Page 43 of Unmasked

CHAPTER TWELVE

DAMIANWOKETHEnext morning feeling as though he’d been transported to Eden. Rolling over, he reached for Lainey but found an empty mattress. Rubbing the heel of his hand into his eyes, he sat up. Clinking sounds came from the kitchenette, and he got up and pulled on a pair of pants.

“Rise and shine,” Lainey sang as he walked into the main area of the suite, the chime in her voice making him smile.

He raked a hand through his hair. It’d been a while since he’d felt this exhausted in the morning. Sleep deprived in the best way possible, but still...what he needed was a nice strong cup of—

“Coffee?” Lainey appeared in front of him, holding out a steaming mug.

“You’re an angel.” He reached for the cup.

It was an apt description, considering how she looked right now. Endless legs extended out from the bottom of a soft white T-shirt—his T-shirt—which barely covered her. Her breasts were unrestrained beneath the fabric, nipples peaked and tantalising.

He frowned. “You’re still here.”

“Did you expect me to bail?” She dropped down onto the coffee table in front of him, one long leg draped over the other.

He’d hoped in the light of day she’d be easier to resist, that without the tight dress and heels he might stand a chance. But no...this was a hell of a lot worse.

Karma was a cruel and enticing bitch.

“I wasn’t sure you’d want to stay.”

She cocked her head. “Do you want me to go?”

Ah, this old dance. It was one he avoided with most women by getting the fuck out of Dodge before it was necessary to communicate. But that wasn’t how he wanted to handle things with her.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You look sleepy.” She grinned when he rolled his eyes. “Drink up.”

He shook his head and sipped his coffee. “Same old bossy Lainey.”

“I have a proposition for you.” She kicked her feet up onto the couch next to him so that all he could see was miles of peaches-and-cream skin. “I’m going to stay here, and if by the time midnight comes around tomorrow you don’t want to sleep with me again, I’ll go and I won’t ever mention it again.”

“Is this some kind of messed-up Cinderella sex thing?” He watched her over the rim of his cup.

She poked her tongue out at him. “More like Beauty and the Beast.”

“Charming.”

“So we’re on?” She put her hands on his shoulders and leaned forward so the ends of her hair tickled his bare chest and stomach. “No offence, but my money’s on me.”

Her lips hovered close to his, her knees nudging his thighs apart. His blood fizzed and raced as though she’d hooked him up to an electrical outlet. Each breath was an effort, desire crushing him from the inside out. Holy hell, if the girl could do that from mere proximity...

She winked and released him. “I’m having a shower—feel free to join me.”

Then she sashayed off as though it was her place, not his. Hair swung behind her like a band of scarlet silk, brushing the hem of the T-shirt. Her arrogance should have grated on him, but he found it oddly charming and comforting. She made no attempt to adjust herself to him, no attempt at false niceties or trying to please him. Since his stint on television, he’d noticed how people acted differently around him, and it pissed him off to no end.

The sound of the shower snagged his attention. It was tempting to join her...oh, so tempting. But he had to get his head straight and figure out just how long he was going to play her game before one of them got burned.

* * *

Water poured over Lainey, warm and soothing. Last night she’d seen another side of Damian. It had been every bit as perfect as she’d hoped for—hot sex, no head games. He’d wrapped her up in his arms and held her all night.

Unease settled in her stomach. She was already trying to convince him to give her another night—another hit. She was an addict, craving her next fix, chasing satiation that would never come. She turned her face against the spray and chuckled. She must be crazy after all. Who else would chase a man so hard knowing it wouldn’t go anywhere?

The door to the bathroom hadn’t budged an inch. Hmm, so he wasn’t taking the bait. She rinsed the conditioner from her hair and turned off the water. Fluffy white towels hung from the gleaming silver rack—one of the perks of living in a hotel. Her brows crinkled. Why was he living here? He’d sold a perfectly good apartment to live in a hotel that probably cost as much per night as she earned from a month of hairdressing.

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