He leans away, his thumb brushing across my bottom lip. “Not yet.”
My heart sinks into my stomach. My cheeks flush with shame.
How could I let this happen? I got so carried away, and he doesn’t even want me.
What the hell am I doing?
I may not have kissed him, but I can kiss this business deal goodbye. I’ll be lucky if Kellin agrees to even speak to me again.
“I’m sorry. You’re right.” With my head spinning, I struggle to form words. I’m not sure if it’s the wine or Kellin, but either way, I need to get out of here, regroup, and try to salvage whatever I can tomorrow. “I’m an idiot. It’s just business?—”
“That’s not what I said, Maeve.” Kellin’s eyes glitter like stars as he rubs his thumb against my lip. I suck in a gasp. “Notyet.”
Not a rejection. Not an apology either. No, his response is a future promise. A tease of delayed gratification, if I can only be patient.
This is the first time a man’s denied me. Then again, this may also be the first time I pursued a lover versus the other way around. Not that I’ve shared my bed with dozens of men or anything, but none of the ones who ever expressed interest saidnot yet.
This is entirely separate from the business. From the investment. This is Kellin, not Zenith. He’s the one calling these shots.
That realization scorches me and attracts me to him all the more.
“Thank you.” Kellin drops his hand and backs away. “For admitting your interest.”
Liquid fire pulses through my veins. I stand motionless, unable to form a coherent response.
He grasps my hands and gently tugs me away from the door.
He murmurs, “Goodnight, Maeve,” as he slips into his suite.
I stare at the wood, my fingers itching to turn the knob and follow him inside.
I’m so incredibly screwed.
Chapter 8
Kellin
I sip black coffee as I wait for Maeve at the front desk. Yesterday, she gave me a must-see, short-and-sweet tour. Today, we inspect the rest of the Cypress.
That little added bonus at the end of the night was my favorite part. Blood shoots straight to my groin at the memory of her flushed face pressed up against the door of my suite. The whisper of her breath against my lips. Her sweet jasmine perfume permeating the air between us.
Focus, Kellin.
I shake my head to clear the image away.
The hotel. Right.
I’ve studied the public blueprints, but I still lack any real insight into the property. I need to find the exact location of her office and figure out the safest way to sneak in.
Maybe more importantly, I want plenty of time to win her over after what happened last night. Or rather, what almost-but-didn’t-happen.
To soften the sting of rejection, I chatted up the front desk worker, Lola-Grace, for information on how to weasel my way into Maeve’s good graces. She informed me that Maeve lovescaramel macchiatos, which is why I have one waiting for her. Easy brownie points.
The sturdy coffee cup toasts my hand as I scan the lobby. Declan Gallagher really didn’t spare any expense with this place.
But now I know Maeve was the one who designed everything.
All the refined, high-quality details, down to the expensive marble floor. The engraved molding on the ceiling. The skylights and elegant pillars. The eclectic furniture—funky yet understated—and the original art pieces scattered everywhere and hanging from the walls. Even the potted plants add some color and give the space an exotic, oasis-type vibe.
