She had picked the dress up in Milan, at one of the ateliers her mother loved. It was one of the few designer pieces she brought with her to Atlanta. The fabric felt like butter as it skimmed just above her knee. Slipping a handful of delicate bangles over her wrist, she stepped into a pair of nude heels.
When she opened the door, Wes had disappeared from the table. Her shoulders dropped. So much for her entrance! Cara checked the app and saw her car was four minutes away. She was transferring her keys and wallet into a tiny purse when she heard Wes’s bedroom door open. Cara glanced up, and her mouth went dry. Freshly showered, Wes had swapped his normal athletic attire for a pair of dark jeans topped by a fitted T-shirt and sport coat.
Holy Shit!
Need swirled low and hot. Their eyes met across the small kitchen.
Wes’s eyes were riveted on her face. They slowly traveled down her body and back up again. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “You look… incredible.”
A shock of desire hit her, her nipples tightening under his blatant perusal. Wes’s gaze fell to where the thin fabric did little to hide her reaction. His tongue swept against his lower lip, and Cara’s knees went weak. She wanted to launch herself at him.
No! Roommate! Bad!
“You changed your mind.” Her voice was breathy, and she coughed to clear it. “I’m glad.”
Wes grunted, his eyes still staring. Normally, she’d be thrilled by his stunned response, but when his eyes had pinned hers, and she felt flames lick up her thighs, she realized that teasing Wes could burn her, too.
He held her coat while she slipped her arms in the sleeves with only a muttered, “You’re going to freeze.”
Goosebumps rose on her nape when he lifted her hair free from the collar. Wes helped steady her as she gingerly navigated the steps down to their sidewalk. The feel of his warm fingers gripping her elbow started a slow throb between her legs.
She needed to get it together.
Or get laid.
One of the two was definitely a priority.
CHAPTERTWENTY-THREE
The Ford Focusthat picked them up had very little leg room, and for the twenty-minute ride, Cara could feel the heat of Wes’s leg through the material of her dress. He fidgeted for a minute as their arms crowded each other. Finally, he lifted his, and with a strained expression, placed it along the seat behind her.
“Do you mind?”
“No, it’s fine.” Cara’s breath caught as the car hit a pothole, and Wes’s arm slid, his fingertips grazing the top of her shoulder. When he began sliding his fingers through the long strands of her hair, Cara held still, afraid that if she moved, he would stop the delicious movement.
She would ignore it. The same way they both ignored the fiery tension that pulsed between them… They were playing a risky game. Both pushing the limits just far enough.
By the time the car dropped them under the large stone portico in front of the hotel, Cara was more determined than ever to meet someone new. The sexual stalemate she and Wes were in was killing her!
Cara’s nerves were taut, her body vibrating with awareness of Wes’s large frame beside her. She strode a few steps briskly away from the car in an effort to put a little physical space between them. She had never been as aware of another human the way she was of Wes.
But he was in love with someone else.
Cara scanned the lobby looking for the bar entrance. Even though she had never been to this hotel before, the expansive marble floor and sweeping grand staircase in the center of the lobby, combined with the delicate perfume piped through the air conditioning system, made her feel simultaneously at home and anxious.
Most of her life had been spent in and out of hotels and homes that resembled this lobby. Comfortable, neutral sofas and wingback chairs were grouped in front of the large, white stone fireplace, and she could see several tables on the floor above through the wrought iron railings. Money oozed from everyone, whether they wore a three-piece Brooks Brothers ensemble or a Louis Vuitton track suit.
These had been her people.
Now she felt out of place.
“I think it’s this way.” Cara pointed up the stairs.
They climbed the carpeted steps, and stepped into a bar that could have easily doubled as a private British club. Chesterfield sofas and small occasional tables were clustered along the walls with smaller groupings of chairs and tables situated closer to the wooden bar. Skye waved at her from across the room.
Cara recognized several people from the studio. They had pulled three of the small tables together in front of an upholstered banquette to make room for everyone. It was Friday night, and the bar was packed. It was an eclectic mix and impossible to tell who was who—influencers, business people, the idle rich, sports figures, as well as one or two familiar faces from the entertainment industry.
Skye caught her hands and made a show of ogling her. “Holy shit! Have you been hiding this body the whole time? Look at your tits!”
