“At least you had one.”
The unexpected vulnerability in her voice reeled him back in for more ... shouldn’t have, but it did. “You never had a birthday party?” Now why the hell had he asked her that? He was supposed to wrap this up and walk.
She moved her head slowly side-to-side. “Not one.” The remembered pain in her eyes, the kind that was all too familiar to him, put another hell of a crack in his willpower.
“When you’re all alone at the end of the day it’s difficult to celebrate much of anything.”
She couldn’t have guessed that about him. Had to be Luttrell. “Look.” He held her wistful gaze with a firm, let’s-get-this-straight one of his own. “I think I know what’s going on here, and my friend can be overly ambitious in his machinations. You shouldn’t trust anything he says.” Luttrell was going to be sorry he’d hatched up this outrageous hoax.
The lady weighed his assertions before opening her clutch once more. Rather than making the exit he had planned, Carson watched with more of that inexplicable interest. He was making this way too easy for his friend.
The lady withdrew a key card and placed it on the counter. “I’m in room three fifteen at the Tutwiler. Ifthatis what you’re looking for, I’ll be there all night.”
She started to turn away but didn’t; instead she tilted her lips close to his ear, and whispered, “No one should be alone on a night like this.”
Then she walked away, her hips swaying in blatant invitation.
Had he just been propositioned?
Carson shook his head.
Luttrell would do anything to prove his point.
Carson wasn’t falling for it. He was going home with his briefcase. His mistress, as Luttrell would say.
Yet his gaze lingered on the last place he’d seenherbefore she’d disappeared in the crowd. Temptation nudged him.
The whole idea was absurd.
No one should be alone on a night like this.
He couldn’t dothat. Thatwas way out of bounds.
Carson didn’t operate on impulse. He went with the facts, with instinct.
Stick with the plan. Go home. Work.
But then ... Carson would never know what his friend was actually up to. And she had left her key lying right here on the bar. Before reason could sink past the undeniable taste of lust still making his mouth water, Carson picked up the key card and walked out of the club.
He was definitely crazy.
The question was, just how crazy.
The Tutwiler stood directly across the street. The 1914 building with its grand balconies and intricate architectural details loomed against the night. A Birmingham landmark. In the event his friend had gone momentarily stupid and sprung for the real thing, Carson wondered how the city would feel about a high-class call girl using the historic property for a base of operation. Or a county-paid employee arranging the rendezvous.
Carson entered the elegant hotel lobby, bypassed the bank of elevators, and went straight for the stairs. He would return the lady’s key and give her a succinct message to pass along to his dickhead of a friend.
On the third floor Carson located room 315 but hesitated before knocking. He listened. No television noise, no whispering voices. Maybe music; too low to distinguish.
One quick rap of his knuckles and movement stirred inside the room. The door opened and those unforgettable blue eyes tangled with his. More of that startlingly keen interest swirled low in his belly. Oh yeah, he’d neglected his needs far too long.
“I see you’ve made up your mind.” A half-empty short glass hung from the fingers of her right hand.
No one else appeared. No shouts ofSurprise!Just the soft whisper of music floating on the air. This was not what he’d anticipated finding ... this was apparently an actual proposition.Maybe.The jury was still out.
“I think”—Carson offered the key card—“there’s been a miscommunication.”
She accepted the card with her free hand. “That’s regrettable.”
