The Guy Most Likely To...: Underneath It All / Can't Get You Out of My Head / A Moment Like This

“We have nothing to talk about, and I need some ice,” she insisted. Yanking away, she turned toward the vending area, which was right across the hall from the alcove where he’d hidden. At least she hadn’t been planning to hike down a long corridor in such skimpy attire.

But that yank and the quick turn made her robe flare even more, from the waist down. It was quick, just a second, then it settled back into place. Even a second was long enough to confirm what he’d suspected: she wasn’t wearing one damn thing else. Hunger flooded his mouth and blood roared through his veins, settling right in his groin. His head spinning, his mind tried to re-create the gorgeous, perfect image that had flashed before his eyes.

He was doing an excellent job of it, if he did say so himself. He’d always been a pretty visual guy.

But when he heard a door close from down the hall, Seth reacted quickly. He’d be damned if any other man would get such a gift. Not if he could help it.

He snatched the ice bucket from her hands. “I’ll get the stupid ice. Get in your room before some horny creep sees you like this.”

“Too late,” she said with a sneer.

Oy. Why the hell was he doing this? It would be less difficult to climb Everest than to think Lauren was going to forgive him. And less painful to gnaw his own foot off to get out of a bear trap than endure her insults while he tried to get her to.

“Please, Lauren, get inside,” he insisted, gesturing down her body. “That robe might have felt demure when you put it on, but considering your nipples are hard and your legs are shaking, you look like you’re begging somebody to do you like you’ve never been done before.”

Gasping, she gripped the edges of the robe and crossed her arms over her chest. “That was…”

“True.”

“Damn you, Seth.”

“Damn me all you want. Behind closed doors.”

She hesitated for a moment, then slowly nodded and turned toward her door, which presented him with the back view—Good God, that ass is a work of art. Recently, his memories had been mostly about how much he’d cared about her, loved her, so he hadn’t really anticipated such intense heat. It churned in his gut, sucking his breath from his lungs, emptying his brain. He was aware of nothing except her smell and her softness. And how she looked. Oh, God, the way those long, milky-white thighs had looked, topped with a soft tuft of curls he was dying to explore, with his hands, his mouth, his cock. All of the above, once and then again and again.

Every masculine fiber of his being was ready to do it, from his tingling fingertips, to his breathless mouth, to his rock-hard dick, which was currently putting his zipper through one hell of a strength test.

He’d never been so confused by his own emotions. He was torn between anger, regret, excitement and sharp, pounding lust. All directed at or caused by her.

Get her alone. Say what you have to say. Then see what happens.

Maybe he’d fly back to L.A. filled with all those same crazy emotions and that same twisted sense of pain and pleasure he felt every minute he spent with her. Or maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe she was protesting so much because she still had feelings for him, too.

She might claim to hate him, but once they were alone inside that room, would the ice queen’s facade melt? God, he hoped so.

Hardly able to stand the few minutes more, he watched as she unlocked her door and stepped inside. Then she turned and looked at him. He should have known by her expression she was going to say something he didn’t like.

And she did.

“Funny. I’ve suddenly decided I prefer my water warm.” With a triumphant smile, she slammed the door in his face.

Well, so much for melting.

“You could give the Snow Miser a run for his money.”

He only hoped he wasn’t the one who’d frozen her heart into such solid rigidity. God, did he ever hope that.

Seth considered leaving the ice chest right outside her door. It would serve her right if she tripped over it when she left her room. Then he thought better of it, imagining her tripping over the thing, breaking a leg. While he felt aggravated that she was being so stubborn, not giving him a chance to make a proper apology, he didn’t want her hurt. Not by him. He’d been there, done that and never wanted to buy another Seth-broke-my-heart T-shirt.

So, filling the bucket with ice for her, and leaving it on the alcove table, he boarded the elevator. He headed for the Wild West saloon-themed bar and ordered a beer. Nursing it, he argued with himself about what he was doing, trying to persuade himself to give up, get a cab to the airport and get on the first plane back to L.A.

But he couldn’t. He’d come this far, and had been so close—close enough to touch her, smell her, share her warmth and hear the voice that haunted his dreams. No, he wasn’t leaving. Not without having his say.

By the time he’d finished his drink, he realized the dinner had already started. Feeling calmer, he headed for the banquet room, which he’d mapped out earlier. When he got there, he immediately scanned the room, spying her at the correctly numbered table…the one where he’d arranged to be seated, too.

Not only had she come, she’d put on her female armor, obviously preparing herself to face him tonight.

She looked absolutely beautiful, almost as perfect now as she had when flashing him from beneath that robe. Not that she hadn’t been practically perfect in his eyes when they’d bumped into each other this afternoon, of course. Nothing could hide the natural beauty of Lauren’s heart-shaped face, the jewel-blue hue of her eyes or the thickness of her golden-brown hair, now hanging around her shoulders in thick waves. But unlike earlier, when she’d appeared frazzled and weary, she was absolutely put together now, wearing tasteful makeup, not a hair out of place, dressed in a blue cocktail dress that clung to her perfectly.

He’d bet she was wearing heels. Lauren wasn’t short. In fact, she was of average height. But she’d always worn high-heeled shoes when she needed to build up her self-confidence.

He leaned his head to the side and swept his gaze downward, noting the long, shapely, bare legs. And her feet.

Four inches. At least. Spike-heeled power shoes that were supposed to make her feel tall and in control but just made her look sexy as hell.

He smiled as he wove his way toward her table. A few people recognized him and said hello, others merely raised curious brows, but he didn’t pause. No way was he giving Lauren a chance to spot him and leave. She couldn’t very well get up and march out the second he sat down, right?

He sat down. “Hello, everyone.”

She stood up. “Goodbye, everyone.”

Damn. She startled a laugh right out of him. But knowing better than to try to reason with her, he simply muttered, “Chicken.”

She glared. “I’m not a chicken.”

“What do you call running away?”

“Self-preservation.”

“You don’t have to protect yourself. I’m not trying to hurt you.”

“Why not? It’s what you do best.”

“Ouch,” somebody muttered.

They both looked around the table at the other half-dozen people, all of whom were watching them.

“Sit down, sweetie. Don’t let him spoil your night,” said the woman sitting on the other side of Lauren. Seth recognized her as Lauren’s best friend.

“Hello, Maggie. Nice to see you.”

The pretty blonde grunted. “I thought you were in prison.”

“Sorry to disappoint you.”

“Oh, you’re good at disappointing people.”

Another ouch. Lauren had an army of defenders, it appeared.