Unexpectedly Hers(60)
Mari narrowed her gaze, trying to decide if he was being truthful. “Okay, but if it changes, you need to let me know.”
Wyatt didn’t make her any promises. If she took his silence as assent, that’d be her problem, not his. He followed her upstairs and went to his room, eager to trade the button-down shirt and slacks for sweats and a pullover.
He’d flopped into bed by ten, so he turned on the TV to find something to hold his attention. Unfortunately, nothing—not football, Tosh.0 reruns, or ESPN—kept his thoughts from straying back to that super-hot kiss Emma’d laid on him at the party. She’d shocked him, but he wouldn’t complain. Her responsiveness proved she had some interest in him. A girl like her couldn’t have kissed him like that if she felt nothing.
Her words drifted back to him. “Trust me when I tell you, I’m not that memorable.” Did she think that because of the way her dad had walked out, or had some guy made her feel forgettable? He couldn’t imagine the latter, but she definitely had a self-esteem issue—one he’d be happy to help her remedy.
He wondered what time she’d get home, and whether he should wait up to continue the conversation she’d been unwilling to have in public. They’d have some privacy here, and if he happened to convince her to loosen up a bit, there were plenty of bedrooms available.
He felt his lower half stir a little at that thought and decided he would wait up, however long it took.
Emma carefully picked her way across the walkway to the inn, bracing against the cold breeze. Her heels weren’t meant for winter weather, but she’d felt pretty in this outfit tonight. Wyatt seemed to have liked it, too, despite the fact it hadn’t been nearly as sexy as the getup she’d sported as Alexa.
She trembled then, but not from the cold. All those reasons he’d recited for being interested in her looped through her head again. In truth, they’d looped through her memory so many times since he’d left, they’d tied up her brain in knots.
He’d looked so earnest. A not so small part of Emma might enjoy taking advantage of the opportunity to explore a little romance while her mom remained out of the picture. If it were just Wyatt here without Mari and the crew—without Ryder—she might force herself to relax and go with the flow. It’d feel safe to let that part of her out to play for a while because the risk of anyone but her getting hurt would be low.
But Mari would be all over her if she knew. Emma had already grown accustomed to seeing the tripods and light stands everywhere and sometimes forgot to check whether the stupid cameras were running. Plus, Ryder might resent being a third wheel. The last thing she wanted to do was make him feel even more marginalized than he already did.
And then there were her secrets. If she’d reminded Wyatt about their night together when he’d first arrived—if she’d joked about it—it could’ve been less of a big deal. Maybe she could’ve sworn him to secrecy. A whole week later, though, she just felt more mortified. Mortified that he still hadn’t made any connection to their past and embarrassed that she’d covered it up. She couldn’t possibly reveal herself to be so ridiculous, awkward, and forgettable now. Besides, it wasn’t like that night meant anything to him anyway.
Even if she did confess about Aspen, she could never tell him about her book. That secret would go with her to her grave. Knowing him better now convinced her he’d misunderstand and assume that she’d planned the whole thing. That she’d seduced him in order to get material for her story. It hadn’t been that way, but given the combination of his mistrust of women and journalists (and her secrecy), he’d think her a liar.
Sighing at the quandary, she waltzed through the front door, removed her shoes, and quietly crept up the stairs, hoping not to wake anyone. As she rounded the second floor to head up to the third, Wyatt’s door opened. “Emma?”
She gulped, praying he didn’t want to continue the argument they’d been having when he’d left. She deflected her awkwardness with a joke. “Don’t tell me you’re hungry again?”
His eyes lit with mischief. “Not for food, anyway.”
Okay, so he wasn’t still pissy, but he was staring at her with a predatory intent she knew she’d be too weak to fend off. Especially when he looked a little sleepy, his hair rumpled, his cozy flannel pants hanging low, drawing her attention down there.
She shook her head, simultaneously enjoying and hating the flirtation. “Good night, Wyatt.”
“Hang on.” He stopped about two feet from her and rested his hand on the banister. He had attractive hands. Long fingers, trim nails, the lightest smattering of dark hair at his wrists. She knew from experience the pleasure those hands could bring, and that thought made her tingle. “Did Kelsey enjoy the rest of her party?”