Page 16 of Eluding the Billionaire
With a frustrated huff, I brush past him, striding into his kitchen with an extra sway to my hips. I help myself to a glass of water, trying to erase the taste of his tongue on mine. It gives me a moment to think, even though I know he’s watching my every move. I refill my glass, then return.
“It’s time we talked business,” I tell him in my most professional-sounding tone. He nods, the earlier smile erased from his mouth as he moves over to the two-seater sofa. I place my glass of water on the coffee table and resume my seat opposite him.
He maneuvers his body slowly onto the sofa, resting his crutches against the armrest, then says, “Fine, what business are you wanting to discuss, Ms. Carlson?”
“Your contract. The whole reason you tricked me into coming down here. Oh, and don’t think we’ve finished that conversation either.” I promised Hunter I could do this, and I’m damn well going to. I refuse to let Drew distract me with hot, steamy kisses or tempting displays of his sexy body.
He nods. I take that as acknowledgement of my statement that we’re not done, but also that he’s willing to talk business.
He leans forward on the sofa. “Did you receive the amendments sent through last month?” he asks, and a sigh of relief escapes from my lungs. Finally, he’s taking me seriously.
I fish out a bundle of papers from my leather tote. “Yes, and this is a copy of the contract with those amendments your lawyer requested. It’s a copy of the electronic version we sent you on the twentieth. Have you had a chance to read that?”
“No, sorry. I’ve been a bit busy.” His voice is low and flat.
Damn it, he couldn’t possibly have read it when he was laid up in a hospital bed after being put back together by a group of doctors.
“Yes, of course. I can leave this copy with you to read overnight. We can discuss it further tomorrow. But really, I don’t have a lot of time to finalize this, so I would appreciate a quick turnaround.”
He stares at me like I’ve just grown two heads. Maybe it has something to do with the way I just laid out the timeline, because even to my own ears, I sound cold and robotic. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Usually, I’m so much nicer when I’m discussing contracts with authors. But then I’ve never slept with an author I’ve been negotiating with before either.
I drop the pages on the coffee table between us, then release a heavy sigh. “Sorry, I’m having trouble compartmentalizing. It’s difficult to see you as A.V. Campbell, the author I’m conducting contract negotiations with, when, on the other hand, you’re Drew, the man I had hot, raunchy sex with a couple of months ago.”
He rests his forearms on his knees and clasps his hands in front. This, I’m learning, is his thinking position. I wait, and after about a minute, he says, “If it helps, I’m struggling with this too. Look, I promise I’ll read the updated contract and discuss it with my lawyer overnight. We should be ready to finalize it all tomorrow.”
My smile this time comes more readily. “Thank you, I appreciate that.” I relax back into my chair, happy that we seem to be making progress—with the contract at least. My attraction to the man, though, remains a problem.
When the silence begins to stretch uncomfortably between us, I look around the room, my eyes snagging on the closed laptop on the desk in the corner.
“How is the writing going? It can’t have been easy with the accident and everything.” I look back at Drew, and he’s staring blankly at the desk. “Are you okay?”
He turns to face me again. “Aye. I don’t like talking about my work in progress, but don’t worry, I’ll make the deadline.” His voice is uncharacteristically angry, and I can’t fathom what I said that upset him.
“Drew, I wasn’t asking about the deadline. I was only asking if everything was okay.” I pick up my glass of water and take a sip to hide my confusion. He is a lot moodier than I remember.
His eyes bore into me, and my stomach flips under the intensity of his stare. “I’m fine,” he says, and his fingers begin to drum a silent, steady rhythm on his left knee. I wish I could read him as easily as he does me.
Maybe now is as good a time as any to ask another of the questions I’ve had since I arrived on his doorstep. There’s already a tension in the air, and I’ve never been someone to back away from the hard stuff.
I sit up straighter and return his stare. “Why did you insist I come down here personally to deliver the contracts? We could have done this via email.”
The finger tapping stops. “I wanted to see you again to apologize. In person.” His expression is still completely unreadable.
I release the breath I was holding and push for more. “Why?”
The corners of his mouth tick up slightly. “Because, even with everything that happened to me, I couldn’t get that night out of my head. I felt bad for taking off. You didn’t deserve that.”
His honesty in admitting that our night was special goes a long way to melting the ball of anger and hurt I felt when I woke up and he was gone. But I need more.
“You knew who I was. It was always inevitable that we would see each other again.”
“Aye, it was always going to be awkward. Katie, I didn’t want to wait and … I didn’t want our next meeting to be across a conference table.”
This time my “Why?”is more of a whispered plea. His heated gaze is confusing the messages firing in my brain and making it impossible to remain unmoved.
He draws in a deep breath and slowly releases it again. “Because … I want a repeat of that night.”
“What?” I choke out before slumping lower into the chair. It’s lucky I was already sitting, because I’m sure his statement would have floored me.
