Page 7 of Sleeping with the Frenemy

I looked around the bare cabin, taking in the peeling paint and threadbare curtains before settling back on her. “Maybe I just wanted a room.”

“I don’t find your jokes funny.” She crossed her arms. Her first mistake. The position thrust her tits up, revealing deep cleavage. Jesus, her shirt was nearly the same color as her skin.

And there went my dick, going hard as a rock and straining toward her like it was a compass needle and she was true north.

“I’m not joking,” I said. “I’d love nothing more than to get a room with you.” Or the table in the corner. Or the floor. I wasn’t picky.

Her mouth tightened. “That’s not happening.”

“It happened before.”

“That was a mistake.”

“Didn’t feel like one.”

An edge of cruelty entered her tone. “Funny, because I barely felt anything at all.”

I didn’t answer right away. I just took the hit, partly because I deserved it and partly because my father taught me there was value in letting your enemies land the occasional blow. It gave you the illusion of weakness and encouraged them to lower their guard. Using the tactic on Victoria probably made me the asshole she called me, but I was willing to fight dirty if it meant winning our little war. She was furious with me, but she was also hurt. There was a lot that was wrong between us. More than she knew, actually. If I was lucky, I could make everything right.

But first I needed to remind her why I was worth the effort.

The wind outside picked up, sending more snow pattering against the window.

“A lot can change in seven years,” I told her. “For example, I went to college and then grad school. Oxford for college. Yale MBA.”

“Congratulations,” she said flatly. “Remarkable how the heir to a hotel fortune managed to get into those schools.”

I smiled. “Those aren’t my most remarkable traits, Vicky. If memory serves me correctly, you were pretty impressed by my cock when we were eighteen. I’m an even bigger boy now than I was then. And I’d be happy to show you my…credentials.”

“No thanks.”

I went on as if I hadn’t heard her. “I’m not the only one who’s been busy. You did some remarkable things yourself. Got that scholarship you were after—”

“Partial scholarship. We can’t all be trust fund babies.”

“You got your degree and a nice job at an accounting firm which, I assume, is why you’re buttoned up all prim and proper. Although, as a man, I have to tell you that can backfire. It’s the librarian effect.” I looked pointedly at her legs. “For example, if you wore that skirt to the office, I guarantee every man there is fantasizing about seeing you out of it.”

“Not every man is a misogynistic pig.”

“It’s not misogyny. It’s biology.” I raised my eyebrows and added, “Although, maybe you haven’t dated enough to know.”

“I’ve dated enough.”

“You’re single right now.”

Her lips thinned. “You have no idea if I’m single.”

“You’re alone in an abandoned motor lodge on a Friday night.”

She spoke through clenched teeth. “Why. Are. You. Here.”

“My father’s having me audit every Valenti property. It’s part of his surprise corporate drop-in program.” I let a little of the sarcasm I felt about it leak into my voice. “You can bet local management loves it.”

The change of subject seemed to startle her, but she recovered quickly. “What do you mean by surprise?”

“Just what I said, Vicky. No one in Virginville knows I’m coming.”

“Then how did you know the police are eating at the hotel?”

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