Eyes like saucers, the guy went straight to Knox. "Mr. Hamilton … it's an honor. I'm Jeff Lenox."
Knox stood and extended his hand, which Jeff shook eagerly … and extensively. But where Chloe would have yanked back her appendage and hit the guy with her purse, Knox merely endured for way too long before he finally extricated himself and clapped the guy on the upper arm. Not hard enough.
"I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Mr. Lenox. I don't believe we've met."
"Actually, we haven't. I'm here to meet-" He paused and extracted a cell phone from his pocket. He looked from the image to Chloe and back again.
Oh, God no.
"Her! You must be Chloe." He grinned like the proverbial idiot.
Oh, yes. Lila was a dead woman. Jeff was attractive enough, but the way he swayed at Knox's feet reminded her a little too much of a Twihard fangirl. Sure, Knox was impressive … but he wasn't spittle impressive. Well, maybe a little. But Jeff was supposed to be her date, and he was gawking at the wrong person.
Knox caught her eye. Lifted a brow. She could only smile pleasantly.
"What business are you in?" he asked Jeff.
"I'm a software systems analyst."
Knox smiled widely, as if Jeff had said something mildly earth-shattering. "This must be my lucky day, Mr. Lenox. How about you come by my office next week? I might have something on which I could use your opinion."
Chloe blinked. Knox was just making time for all the little people that night. First a lowly reporter, then a computer geek. Next, he'd probably save a puppy from a burning building.
Jeff looked to Chloe, as if he needed her permission to date them both. But he didn't wait for it. A split second later, he'd turned back to Knox.
Knox poured on a killer grin and still somehow managed to look sheepish. "Before you answer, I'm afraid I have to admit there is a caveat. It turns out I'm going to have to borrow Ms. Lochlan for the evening. I know she hoped to consult with you-"
"No, no. Of course! I understand."
Chloe narrowed her eyes. Had she just been dumped … for Knox? Damn the legendary Hamilton charm.
"Good, then. I'll leave your name with my admin." Knox handed over a business card he'd extracted smoothly from his pocket. "I look forward to meeting with you."
One more enthusiastic handshake, a nod for Chloe, and Jeff quickly disappeared into the crowd.
Knox turned that killer grin on her. "You're welcome," he said.
"He wasn't so bad."
"He wasn't your type. Now, about our trip upstairs."
"Why did you tell him I wanted to consult with him?"
"I want to talk to you. Give me the chance, and I'll explain."
"Do it here."
He drained his beer and chased it with a long, lingering look at her. "It's a private conversation."
"If it's the same lame excuse you used when you left me, I can guarantee most of the people in this room have either used it or heard it. If it's all the same to you-"
"It's not all the same to me," he said, his words quiet but firm. "Unless you want the recap to make tomorrow's news."
Chloe sighed and looked to the ceiling, as if doing so gave her a glimpse into the hotel rooms overhead. Bad, bad idea. But he was right. Everything Knox did made headlines, and the last thing she needed was to have their personal conversation end up on the society page-she'd never be taken seriously as a reporter if her name was mired in tabloid gossip. Besides, he promised an apology and an explanation-something, she expected, more than the old it's-not-you-it's-me line. At least it had better be, because if they took this upstairs, they'd be sorely lacking witnesses.
She threw back the rest of her daiquiri. "I guess I owe you one."
"Damn straight." He tossed a fifty on the table. The move sealed their unspoken agreement.
She was screwed.
Chapter Two
It didn't really matter how Chloe justified accompanying Knox upstairs, for no matter how foolish her actions, she was no fool. She may have been set up for disaster, but she'd roll the dice for some closure. With any luck, Knox would manage to knock himself off the pedestal on which she'd planted him, giving her a chance to move on.
He kept his distance in the elevator, the silence between them thick with anticipation. Sex wasn't on the table, but the promise hung hot in the air, steamy enough to dampen her skin and probably enough to curl the locks Lila had spent hours trying to gloss and straighten for her. He'd always liked that messy look. Bedroom hair, he'd called it, and he'd seen it plenty.
Chloe smoothed her dress and tried not to notice the natural bulge in Knox's pants. He stood casually, half-leaning against the wall. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone-he'd shed the formality of a neat collar when the door slid shut. His shirttail, newly freed from the confines of his chinos, lay wrinkled, caught under one of his forearms to give her that stellar view of his goods. The whole display was just enticing enough to send her heart careening around a forbidden corner or two.
"You remembered I like strawberry daiquiris," she said.
His gaze never wavered from her face. "I remember a lot."
"That's good. Then you probably remember that stupid line you exited on. I deserved more than that, Knox. Anyone would." Chloe pressed the back of her hand against her forehead and sighed dramatically. "So gallant, how you held on to the memory of my drink preferences like a talisman, hoping for the day you'd get to order one up again. It's a wonder you haven't been nominated for sainthood."
For an endless moment-one that couldn't have lasted more than two seconds-he just stared at her. Then, "You're right. I'm sorry."
That was it. No trace of the smooth, political façade he wore for the public. It wasn't that he'd ever been anything but genuine, but when he slipped into professional mode, the transition carried with it the slightest shift. A nuance, really-one that separated her intimate knowledge of him from the suit-and-tie version he presented to the world.
The apology-devoid of excuses and denials-inexplicably riled her.
The elevator door slid open. Knox gestured for her to exit first, so she did, clutching her handbag as if it could save her. Then, realizing what she held, her face heated. Lila had tossed in some condoms-assorted neon colors, which Lila likely found hilarious. Could anyone use those with a straight face? Chloe doubted it.
Knox led her to a room at the end of a long hall. He slid the key card through the lock then held open the door.
She entered, and her breath caught. Although the room boasted what she guessed was a fairly standard layout, luxe shades of cream and gold paired with crisp white for a rich, airy ambiance that instantly put her at ease. Through an open balcony, DC sprawled in a sea of twinkling lights. The White House glowed prominently, and behind it, the Washington Monument pierced the sky. Though she couldn't see him from her vantage point, she knew Lincoln sat just a few blocks away, stone-faced over her decision to accompany Knox to a hotel room.
"It's beautiful," she said.
Knox didn't take his eyes off her. "Stunning."
It wasn't fair. He'd dumped her. It had been his choice, not hers. He had no right to the sorrow in his eyes. She rolled hers in response.
"You left me." Odd, arguing with a facial expression, but she wasn't going down without a fight. This time. She set her bag full of condoms on a nearby table, far from the bed. In a pinch, she could drop-kick them off the balcony if she had to.
He reached for her, his fingers curling near her cheek. After a momentary hitch, he fingered a strand of her hair. "I've regretted it."
"Good," she said. But the word came without oomph. He was too close, and she was in the middle of a nuclear meltdown. She dug for the hurt she'd gotten so adept at ignoring, using the sharp edges of the pain as a life raft. Still, old memories closed in, leaving no room for grudges. Just his intoxicating scent and the delicious warmth simmering in his chocolate-brown eyes.
"God, I've missed you." Slowly, ever so slowly, he took her hands. "Tell me to stop, Chloe, and I will."
Stop what? She was so dizzy she hadn't noticed he was tugging her toward the bed.
"Strawberry daiquiris are your favorite," he said. "And that melon body lotion with the matching spray stuff. Showers, not baths. Sleeping in. Late morning jogs. Cats, but not in the house. Fast cars, but only at the speed limit."
Dazed, she sank to the bed.
Knox dropped to his knees. He took off one of her shoes, massaging her foot with deep, firm strokes. "You hate high heels," he said, grinning. "You love your job at the paper, and you're damn good at it. You have a ticklish spot … here." He traced light circles on the inside of her knee, smiling when she trembled. "And this," he said, moving his fingertips to her inner thigh, higher and higher, "makes you so wet I can almost taste it."