Worth the Trouble(16)

He crossed his arms and faced her. “Why?”

“Please,” she said, sitting up in bed.

The blankets now bunched around her waist. That familiar longing rushed back once again, tempting him beyond bearing. He could give in, crawl beside her to take what she offered. Use her the same way she would use him. But he’d never been that guy, and it’d be a cold day in hell before he’d allow Cat to turn him into one.

Hank inhaled slowly then sat at the edge of the mattress while rubbing his hands back and forth across the tops of his thighs.

“Thanks for helping me,” she said.

Her expression reminded him of the way his sisters used to look when suffering through one of his lectures. He stopped himself from touching her. “You’re welcome.”

Her uncertain smile twisted him up inside as she reached one hand up and fingered the ends of his hair. “Kiss me goodnight.”

All the blood drained from his head and raced to his crotch. The relentless throbbing between his legs urged him to comply despite his better judgment. Just a kiss.

As if watching himself in a dream, he saw his fingers caress her cheek. She raised her chin and parted her lips, and he pressed his mouth against hers. He gave over to the moment, to taste her once more, to slip his tongue inside her mouth and tangle with hers. The faint taste of champagne and honey overwhelmed his senses as he grazed her lower lip with his teeth.

Time slowed. Every part of his body came alive. She bulldozed her fingers through his hair while moaning, engulfing him in desire.

“Like I remember,” she whispered against his skin. He’d been teetering on the verge of making a gigantic mistake, until her words summoned bitter reminders of the last time he fell for her games. Abruptly, he grabbed her wrists and pushed back.

“Hank!” She fell back into her pillow. “Stay.”

“No.” He had to get out of her room before hell finished freezing over. “Good night.”

Rising from the mattress, he reached over and turned off the lamp. His gaze lingered on her diary again, but he retreated from the bed.

“You’re mad about before,” she muttered, half asleep already. “But trust me, I did you a huge favor.”

He froze in his tracks. Glancing over his shoulder, his breathing slowed as he absorbed her words and the glimpse of self-doubt she hid from the cameras. As apologies go, it wasn’t much. Would she have admitted it if she were sober? Did she really believe what she’d said? Did it even matter anymore?

Her gentle snore ended his musing. He crept from her room. Standing in the hall with his palm pressed against her closed door, he waited a minute longer before shoving his hand in his pocket and heading down the hall.





Mom,

I’m a mess. A drunk-and-awake-at-two-a.m. mess. How’d I get to my room? And why does my butt hurt? Did I fall? I hope no one snapped a picture. Glad you won’t be here to deal with the aftermath of whatever degrading candid photos end up on Twitter and Instagram. Then again, you were always the best at talking me off the ledge in a crisis.

I still miss you so much.





CHAPTER FOUR

An intermittent buzzing sound penetrated Cat’s brain from a distance. With each passing second, it grew louder and more insistent. Stop drilling my head! She pulled a pillow over her ears, only to become disoriented by the starched scent of the unfamiliar bed linens.

Opening her eyes, she squinted in the sunlight flooding through the window. Turning toward the awful alarm clock, she reached over and swatted it with her open palm three times before finding the Off button. Thank God! She collapsed back into the bed and rubbed her sore hand.

Her tongue felt like someone had Scotch taped it to the roof of her mouth, and tasted even worse. Despite the silenced alarm, the throbbing in her head continued drumming an echo of that offending beat.

She stared at the ceiling, praying for a miraculous recovery from her hangover before the postwedding brunch.

After several brutal minutes, she sat up. That was when she noticed her dress on the chair, and that she’d slept in her bra and panties. She slid her hands over her face and combed her fingers through her hair.

Cringing, she searched her memory to recall how she’d ended up in this condition. Another quick survey of the room revealed an empty water bottle on the nightstand. Her shoes sat neatly placed under the chair where her dress was draped.

She cocked one brow, doubting she’d done that herself.

Hazy moments began to surface: Hank lifting her off the floor, the smell of his skin, him tugging off her dress, a kiss, him leaving. Within seconds those memories sharpened, and with each new detail, her embarrassment became more profound.

How many people, other than Hank, had noticed her drunken behavior? She itched to write down her feelings, but then another horrifying thought caused panic. Had Hank read her journal? Cripes, it was sitting there for the world to see, and the strap was untied.