Page 22 of Guarded Hearts
I could circle around and go in the front door or radio to get in another entrance.
I could breeze past her as though I didn’t care she was testing my patience.
Or I could confront her, do any number of things I’d thought about doing tonight.
Option three was the most appealing and also the worst idea. She’d been drunk an hour ago, and judging by her trip to the bar after she’d left me, she’d had no intention of slowing down.
I wanted her, but Ineededher for the dance routine. Drunk Alyssa was a complication I couldn’t indulge in. The first and third options were weak—one made me a coward, and the other suggested I had no self-restraint.
Option two. If the bartender was a bad guy, I might get a sense on the way past. I wouldn’t leave her out here to be taken advantage of. As I opened the car door, the bartender leaned into Alyssa and whisperedsomething in her ear. She laughed, and my stomach clenched. As soon as her gaze connected with mine, her smile slipped.
“You’re still working?” she asked as I got closer.
“Of course. The party is still on.” The light above the door lit up a small space around her and the bartender, a halo, a cocoon, more intimate than I liked.
She was a flirt, a tease, and my attraction to her was superficial. I didn’t know her.Lust.Nothing more.
“Hey,” she said, grabbing my arm on the way past, a silver clutch poised precariously in her free hand. “Can I talk to you?”
“What am I?” the bartender asked with a laugh, gesturing between us. “Shoulda known you’d end up being a cocktease. Offer yourself on a plate and then snatch it away.” He smirked and tipped his chin at me as though he expected agreement. “Am I right?”
I clenched my jaw in response and was tempted to punch the guy or sweep Alyssa into my arms. “You don’t deserve her.” I held out my hand for her to take and led her inside and down the hall toward the storage area.
As a security measure, I’d toured every space attached to the conference room, and I had a set of keys to every door for the night. After unlocking the supply room, I let her in and then followed. Decorations, extra tables and chairs, place settings, and other essentials for the conference room were stacked in neat rows. Near the back was a kitchenette. An empty desk sat off to the side, the command post for anyone running a huge catering event.
I locked the door behind me and stared at the white steel. Bringing her in here was a bad idea. Better than creating a scene on the dance floor or somewhere else in the conference room, though.
I sighed and turned to her. “You want to talk?”
Chapter Ten
Alyssa
The supply room was a little blurry, and I wasn’t sure how I convinced Pasha to take me here. Once I’d noticed he was gone, I’d switched to water, much to the bartender’s annoyance.
Of course he’d thought I was a sure thing with all the alcohol he’d been feeding me. But I was an experienced drinker. I could hold my own with the best of them. Sleeping with him had crossed my mind early on, but after I cornered Pasha, I realized I wasn’t craving justanyman—I was cravinghim. My inability to stir up jealousy or possessiveness or any of the emotions I depended on with previous guys was confusing.
How did I get him if none of the usual tricks worked?
“I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I can’t figure you out, and it’s driving me insane. Like, I think literally insane.” I set my purse on the empty desk and pressed my fingers into my forehead. My water was still at the bar. I’d kill for some.
He stared at me and then leaned his shoulder against the nearest wall. None of the bodyguards wore suits unless it was a more formal event. I loved a man in a suit, but there was something to be said for a pair of faded, well-worn jeans and a black T-shirt, even if it did have Securityemblazoned across it in bold letters.
He pushed off the wall and went to the tiny kitchenette in the far corner, where he took out a glass and filled it with tap water. After passing it to me, he took his spot by the wall again, far away.
“Thanks.” I took a sip. Had I said the thing about the water out loud? Or was he becoming telepathic? He couldn’t be telepathic or else he’d know I’d prefer him pants-less right now. I eyed him, waiting to see if he’d comply.
With a sigh, I took another drink. Telepathy was too much to hope for. This conversation would be easier if I didn’t have to speak any of the words out loud.
“Why do you feel insane?” He crossed his arms and stared at his feet.
I laughed. “If I told you, you’d agree.” Another gulp of my water. I put more distance between us in case I was tempted to break my vow of not touching him.
“Try me.”
Tall, muscular, well-groomed, amazing-smelling—all things I’d had in other men at other times. None of them treated me well, made me feel deserving of good treatment. When Pasha told the bartender he didn’t deserve me, I had to swallow down a lump in my throat. I was tired of picking bad men, of making choices that led to huge credit card bills and empty houses.
Maybe I could have a good man, even if it was just for a little while. How did someone catch and keep a good man? Where did I even start?
