Page 15 of Between the Lines

She listened, trying to slow her breath, as the man zipped himself up. Listened as the pair exited the room, the door closing heavily behind them, and then listened to the silence left in the room as she absorbed the fact that she was alone.

“Jesus.” Cautiously, Jo pushed off the wall, stepping softly onto the thick, luxe carpeting of the hotel room. Part of her thought—hoped?—wildly that the man might still be here. He was gone, though—of course he was gone. She was left alone with the vague sense that it had all been a very dirty dream.

And, of course, that suddenly pressing need to fill the aching space between her legs. That was new. Actually, it was old—so old it was new again.

Throwing her head back, she huffed out a laugh at her own expense. She was a disaster.

Against her hip, her phone buzzed. Since the romper had no pockets and no back, the only place she’d been able to tuck her phone was under the elastic waist of her panties. She pulled it out, frowning when she saw a message from Beth.

Ford says he’s sorry. He didn’t know.

Well, that was clear as mud. Shrugging it off, Jo replaced her phone, took a cleansing breath and left the room. She held her breath as she walked down the empty, elegant hall, still half expecting to see the couple who had just awakened her slumbering carnal appetite.

She didn’t see them. Of course she didn’t, and even if she had, how would she have known?

What is wrong with me?

Descending the ornate staircase, Jo made a beeline for the bar. She both needed and, she thought, deserved a drink—something a little stronger than the cheerful glasses of sparkling wine that were still being circled.

Standing on her toes, she leaned against the polished dark wood of the lobby bar, trying to catch the bartender’s attention. The gray-haired, heavily mustached server didn’t even spare her a glance.

Meg was way better at this. Then again, Jo thought as she looked down at her rather flat chest, Meg had a little more to work with.

“Scotch on the rocks with a twist.” The voice came from behind her. Jo turned as irritation snaked over her skin—she was here first, and also, that was her drink.

Slapping a palm down on the counter, she angled her chin up as she pivoted on her fancy sandals. “Back of the line, buddy.”

“I’ve been lots of things to you, Jo, but buddy was never one of them.”

Jo whipped her head the rest of the way around so quickly that she felt a pinch in her neck. A roaring sound filled her ears as she found herself staring at a wide, hard chest, then up to broad shoulders. Tequila-gold skin started at the neck, covering chiseled features that were set off with night-black hair and eyes just as dark.

“Hi, Jo.”

Her mouth fell open. She must have looked like she’d gone simple, staring up at him like she’d never seen a man before. Though it was true enough that she hadn’t seen this particular man for quite some time—years, in fact.

“Theo,” she managed, her tongue thick and cottony in her mouth. She’d always known he would come back, had known it right down to the marrow of her bones. And yet of all the ways she’d imagined that the reentry of Theo Lawrence into her life would go—and she’d dreamed up plenty—she’d never expected that she’d actually manage to smile and be charming. To hide her innate social awkwardness and show only what she wanted of herself, the way so many women seemed able to do.

After all, this was the man who’d been like a part of her family. Who’d spent holidays with her family, who’d been her first kiss, her first love.

Her first experience with the kind of pain that could tear a person in two.

Drawing on every ounce of strength she had inside her, she turned back to the bar. She couldn’t deal with this without some liquid courage.

When Theo snagged the drink from the bartender’s hand, she felt anger whip through her. When he handed her the heavy tumbler, ice clinking merrily against the glass walls, the anger evaporated into a dense cloud of confusion.

“Scotch on the rocks with a twist, right?” He studied her with those coal-dark eyes, the ones that still haunted her dreams. “You never could stomach the hard stuff without a little ice.”

The rage winked back to life. “Do you really think that remembering what I drink will make up for ditching out on life?”

His smile dimmed, and Jo cursed internally. Damn it. Damn it. After that, how could she smile and pretend that she was doing just fine?

“So that’s how it’s going to be.” He smiled at her, but the press of his lips was tight. Still, she was distracted by it—the way that full, beautiful mouth moved. She’d always thought of his mouth as his Latin-lover lips, inherited as they’d been from his gorgeous Latina mother.

Well, she could look, but she was no longer interested in his lips, gorgeous or otherwise. Since she’d already blown the cool card, this was where she should scream. She should rage, pummel his chest with her fists. Flood the lobby of the hotel with angry tears.

At eighteen, she would have. She still had a temper, but she was also no longer that young—or that innocent. It took enormous effort to reseal the bottle that contained everything she felt and had felt for Theo Lawrence, but she did it, shoving the cork back in until she could get somewhere alone, a safe place for that bottle to explode.

Instead, she took a deep swallow of the drink he’d pressed into her hand, even though she resented that he’d been the one to procure it. Then she finally managed that civil smile, though it felt like pushing through a thick wall of cement.

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