Page 8 of Rules of Engagement
"Why's that?"
Color surged to her face and she felt it burn. "It's… awkward."
"You can tell me."
"Well, he, um, kissed me about a year ago."
"It wasn't a good kiss?"
"Like kissing my brother."
Carter's booming laughter filled the hotel lobby. "Brother, huh?" he said, flashing her another sexy smile.
Did he actually look pleased at the news?
The kiss had been an accident. She and Mac had met by happenstance in downtown Wilmington and chatted briefly. Upon saying goodbye, he'd leaned down to hug her right as she'd risen into him, and she'd slipped on a rock beneath her shoe, meshing their mouths instead. Mac had apparently thought she was actuallykissinghim and taken it a step further until she'd pulled away. Much eye contact was avoided because of her horrified response.
Which was why there was no need to share that information with anyone. Much less Mac's neighbor.
Too late now.
As they crossed the expansive lobby, Eliza realized she should feel nervous about having a big, hunky stranger walk her to her door, but given that Marsali and Amelia waited below, not to mention Mac, she felt perfectly safe. One yelp and her friends would come running, especially in the open atrium design of the hotel, where sound tended to carry.
"What floor?" he asked.
The elevator doors opened just as they arrived, and once the passengers got off, Carter urged her inside. Eliza turned too quickly, and her brain slushed among the bubbles that had made their way there and bobbed like a buoy as a result. "Ohh," she said, her body gently banging into the elevator wall. "Head rush."
Carter lifted an eyebrow at her and chuckled again.
"You're a cute drunk, I'll give you that."
"I'm not drunk."
"No?"
"Nope," she said, making a popping sound on the P.
His gaze shifted downward in the general direction of her mouth because of what she'd done, and she was glad the wall had her back with the trail of heat left behind as a result. All from those eyes of his. And, well, the rest of him, too.
Who knew a dark gaze and sooty lashes could be such a thing for her? Until now she'd never really thought she had a preference for eye color. Turned out she did.
And, okay, maybe she was a little moretipsythan she'd first thought while sitting on the couch, because the floor did seem to be tilting just a bit—but it was only because she hadn't eaten since breakfast.
What were they talking about?
Oh, yeah. "Two glasses of champagne does not make me drunk."
"Is that right?"
"It's because I didn't eat," she said defensively. "The wedding today was a huge pain in the—" She forced herself to stop and licked her dry lips, closing her eyes and pasting on what she hoped was a professional demeanor. "Well, let's just say the bride today was difficult," she said. And until she managed to get her business back up to speed, she couldn't afford to hire a full-time assistant, which left her hiring untrained hourlies who had to be constantly watched and instructed and that meant… not having time to eat.
"What floor, sweetheart?"
"Four. No, wait. Six. I'm on six."
"You're sure?"
That look of his… Did the man know the power he wielded with that face? The amusement in his gaze left her lifting her chin high. "I was on the fourth floorfirst, but there was an issue with the room and they switched me, so yup."
