Dodging Temptation (The Retreat) (6 page)

Dodge chuckled. “And paid the price.”

“Both of us have.” She took a bite of tasteless cookie dough ice cream, and it melted on her tongue. “My family was less than thrilled. The daughter of a former presidential hopeful slapping her senator husband on live TV is frowned upon. Who knew?” Bitterness rose like bile, and she pushed the small bowl of ice cream away.

“So you became a book…person?”

She laughed. “A book appraiser. I authenticate rare books and put a value on them.” It was the dream job she almost never got, thanks to the media attention from The Slap. “The book appraisal and authentication world is even more conservative than the political world. It took me months to find anyone who would hire me. When I did, my boss made it very clear that if there was another splashy scandal, I
’
d be fired.”

“But you have money; it’s not like you need the job.”

“Actually, I do.” The mental image of her bank account made her groan. “My parents have more of an appearance of wealth than the real deal, so I can’t go running to mommy and daddy even if I wanted to—and I turned down alimony.” She shrugged. “So here I am, a working stiff who needs to keep her head down to keep her job and keep the electricity on.”

He pointed at her bowl and raised his eyebrows in question. She shrugged.

Scooping up half melted ice cream from her bowl, Dodge shook his head. “See now, out here in Wyoming we would have given you a medal and probably a sizable monetary reward for that slap.”

“I
’
ll keep that in mind.” She watched him demolish what was left of her ice cream, noticing for the first time the small scar splitting his right eyebrow in two. Unless he had some kind of
Fight Club
secret he kept well hidden, she
’
d bet money one of his brothers had given it to him. However, his take-control attitude, my-way-or-the-highway dominance, and lethal levels of hotness were all his, which is why the relaxed, go-with-the-flow Dodge sitting across from her had her looking for answers. “So what
’
s with the nice act all of a sudden?”

He sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. “I
’
m always nice.”

The slow, deliberate wink he gave her and the way her nipples peaked in response declared otherwise.

“No.” She shifted in her seat and squeezed her thighs together, trying to ease a need that only increased the more time she spent with Dodge. And yet she didn
’
t get up and leave. It was like the string of attraction drawing them together was getting shorter and shorter, forcing them closer. “You
’
re always bossy.”

“But in a good way.” The cocky grin on his face said that he knew all the ways it would be good.

Harper laughed. It was weak and a little breathy, but it was either that or turn into a puddle of want at his feet, and she wasn
’
t about to do that. The kiss the other night had been bad enough, and it ended even worse. He wanted her, but he also wanted something from her, and she needed to remember that.

He stood up and circled around the table before sitting down on the corner next to her right elbow. “
Can we start over?
”

Holding fast to the last bits of sanity she could grasp, she scooted her chair back from the table, giving her a few blessed inches of air between them. God, the man was killing her. “I
’
m listening.
”

“Hi, I
’
m Dodge.” He held out his hand.

She shook his hand, going for a quick release that did little to stop the uptick in her pulse and the shiver working its way up her spine. “
Harper.
”

Glancing down at his hand as if he felt it, too, he squeezed his hand into a fist a few times before letting it drop casually to the table. “I
’
m going to be totally honest and up front here. I need your help, Harper.”

“Go on.”
Just listening to him wasn
’
t bad. Right?

“You know Garth Hampton is here at The Retreat as a super-secret guest.”

As if that was news to her. “He needs to stay in his cabin if he wants to stay secret.”

“Agreed.” Dodge rubbed the spot where his neck met his shoulder. With the sleeves of his expensive shirt rolled up, the move highlighted his well-muscled forearm. “I
’
ve talked to him about that, but if the reporters who
’
ve followed you here find out he
’
s here, then his cover is blown. He just got out of rehab, and dealing with the press is about the last thing he wants to do.”

“Now that I can understand.” Just the idea of having to deal with the shouts and the rude questions again was enough to make her palms sweaty.

“So could you find it in you to do a short interview with a guaranteed friendly press contact of mine to get the jackals off the scent?” He held up a hand, silencing the “no” already on her lips. “It would be tastefully handled, no splashy scandal. It would be like you were putting out an old fire for good, and then the media would finally move on to other targets.”

She twisted her napkin until it tore in two. “Even if I wanted to, which I don’t, I can’t. My boss was crystal clear. Any media attention and I lose my job.”

“I have connections,” he said. “I can help you find another job.”

She should say no. Her head was screaming for that outcome, but her heart was whispering something else entirely. “I
’
ll think about it.”

“Really?” He looked as if he never thought his plan would work.

“Yes, I’ll do that.” Really, what would it hurt to consider it?

“Thank you.”

She giggled at his slack-jawed surprise. “Don
’
t make such a fuss about it. I better get back to my room. I have a date tomorrow with a cowboy diary.” And if she stayed in here with him any longer, God knew what she
’
d agree to next. Remaining in the kitchen with him meant only one thing: temptation. Hot, sweaty temptation and she
’
d had about all she could take of dodging temptation for one night.

He stood up and gathered their empty bowls as if he didn
’
t have an entire staff of people paid to clean up after him. “Let me walk you back to your room.”

Following him across the kitchen, she paused outside the door. The urge to stay a few minutes longer made each step away feel like moving through fast-drying concrete. “I
’
m okay.”

“You
’
re in the east wing, right?” He put the dishes in the dishwasher. “We
’
re going the same direction. We might as well go together.”

When he put it that way… “Let
’
s go.”

The Retreat
’
s main lodge had started out as a rich rancher
’
s five-bedroom homestead and only gotten bigger after that. As they made their way from the kitchen to the lobby and up the stairs to the east wing, Dodge pointed out the bits of the original structure that remained. He explained the painstaking process his dad had undertaken to make the transition to the additions that tripled the size of the already large main lodge, throwing in plenty of local history to help her connect the dots about why May Loving would have so many first edition cowboy diaries. Most of the men and women who
’
d scrawled down their thoughts must have crossed through this part of Wyoming at one time or another. The walk to her room took less time than she wanted and probably more time than it should have. She wasn
’
t sure whether to be thankful or curse the lack of people in the hallways at one in the morning.

“So this is my room.” She pulled the key card out of the zippered pocket on the back of her workout tank top but couldn
’
t make herself swipe it through the lock—not just yet.

Dodge stopped beside her, looked at the room number placard next to her closed door, and shook his head. “You
’
re in the honeymoon suite?”

“That would explain the size of the bed.” And the special lotion and oil sampler basket she
’
d found on the bedside table.

“My mom is always so subtle. Whatever she says, ignore her.”

“What about the universe wanting us to get married?” she asked, the need to prolong their talk and needle him a little overwhelming her better judgment.

He looked up at the ceiling and sucked in a deep breath. “Oh God, she told you.”

“Like you said…” Harper giggled at May
’
s antics. “She
’
s very subtle. Don
’
t worry. I told her I wasn
’
t interested.”

“Not even a little bit?” He turned and edged closer, putting his hands on the doorframe on either side of her shoulders. He didn
’t touch her
, didn
’
t block her in.

Her skin tingled, making her feel every inch of flesh he wasn
’
t touching. If she wanted to, all she had to do was slide her key card across the lock, and she could escape into the safety of her room. She could get away from the constant tug of attraction pulling her closer to him, the unsettled need that made her clench her thighs, and the way he managed to piss her off and turn her on in alternate breaths. The thing was, she didn
’
t want to, and, judging by his knowing smirk, he knew it. But that was
’
t what made her core pulse. It was the look in his eyes again. Hungry. Determined. Possessive. The air practically sparked around them as desire flooded her body—and he hadn
’
t even touched her yet.

He leaned in, his lips close to her earlobe, but maddeningly far away. “Not even after last night?”

“What
’
s one kiss between enemies?” She couldn
’
t seem to help herself from taunting him, seeing how far she could push him before his control cracked.

His hands slid lower on the door, moving from her shoulder level until they were even with the small of her waist. Still he didn
’t touch her.
“Is that what we are?” The key card slipped from her grasp, falling to the carpet in silent surrender. “It felt like that last night.”

“And now?” he asked. He tilted the angle of his head so his lips were just shy of making contact with hers.

Dampness soaked through the center of her yoga pants, and her heart hammered in her chest. “No comment.”

“
Well
…” He pushed his body up against her, flattening her between the solid door and his own thick hardness. “Actions do speak louder than words.”

His mouth came down on hers, obliterating any possibility of doing something other than kiss him back just as demanding, just as aggressive, and just as determined to control the situation. If he was looking for someone who sat back and meekly accepted, then he was kissing the wrong girl. Those days were gone for Harper. No one was going to manipulate her into doing their bidding ever again. She was her own woman with her own plans, and right now they all centered around Dodge
’
s hefty bulge pressing against her.

“
So fucking hot I
almost
forgot why you’re here. If only…
” Dodge
’
s lips brushed across her jaw as his fingers skimmed down the length of her arms until his hands circled her wrists. “But both of us can
’
t be in charge.” He whipped her arms upward in one fluid motion, wrapping a single hand around her wrists and pinning them above her head.

She watched him through half-closed lids and pressed her shoulder blades against her room door, rubbing her hot center against his thigh. “That doesn
’
t seem fair.”

His eyes darkened with lust, and he repositioned his leg, giving her a better angle to press against him. “You know that life never is.”

Bracing herself against the door behind her, she raised up on her tiptoes and undulated against his hard thigh. The stretch Spandex of her yoga pants moved with her as she twisted against him, tempting him and torturing herself with a kind of touch that was good but not quite good enough.

“Fuck me, you
’
re not wearing panties, are you?” The words came out in a pained groan.

Score one for her. “Never with yoga pants.”

His gaze dropped to where her hard nipples strained against her cotton tank top. “A bra?”

She shook her head. His nostrils flared with desire, and his lips turned up in a predatory smirk that promised every bad thing she could ever want—and she wanted it all.

“So much for being the proper political princess.” He kissed his way down her neck before stopping at the base and nibbling and sucking the tender flesh. “There
’
s more to you than that, isn
’
t there? Something wild trapped inside waiting for the right man to release it.”

Harper tried to catch her breath. She may have bitten off a bit more than she could chew when it came to teasing Dodge. He was a master at this game. She adjusted her legs, trying to bring them together, but he kept his strong leg between them, angling it so she couldn
’
t move without her covered clit brushing against him. Then he rocked, slow and easy, against her wetness. She couldn
’
t resist. Her body took over, surrendering to the sensation, and she moaned.

“You don
’
t need a man for what you want right now.” He trailed a finger across the scoop neck of her tank top as she rubbed up and down his thigh. “You can do it yourself, and I
want
to see you do it yourself, because what I
’
m going to give you later on, there
’
s no one else in the world who can do that for you. Not you. Not another man. Just me.”

Her arms ached from being held up for so long, her heart pounded against her chest like a jackhammer, and if she could form words she would have yelled for him to yank down her yoga pants and touch her wet folds before she combusted. But she didn
’
t. The sensation building inside her was too intense, too strong for her to do anything but be slavishly devoted to its growth.