Chapter Five
Justine stood in her hotel room and applied the final touches to her eyeliner. Panic jumped another notch as she realized the party started in a little over an hour. She took slow, deep breaths to calm her nerves. Piling her curls on top of her head, she wondered if she could do this.
She’d been to parties and hosted parties after her parents divorced, between wives two and three. But she’d never been to a party for work. She didn’t want to make a fool of herself. The last thing she needed to do was embarrass her family again. She regretted that damned video, not for her, but because of the hurt in her mother’s eyes and the disappointment on her father’s face. She still saw it.
She stepped into her dress and pulled it up over her hips. Cursing side-zippers, Justine twisted midzip at a knock on the door. “Hang on!”
She tugged, but nothing happened, and she shook her hands out in frustration. The zipper was snagged on her lacy baby blue bra. It was a tight dress and an awkward angle. How was she supposed to free it?
She pushed her hair out of her face and bolted for the door. For all she cared, the president of the hotel could be on the other side of the door. Someone was going to grab a handful of lacy lingerie and yank like hell.
Or that was the plan until she opened the door.
Sawyer wore another one of those dark suits that made him look dangerous and sexy. The pristine white collar appeared shocking against his olive skin, and even freshly shaven, his dimples were shadowed with stubble. She wanted to sniff his neck, and now she had to ask him to grab her bra and pull. “It’s you. Of course, it’s you.”
“I thought I was supposed to pick you up.”
“Yes, but…well, you’re going to have to help me.”
He stuck a package under her nose wrapped in matte pink paper. “Help with what?”
“What’s this?” She ripped the paper away with curiosity. Diamonds dripped from more diamonds. “Ooh. You’re trying to get on my good side, huh?”
“Honey, you’re the biggest pain in my ass since…ever. Your father bought you that. I’m just the delivery guy.”
She sighed with pleasure and held it up to the light. “It’s beautiful. That was sweet of him.”
“Um, your dress isn’t zipped up there at the top.”
Damn. She lifted her arm and did a half-turn. “I know. I need help, unless I can grow an extra set of hands.”
He glared at the dress, as if taking the stuck zipper personally. “Maybe we should ask housekeeping or something to help you.”
“I don’t need the dress mopped. I need it zipped. What’s the problem?”
“I can see your under things.”
“I doubt it’s the first bra you’ve ever seen. Please help.”
He held his hands out. “What do I do?”
“Okay, listen. It’s caught in the material.” She blew the curls out of her face. “Grab the top of the dress and the bra, I’ll do the zipper. I’m afraid if you pull on the zipper you’ll rip the dress.”
“Right.” He took a deep breath and studied the dress for a minute, like she’d asked him to perform an appendectomy with a butter knife. He slipped his fingers in the side of her bra.
Justine jerked when his fingertips grazed the curve of her breast. “Sorry.” She slid her gaze down, feeling ridiculous and unsophisticated at her obvious reaction.
Trying to act like this sort of thing happened all the time, she grasped the zipper and gently tugged until it released. He pulled his hand free and turned his back to her. When she finished zipping up, she turned to the mirror to catch her breath. A strap, spaghetti thin, slipped when she shifted.
When he turned back, he eyed her in the mirror and pushed her strap back up with a frown. Wow. If only every guy looked so thrilled to touch her. She shouldn’t even care what he thought. At least she hadn’t flinched this time.
“What do you think?” she asked his reflection. It was the perfect little black dress. It stopped at mid-thigh, hand-beaded, and molded to her curves. Thin straps pretended to hold everything up, although the bodice did all the heavy lifting.
“I think you need a different dress.”
“Why do you always hate my clothes?”
“No one else is going to look like that.”
“I knew what to wear to a dinner party when I was six. The dress is fine.” She rolled her eyes, self-doubt forcing its way inside. “Let me put on Daddy’s necklace, and we can go.”
“Please don’t tell me you need help with that, too.”
“I’ve got it.” Justine glowered at him for a second before turning her concentration back to the clasp. She’d either get it or not wear it. She wouldn’t ask him for help, not now. Not when he’d basically begged to not have to touch her again. “Tell me about this party.”
“Writer. He invited me, us, to his birthday party. We’re supposed to catch up some time tonight. He’s got a lot of experience. I think he’d be good for the show.”
She turned to face him, not wanting to tell him she was ready. This was the first time, since Monday, that he’d talked to her about the show.
But he caught her watching him. “Ready?”
“Almost. You look nice.”
“Travis is going to be at the party.”
Her shoulders slumped. “I figured.”
She let it go at that. She didn’t want him delving too deeply into the relationship that only existed in her father’s head. He already knew way too much about her. Especially since she couldn’t stop telling him personal details about her life with little prodding from him. “Right, so let’s go.”
****
In the limousine, Justine reached across the seat to place her hand on his wrist. “Thank you for this. I’m so excited. And nervous. Mostly nervous.” She shrugged, and one of the straps slipped off her shoulder again.
He took in the soft curve of her shoulder and the swell of her breasts with a frown. “Put on your coat thing.”
“It’s a wrap. And I’m not cold.”
“You look cold.” He pinched the strap between his fingers and slid it into place.
She made a face at him. “How does one look cold, exactly?”
Out of options, he decided to go with the truth. He tried to maintain eye contact, distracted by her curves. Everywhere, the curves. “Okay, I’m going to be straight with you. Those are like a car wreck, it’s hard to look away even though you know you should.”
“Those?” She glanced down to follow his gaze. “Oh, those.” She looked at him, distressed. “They’re like a car wreck? That can’t be a compliment.”
“It’s not an insult. Definitely not an insult. But they—”
She held up a hand. “Stop referring to them as separate entities. What are you, twelve? They’re my breasts, Sawyer. Breasts.”
“Fine, princess. I don’t know how they, I’m sorry, how ‘your breasts’ look under ordinary circumstances, but in that dress, people will stare at ‘your breasts’ all evening long.”
“There will be actresses there using double-sided tape to hold swatches of cloth over their lady bits. Trust me, the dress is fine. Besides”—she looked down at her chest and back at him with a playful grin—“it’s not the dress. ‘They’ always look this good.”
He laughed, he didn’t want to, the whole breast-car wreck comment wasn’t funny, but she made him laugh and he had to turn to look out the window. Maybe they’d come up on a real car wreck, and his eyes could find somewhere else to stray.
Something had happened on that plane. Between her telling him about her weird relationship with Travis and asking him personal questions that made him wish for a parachute, something happened. He’d looked in her eyes and recognized the same struggle he’d been fighting all week. It was bad that he thought about her too much. Bad that he wanted her. But it would be far worse if she wanted him the same way.
Once they arrived, a uniformed man led them into a massive living room. Bits of conversations fluttered around them like confetti. He took her elbow and led her through the crowd until Travis stepped in front of him.
“Justine,” he said, ignoring Sawyer. “You look spectacular.”
Travis let his gaze wander down to her dress. No, her “breasts.” And back to her face. And down again. What a leech.
Justine took a shaky breath. “Oh, look, there’s a bar. I’d love something to drink.”
“Let me get you something,” Travis volunteered.
“That would be wonderful, thank you.”
Once he turned his back, Justine put on her wrap and clutched it across her chest with one hand. “God, he’s creepy.”
Travis disappeared into the crowd, and she used her other hand to yank Sawyer closer. “Remember, five minutes. You promised.”
“Yeah, yeah. I got it.”
“I don’t want to be alone.”
“There are a hundred people here, you won’t be alone.”
When Travis returned with a flute of champagne, she snatched it away from him. “Thank you. Look, its extra bubbly.”
He never would’ve believed she could do it, but she drained the glass, took a deep breath, and shook her head, shiny baubles tinkling at her ears with the movement.
The son-of-a-bitch winked at Sawyer. What was that? Then Travis took the glass, placed it on a passing waiter’s tray, and offered his hand to Justine. “You’ll excuse us, Sawyer. There are several people Justine should meet.”
When she glanced over her shoulder at him, he nodded to let her know he’d be waiting for her. Travis led her into the crowd; Justine still clutching her wrap with tight fingers to keep herself as covered as possible. Sawyer headed for the bar to order a drink. Sipping it, he checked out the people in the room.
All around, people drank, laughed, and made small talk about summer trips to Europe, sunning on the beach in Belize, attending award ceremonies. Justine had been right. There were dresses in this room that covered less than a bikini. And he’d known that. But somehow, the dress, on her, was much more enticing than the barely there dresses all over the room.
Sawyer let this world, his place in it, settle over him. He could pretend that at eight years old, he hadn’t been digging through garbage to find food for himself and his sister.
His head ached. He needed to get away from all this chatter. After a quick scan of the room, he realized Justine and Travis had disappeared. “Damn,” he muttered, “Now what?” In the back corner of the room, he noticed a deserted hallway. He edged around the crowd and peered down the dimly lit corridor. Nothing.
In the first room he came to, a single lamp spilled into a small pool of light and left the rest in vague shadow. Floor to ceiling shelves housed books on three walls, the last opened onto the terrace.
A low groan from the corner made Sawyer jerk around. What the hell? Justine sat on an ottoman, head falling toward her knees.
“Justine?”
She looked up and appeared to have trouble focusing on him. After a few seconds, she spoke in a soft voice, “I got lost. And then it was like the floor was sort of tilting, so I decided to sit down.” She wrapped her arms around her waist. “I don’t feel well.”
Sawyer crossed the room to tilt her face up and looked into her dilated eyes. “Are you drunk?” How could she have gotten drunk in less than half an hour?
She shook her head and closed her eyes. “I don’t know. I only had the one glass.” Confusion clouded her face.
It didn’t matter why now. He had to get her out of here. Her father had asked Sawyer to look out for her. “Where’s Travis?”
“I snuck away while he chatted up some short man with a…” She gestured to her chin. “A goatee. I told him I had to go to the powder room. Or something. I don’t really remember.”
Sawyer unlocked one of the terrace doors then went back for her.
“I’m so humiliated.” She spoke at a slow pace, yet he could still detect a slur. “They’re going to say, ‘Did you see that shameless Montgomery girl? She made a drunken fool of herself before dinner was served.’ Which is true, so you can’t blame them for saying it.”
“Can you walk?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t tried since I came in here.” She pushed herself up from the ottoman but tumbled back down.
“All right, hold on to me. We’re getting out of here.”
“But you need to go schmooze with your writer.”
“He can wait.” Sawyer pulled her up, slipped his arm around her waist, and held tight. “Let’s try this. See if you can walk holding on to me.”
After two wobbly steps, her foot slipped off the side of the shoe, breaking the heel. “Careful!” He caught her, pulling her close, one hand at the small of her back the other pressed flat against the bare skin between her shoulders.
Justine groaned and buried her face in his chest. “Unless the room is spinning, hold me for a second.”
Sawyer held her against him, struggling not to notice how she could be so soft but firm all at once, crushed against his chest.
Justine lifted her head until her lips were so close warm breath tickled his neck.
“You smell good.” She turned her face up to his, and her lips grazed across his throat. If she didn’t get her balance in the next thirty seconds, he would kiss her. And that would be disastrous.
His hands instinctively tightened around her, and he had to force them open. “We have to go, Justine.”
He would ignore the fact that he was undeniably hard now. If he could get her back to the hotel and get away from her, he could pretend he hadn’t become aroused by the softness of her skin or the warmth of her lips against his throat.
She looked down where their bodies touched and back at him. Maybe he could pretend, but no way she didn’t feel him.
Sawyer repositioned her at his side, snatched up the broken heel, and wound his arm around her waist. “Let’s go. We’ll take it slow. If you need to stop or sit down or something, say so. Okay?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Justine, are you ready?”
“Yes, sorry. I was focusing on stepping and stopping. Walking is complicated, if you think about it.”
Deciding not to take any chances, he led her out the terrace doors and around to their car. Sawyer eased Justine onto the seat. She scooted across and pressed her forehead to the glass.
Looking at her, he remembered what had passed between them in the library. He remembered what he told Larry, how he’d laughed at the idea of entering into a complicated mess on purpose. How he’d spent the last week trying everything he could to stop thinking of her. Warnings fought for ground in his head as images of Justine, memories of her smell and creamy skin, crashed into him. He got into the car and slammed the door shut. The driver pulled away as Sawyer tried to calculate the time until they reached the hotel.
She shifted in her seat and settled back. The strap of her gown slipped off her shoulder again and drowned out everything. His mind flashed to the glimpse of her bra. He’d touched her there, where the curves exploded out of the smooth, flat skin.
Hell, she might not remember anything in the morning, much less a kiss. He grabbed her wrist and dragged her onto his lap before he could remember the laundry list of reasons why he shouldn’t.
Her taste, exotic and untouchable, pushed him to devour her lips and let his hands slip down her breasts, taper to her waist, and grasp the curve of her hips.
She kissed him back, a passionate, desperate kiss. He lost a little bit of himself in her. Her arms snaked around his neck, and she slid her fingers through his hair, tugging gently as she went, and he forgot who they were, where they were.
With instinctual need, he nibbled on her lips, marking them as his own. Not his, though. That brought him back to reality. He sure as hell didn’t want anyone to be his.
Hands on her shoulders, he pushed her away, and struggled to breathe. With every ounce of willpower he possessed, he slid the errant strap back on her shoulder.
Puzzled, she studied him.
“Your strap fell.”
“And…your lips kissed me blind while you were trying to fix it?”
He nodded. At his sides, his hands ached to touch her again.
“I don’t think so.” She rolled her shoulders and both straps fell.
“Justine.” He groaned and slid a finger up one arm, slipping one thin strap back into place. When he continued across her chest, she shuddered. With singlemindedness, he traced the abrupt swell of her breasts. Damn this dress. When he leaned forward to place his lips to her neck, Justine’s head tumbled back, offering herself to him.
The driver spoke through the intercom. “Sir? We’re at the hotel.”
Relief swept through him. He had to get her inside and get away from her before he forgot all about the promise he’d made to Daniel to not take advantage of her. She was drunk off her ass, and he was pawing her like they were on their way home from the prom.
He eased her off his lap and opened the door. “C’mon, princess. Let’s get you inside.”
At her door, she handed him her purse without a word. Inside, he found her keycard, opened the door, and followed her into her suite. “Okay, time for bed.”
She turned to him, and the desire he’d stirred up with his stupid she-won’t-remember-one-kiss plan was plain in her eyes. His head dropped to his chest, and he wondered how much willpower he still possessed.
She pulled her hair loose, letting the curls tumble around her face and pins clatter to the tiles. He was dying to fist his hands in all that inky-black hair. Getting out of this room stopped being optional. He needed to go now, or he wouldn’t go at all.
With a frown, she tugged at her zipper. “Help.”
“There’s no way I’m taking that dress off you.”
She yanked again, a line creasing her forehead. “I can’t get out of this dress on my own, and I can barely breathe. I can’t sleep in it. Unzip me!” She threw her arm up over her head to expose the zipper.
He slid it down, once again glimpsing the swatch of blue bra and the matching panties curving over her hip. God, why couldn’t she, just once, wear something that didn’t make him want to throw her onto the nearest flat surface? “Do not take that dress off while I’m here.”
She widened her eyes in innocence then tugged at her hips until the dress glided to the floor. Great, now the image of her nearly nude was burnt into his mind forever. This was worse than seeing her frozen in the video with the band of bare waist that begged to be grasped. Tight, so he could pull her close. He’d be lucky to sleep again. He turned his head. “Go to bed.”
She took a step closer and her breath fanned across his cheek. “Sawyer,” she spoke low and needy, not quite a whisper, “Look at me. Touch me. Please.”
“Honey, this isn’t you, this is the champagne.” As he spoke, she glanced down at the obvious erection pressing against her abdomen. “And that’s not…well, yeah, that’s me, but I’m not taking the champagne to bed.”
He turned her by the shoulders and walked her toward the bedroom. “You’re going to hate yourself in the morning. No point in adding me to the list.” He nudged her into the room and pulled the door shut behind him. If she ended up sleeping on the floor, he’d done as much as he could humanly be expected to do. No way was he going in the bedroom with her.
Outside her suite, he leaned against the door like he’d escaped some dangerous trial. And, God, he was frustrated. Damn that woman.
He had business to do, and he had to blow off some steam. Find a way to unsee her, unsmell her, unfeel her. Somehow. Sawyer took off down the hall, back to the waiting car.