An Intimate Bargain

Her laughter tinkled. “They’ll probably introduce me to every eligible bachelor they can lay their hands on.”

Zach knew she was probably right. And he didn’t like that image. He had a sudden urge to curl an arm around her, pull her close, tell her to stay away from all those no-good bachelors.

“Funny,” she continued, her gaze back on the fireworks. “Marriage has never been a goal of mine.”

“Mine, neither,” Zach agreed, ridiculously relieved. It was silly, stupid even. He didn’t know the woman’s name, yet he didn’t want to think about her with other men.

“What is your goal?” he prompted. The gasps of the crowd and the pops of the rockets once again penetrated his conscious, reminding him of where they were.

She shrugged her slim, bare shoulders. “A career, maybe.”

“What kind of career?” This line of conversation definitely beat talking about her future boyfriends.

“Lately I’ve been thinking about event management, or maybe business.”

“What’s your degree in?”

“History. Don’t you dare laugh.”

Did she mean at the impracticality of studying history? “I’m not laughing. I don’t even have a college degree.”

She waited for him to continue. There was no judgment in her expression.

“Where I come from,” he found himself explaining, “high school graduation is about as far as kids go.”

“Did you graduate high school?”

“I did.” He paused. “But would you care if I hadn’t?” He was honestly curious.

“I don’t think it’s your education that matters. It’s what you do with it.”

He couldn’t agree more.

With the exception of their accountant, DFB Incorporated didn’t have a single employee with a college degree. Mostly because they were all foster kids. They’d grown up in group homes, like him, or in a series of short-term, single-family placements. They’d learned to avoid emotional attachment to their caregivers and had spent their childhoods in survival mode. None of them had family ties. None would have had a single penny of support, even if they had wanted to go to college.

“If you want to use your history degree to go into business,” he told her, “I’m all for it.”

She smiled, and his chest tightened. “Thank you.”

He drew a couple of hard breaths. He’d never wanted to kiss a woman quite this badly. But people could see them, and she was trying to keep a low profile. “What kind of business?” he forced himself to ask again.

“I haven’t the slightest idea.”

“Well, if you start your own, expand slowly. Make sure you don’t overleverage.”

“Is that what you did?” There was an astute intelligence in those golden eyes. It was as if she’d suddenly shifted modes, staring frankly, seeking information.

Okay, that really shouldn’t strike him as sexy.

“We grew fast,” he told her, shifting his attention to the lake in order to keep from grabbing her right here in front of everyone. “When you hit a certain size, all of a sudden there are a whole lot of moving parts. We ended up with a weak link. And I’m here to fix it.” It seemed silly to stay so oblique. “You want me to tell you what the—”

“No!” It was her hand on his arm more than her words that shut him up.

He glanced down at her slim fingers, the lavender polish, felt the heat through the thin cotton of his shirt, and thought about all the other places he’d like her to touch him.

“It’s better this way,” she assured him.

It would be better with her in his arms.

The sky suddenly lit up with the fireworks finale. The crowd oohed then aahed then cheered madly as the sky went dark.

“Whatever you want,” Zach told her, meaning it in all possible ways.

Abigail knew the evening had to come to an end. It was after three in the morning. They’d been talking for hours, and she was nearly asleep on her feet as they approached the front entrance of the Caspian Hotel.

Except for the doorman, the place was deserted. He tipped his hat, gave them a welcoming smile and opened the glass-fronted, brass-trimmed door so they could enter.

Lucky slowed his steps and motioned with an outstretched arm for Abigail to go in first. Her heels clicked on the marble floor, echoing through the empty lobby. A front-desk clerk glanced up from her computer screen. Seeing they had no luggage, so obviously weren’t checking in, she nodded a greeting and went back to typing on the keyboard.

They crossed the vast lobby toward the bank of elevators, while Abigail struggled for something clever or memorable to say. But everything she came up with sounded either trite or ridiculous.

Lucky pressed the call button, and an elevator door immediately slid open. She wanted to tell him she’d had a great time. No, not a great time, an amazing time. A time that she wished she could repeat again someday. But she knew that was impossible. He was leaving town. And she was going back to her real life. And she didn’t even know his name.

He pressed eight, then lifted his brows in her direction.

“Same,” she confirmed, her voice raspy over her dry throat.

Their gazes locked, and the air in the elevator seemed to thicken with anticipation.

The door slid shut.

“Imagine that,” Lucky observed.

Abigail’s skin tingled. She felt heat rush up from her toes to her scalp. She’d never, ever, not even once, had a one-night stand. But she was tempted tonight.

The elevator pinged to a stop.

The door slid open.

She exited first, turning left down the hallway, wondering what she could say, if she could say it, if she could possibly, actually bring herself to do it.

He fell into step, the heat from his body seeming to swirl out to touch her.

“Eight-nineteen,” he told her, extracting his key card, slowing to a stop.

“Eight-twenty,” she responded, stopping beside him.

He glanced down.