't think I'd see you again tonight." He clutched the fabric, as if that would tether her to him for longer. It felt like a lifeline as his heart sped up just from being so close to her. The bar was filling up with patrons, the tables packed, the stools taken. But the hum of the busy Mandarin faded into the background with Shannon there again.
"I'd like the wrap," she said crisply, the meaning clear. She only wanted the scarf.
"Have a drink with me, please," he said, opting for honesty first. The last time he'd seen her, he'd played with words. He'd manipulated and twisted them. He'd lied, hoping the lie would win her for good. He'd lost her instead.
She sighed and shook her head. "Brent, I would like to go home. And I would like my scarf."
"One drink."
She licked her lips and exhaled but said nothing. In her silence, he sensed an opening. A chance to earn a laugh or two. With complete honesty.
He inched closer. They were less than a foot apart. He could smell her, and her scent was intoxicating-she smelled like honey and spice, completely different than how she'd smelled in college. This was more sultry than the jasmine lotion she wore then. It was heady. It made him high in seconds.
"Please." It was all he had. "I held onto the scarf to see you again. I saw it on the floor, took it, and hid it. I'm a thief, I'll admit it," he said, holding his arms out wide, one hand still gripping the silvery fabric. He wasn't letting go of the only thing he had that she wanted.
She furrowed her brow. "You took my wrap?"
He nodded. "Yes. You always left them behind when we were together," he said, stopping briefly when she winced at those words-when we were together. "When I spotted it on the floor, I grabbed it when the guys weren't looking, and I hid it. I sat on your scarf." He kept his eyes fixed on her, admitting the full truth even if it made him look like a complete ass.
Her lips quirked almost imperceptibly, but it was enough for him to think that he was gaining ground. He tried to build on it. "It's a nice scarf. Do you think I could pull it off for a meeting tomorrow with my real estate guys?" He tossed it around his neck and adopted a pouty stare.
She rolled her eyes, and he was ready to declare victory. "You're the worst," she said, laughing. "Stop it."