Last Call Read online

  “I got you,” I say, spying an empty table and chairs. Taking off the resort robe, the kind so lush you want to bring home with you, I also ditch my sandals. When I turn back around, Ada is still in her robe. Her eyes are on me, and she doesn’t attempt to hide her interest.

  “Keep looking at me like that, and you’re going to make it a hell of a lot harder to fulfill my promise to you.”

  My promise not to touch her.

  Was I nuts?

  “How do you . . . when do you have time to work out to look like that?”

  I’d pretend not to appreciate her appraisal, but I’m not that humble.

  “I make time for things that are important.”

  Her expression changes. If Ada reads into that, good.

  “You getting in?” I ask.

  Realizing it might be easier for her to disrobe if I’m not standing right next to her, waiting as impatiently as a kid on Christmas morning, I step into the warm water. By the time I turn around, her body is on full display in a bright yellow bikini.

  Breathe, Hayden.

  I’m thankful my lower half is fully submerged in a hot pool of water.

  “Can I get you a drink?”

  Poolside waiter, perfect.

  “Do you guys still have that frozen one that’s half red and half white?” Ada asks, lowering into the water.

  He apparently knows exactly what Ada is talking about. “A Raspberry Dream? Sure. One or two?”

  I have no idea what a Raspberry Dream is, but I nod anyway. “Two.”

  Claiming a private corner, we keep a small distance between us.

  “So. I now know your favorite movie and ice cream flavor and vacation destination, but what I don’t know is what you want out of life. What makes Ada Flemming tick?”

  Resting her arms outside the hot tub, she thinks. While I stare at the pile of hair in her topknot for fear of looking down farther and embarrassing us both.

  “What makes me tick? I don’t know.”

  “What would make you look back in ten years and say, ‘Well done, Ada?’” It’s kind of an interview question, I realize, but I really am interested in hearing her answer.

  I can’t help but notice the way she scrunches up her nose when she’s concentrating. My hands itch to touch her, to remember the feel of this woman. And her lips. And her body.

  “I guess if I’ve made my family proud. Well, mostly my dad, if I’m thinking professionally. Then I’d be happy.”

  I’m not surprised by her answer—she’s telling me exactly what she thought I would—but I say, “Not good enough.”

  Her jaw drops. “Wait, what? It’s my answer! You can’t challenge it.”

  “I most certainly can. It’s a nonanswer.”

  “Uh. No, it’s not.”

  “OK, it’s an answer. But not a complete one. Is making your father proud really the only metric you care about? The only thing that will make you feel good about your life?”

  Our drinks arrive, and I give the waiter my room number.

  Ada makes a face.

  “I think the fact that we’re sitting in a hot hub, half naked, makes me buying you a drink the least of our concerns.”

  Another couple moves out of the hot tub, leaving it to us, another couple, and a group of three girlfriends.

  “Fair enough.”

  We each take a sip of our drinks. “Holy shit, this is good.” It’s like a raspberry-flavored piña colada.

  “Would I steer you wrong?”

  I say, deadly serious, “No, Ada. I don’t think you would.”

  She meant the drink. I didn’t. Why I would put this much trust in a woman I’ve only known for a few weeks, I can’t really explain. But I have. For better or worse.

  “No more avoiding. Answer the question. Really answer it.”

  Sipping her drink, Ada thinks about it some more. As I watch her, hair piled high, breasts just peeking out on top of the water, sipping a frozen Raspberry Dream with the sound of a waterfall as the background, I feel strangely at peace. Even as I’m immensely turned on.

  “Look, this isn’t about me being a daddy’s girl,” she says at last. “My dad and I work in the same field, so I understand what he’s accomplished. My respect for him goes much deeper than as a parent. His professional opinion matters, and hearing him say something like, ‘Good call, Ada,’ would be everything. Because he doesn’t blow smoke up my ass. At least, not in terms of my job. So if he is genuinely proud of me, then I’ll know I’m on the right track.”

  “And if you slip up, or make a mistake, or do something differently than he would have done it, does it mean you can’t be as respected in your field as he is someday?”

  She puts down her drink.

  “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “I know it’s an entirely different situation, but one time my family was on this skiing trip in the French Alps . . .” Before she can say it, I add, “And yes, I know how obnoxious that sounds. Anyway, we met this financial investor, which is what my dad does, but it struck me that the two of them had gone about things very differently. My father started with a lot of money because of my mom, but this guy didn’t. Didn’t matter. Both of them were staying in the same ski lodge, equally successful, if you’re measuring that by wealth. At the time I thought I wanted to be an investment banker too, and I remember being enthralled by the idea that I could do the same thing as my dad, but differently. I could make it my own. Does that make sense?”

  She nods. “Sure. But I can’t see doing anything better than my father.”

  Because you idolize him.

  “Not better. Different. Both equally as good.”

  She’s quiet for a moment, but just when I start worrying I pissed her off, she says, “Funny, my mother said basically the same thing during ‘the incident.’ That I was being way too hard on myself. Though my father never did anything quite so stupid.”

  “I agree with your mother. And doubt your father is perfect. No one is, Ada.”

  She looks me squarely in the eyes.

  “You think I’m too hard on myself? Isn’t that kind of like the pot calling the kettle black?”

  I reach for my drink to distract myself from, well, all of her.

  “Probably. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have a point. I don’t think you trust your own judgment as much as you should.”

  “Why do you say that?” She’s genuinely curious.

  “Listening to you, seeing the way you interact with your team. I don’t think you realize how amazing you are. Not the daughter of Dennis Flemming. You, Ada Flemming, a distinct but equally brilliant scientist.”

  Ada opens her mouth.

  “And before you say anything, no, I’m not trying to sweet-talk you to get into your pants.”

  Her mouth drops completely open. “How did you know I was going to say that? Or maybe not that exactly but . . .”

  “Because it sounds exactly like what someone would say if they were trying to do that. But I said it because it’s true.”

  The girlfriends step out of the hot tub, wading by us. They look at me and giggle to one another.

  “You’re aware that happens pretty much twenty-four seven?” Ada asks as they leave.

  It wouldn’t feel appropriate for me to say yes. Instead, I tell her the truth, which scares the shit out of me: “If you looked at me like that, I’d never notice, or care, what any other woman thought.”

  Ada moves closer.

  “You’re pretty slick, aren’t you?” she says, her voice soft as butter.

  I lick my lips, about to tell her she’s too damn close.

  “Not slick. Just truthful.”

  “Really?”

  She leans closer, her body language changing. Opening.

  “Really.”

  “You’re full of surprises, Mr. Hayden Tanner.” She smiles. “Or, as I like to think of you, Mr. Sexy Eyes.”

  “Ada,” I croak out, warning her.

  I can’t take much more of h
er teasing. Which is exactly what she’s doing right now, teasing me. Tormenting me. But I made a promise, and this time I will not budge. I won’t reach for her. Or pull her bikini-clad body toward me. I won’t kiss her senseless. But by God, I want to do all of it.

  23

  Ada

  I should be punished for this.

  By now I know enough about Hayden Tanner to believe he was being sincere in his apartment, that he felt genuinely terrible for breaking his promise not to touch me.

  He has flaws, certainly, but dishonesty isn’t one of them. For all his bravado, this is a man of character, or at least one who desperately wants to be a man of character. So I also know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, he will not touch me unless I ask him to.

  Which I plan to do. But I don’t plan to give him the go-ahead to do what he wants until I take what I want.

  When he took off his robe, I nearly passed out. No man has a right to a body like that if he’s busy building an empire. Not to mention that he eats meatball subs twice a week. I dated a bodybuilder once, so I know the discipline required to get all those ridges. I mean, abs are great and all, but eating dry protein powder from a ziplock just isn’t for me. I don’t feel the need to look like I’m being paid to be on the cover of a magazine.

  Nope. No, thank you.

  But Hayden? He’s beyond gorgeous. He looks like a Greek god.

  I reach out and touch him.

  “Ada, you’re killing me,” he says, his voice strangled.

  I start with that forearm he’s always taunting me with, rolled shirtsleeves and all. Running my hand upward, the slick wetness making it easy and extra sensual, I rest my palm on his shoulder.

  “Mr. Sexy Eyes.”

  I move closer so that our bodies are very nearly touching.

  “I love that you look at me when we’re talking.” He’s doing it right now. “I’ve never noticed it before, but most people don’t keep eye contact.”

  “They don’t.”

  “So why do you?”

  I let my second hand mimic the first, his left arm just as hard and unrelenting.

  “I like to know what the other person is really thinking. Words can be manipulated. I don’t always trust them.”

  “Don’t always?” I laugh. “Do you ever trust them?”

  I inch forward. One more step and my breasts will press against his chest.

  “Not usually,” he admits.

  He doesn’t move his hands, which are gripping the side of the hot tub. I look around, noticing, for the first time, that we are completely alone. When did that last couple get out?

  “Touch me, Hayden.”

  His jaw clenches.

  “If we’re going to do this,” I say, “throw ourselves into this weekend, let’s do it right.”

  “Ada . . .” Still, he doesn’t move.

  “Yes, Hayden?”

  My hands fall back down, beneath the water. Grasping his strong, large hands, I guide them to my hips and close the distance between us.

  He snaps.

  Grasping the sides of my bikini bottoms and twisting the thin piece of material, he uses the leverage to pull me even closer. His mouth descends on mine, slanting for better access.

  Which I give him.

  The walls are down now. Hayden’s firm grasp on my hips loosens as he moves his hands to my backside. His moans meld with mine, and at this point I have no idea where he ends and I begin. We couldn’t possibly get any closer, unless he was inside me.

  The thought makes me even more frantic.

  I know it’s a step we shouldn’t take, even now, but I’ve never wanted anyone this badly. His lips tear loose from mine, and I let out a sound of protest.

  “No one has the right to look as hot as you do at this moment,” he says. “It really should be illegal.”

  That makes me giggle. But he’s not laughing, or even smiling. Hayden is deadly serious. I know this because, even as he looks at me, he moves one hand from my backside and slips his finger into my bathing suit.

  My eyes widen as I look around.

  “No one else is out here,” he says, his voice thick. Hayden’s fingers slip inside me, and I die on the spot. I can’t stop looking at the door to the spa.

  “No one will come out this late. And the hot tub doesn’t close for another half hour.” He pushes the material of my suit off to one side with his other hand. The sight of his arms moving beneath the water, coupled with what he’s doing to me . . .

  I love kissing him, but I remember what he said about why he holds eye contact. So I stare into his eyes, knowing he can have no doubt about how he’s affecting me.

  My hands shoot up and grasp both of his shoulders as he slips in and out.

  “Hayden.”

  His lips are parted as he watches me. The waterfall crashes behind us. Earlier Hayden ran his hands through his hair, messing up his usual styled look, making him somehow more relatable.

  “I like your wet hair,” I blurt, trying so hard not to close my eyes and fall against his chest. Trying not to fall apart.

  “I like your wet . . .”

  He stops. Smiles.

  But his fingers keep moving, the small splashes he’s making in the water almost my undoing.

  “Don’t hold back,” I say. “Not with me.”

  It was my way of telling him he could speak frankly, that he could talk dirty if he wanted to, but he mistakes my meaning and leans forward to kiss me. This kiss is different than our first one. Hayden utterly consumes me, eradicating any errant worries or regrets.

  When he mimics the movements of his hand with his tongue, I’m done.

  Shuddering, clenching against his fingers, I pull back to look into his sexy eyes again, wanting to see their green depths as I continue to pulse against his hand.

  I’m rewarded with a smile that reaches the corners of his eyes.

  “Feel good?”

  He can’t possibly be serious.

  “Good? I have no words.”

  Slowly his hand moves to my waist as he spins us both around. Now my back is to the wall of the spa, and Hayden’s arms pin me there on both sides.

  I’m content to stay here all night, trapped by him. Drunk on the force of my orgasm and the lingering effects of the raspberry drink.

  “I have a few.”

  He kisses me, this one gentler than the last. But no less sensual.

  “I so want to pull you out of this hot tub, take you to my room, and repeat that, or something like it, over and over again until we’re both so spent that neither of us could possibly walk comfortably for days.”

  I love his words. And yet . . .

  “I can sense a but,” I say.

  His very fine chests rises and falls, as if he’s running a race. I place both palms against it and can feel his rapid heartbeat under my hand.

  “You look like you’re in pain.”

  He doesn’t hesitate to answer. “I am. But I want you to be sure. Uh-uh-uh,” he says as I open my mouth to argue. “Just listen.”

  He totally knew what I was going to say. Again.

  “When you picked me up at the hotel, I could tell you weren’t fully on board.”

  I shrugged, because I’m not the kind of person who argues with the truth.

  “Let’s be absolutely sure. Because I have a feeling there’ll be no going back after . . . that.”

  I could argue that we’ve already crossed that line, because I suspect we have, but he makes a good point. If only he weren’t making it half naked in a hot tub with his groin pressed up against me, his heart pounding in his chest.

  I swallow.

  “You know I’m right.”

  “That doesn’t make it any easier.” But also, I don’t want to go back to my empty room yet. I don’t want to give up what little time we have together.

  “Let’s finish those Raspberry Dreams, change, and hang out in your cottage. There’s a little treat waiting for you in there.”

  “A treat?”
/>   “Mmm-hmm. Do you like chocolate-covered strawberries?”

  He scoops me up in his arms, our intense sexual connection giving way to an equally intense, and somehow much scarier, emotional one.

  Our bodies fit together perfectly.

  “I do.”

  “Good.”

  I pull back just enough to look at his handsome face.

  “You’re proposing we go back to my room and eat chocolate-covered strawberries . . . and talk. Without touching each other?”

  Sounds like a very sketchy plan to me.

  Hayden bites his upper lip as if to underscore my point. This plan has a ton of holes in it.

  “I didn’t say we couldn’t touch each other.”

  I must look pretty skeptical because he laughs, a deep, resonant sound that’s so much more real than his usual laugh.

  “Mmm, OK then. I’m in.”

  24

  Hayden

  “How was your massage?”

  Oops. The lounge room in the spa is supposed to be a quiet room. Better for recharging positive energy or something.

  “How was your massage?” I say again, this time in a whisper, as Ada lies in the lounger next to me. Her robe looks as if it’s eating her up. I can’t see a damn thing.

  “So good. You should have gotten one. Although you’ve probably had a million massages in your lifetime. Chapter four. ‘On Pampering.’”

  “What the heck are you talking about?”

  A sly smile warns me this won’t be good.

  “I wondered if there was a billionaire’s handbook or something. On things like, ‘Navigating the Nuances of Private Jet Ownership.’”

  I laugh, apparently too loudly judging from the woman closest to us. Trying harder to behave, I stay quiet as Ada closes her eyes. I watch her for a minute until she opens them.

  “I can feel your eyes on me,” she says.

  “If I had my way, you’d feel a hell of a lot more than that.”

  Smiling, she shuts her eyes again. I let her rest, knowing she has to be tired after getting less than four hours of sleep. We stayed up talking (and mostly not touching) until four in the morning.