Page 15 of Resist

Down-payment sex.

That was the first thought I had when Ryker informed me his meeting was canceled. Lola’s crass terminology flitted through my head, and all I could think about was how I was going to escape this evening unscathed—except for a quick bout of meaningless sex.

The sex no doubt would consist of me lavishing undeserved praise on Ryker—oh my God, it’s so huge, you’re so amazing, you’re the best I’ve ever had—all the while wondering myself, “Is it in yet?” This would be followed by a few grunts and groans on his part as I would lie there like a human pincushion before he would roll on his back and fall asleep, with me no worse for the wear except for needing a shower to wash his scent off me.

Definitely down-payment sex—a quick lay that would net me enough for a down payment on a car.

Yes. I could do this.

Those were my defining thoughts in that split second before standing and before Ryker grabbed my hand to stop me.

You know what they say about best-laid plans.

Because now brandy-colored eyes stare at me from across the dimly lit dining room where we sit in a back-corner booth. They judge and question, but no words fall from his lips, where his fingers are running back and forth absently over the rough cut of his jaw.

Sex I’ll be able to handle, no problem.

Small talk is a torture all in itself, unbeknownst to me.

Unnerved by his sudden attention when I shouldn’t be—because isn’t that how a normal date works?—I glance around the restaurant. It’s high-class swank like I’ve never seen before . . . and it’s definitely more of an old boys’ club. Dark-red booths with high-backed seats to secure privacy for the customers.

“Do you come here often?” I ask, more than grateful for the other patrons who have stopped by to say hi to him, saving me from having to maintain any real flow of conversation between us.

“When it suits me.” He goes back to eating his filet while I move my vegetables around on my plate and think about the room upstairs we’ll head to next. The senator and last night flash through my mind. The image of Lola, battered and bruised, standing at the window, not far behind it. The notion that if something goes wrong with Ryker like it did for Lola, I don’t have anyone to call to come and save me. I have no one I can text Mayday to.

Just breathe, Vaughn. You can do this.

It’s only once. Nothing is going to happen to you. Ryker is a well-respected, sought-after, high-powered divorce attorney. Not like that matters, though. My only saving grace is my rock-solid research. If he had any dirty secrets—any hidden fetishes—beyond the ones I already know, they’d already be out in the air somehow.

It’s just sex.

I study him as he cuts his meat. Refined yet rugged. Polite but with an edge. Handsome but not pretty.

And private.

Talking to him is like pulling teeth. Or maybe it’s just me. Maybe I’m not doing the slithering up to a man properly. Maybe I’m not stroking him enough verbally and making him feel manly enough. Hell, maybe I’m going to lose him as a client regardless, and so this whole charade I’m putting on is fruitless on all fronts.

Including my own damn ego.

His hands still, and when I look up to see why, his gaze is on me. “Yes?” he asks with a look that tells me my scrutiny is unwelcome.

“Why are we here if you’re not going to talk at all?” I ask the obvious.

“Because it’s been a long damn week, and last I checked, it’s not a crime to enjoy a nice meal with a beautiful woman.”

I nod my head slowly, his words surprising me.

“Ryker Lockhart? No fucking way,” a voice booms to our left, and we both turn our heads toward its owner. Wow. It’s my first and only thought when I take in the man striding our way. He’s tall with dark hair and green eyes. There’s light stubble on his jaw and a swagger that the expensive suit he has on can’t hide. “I thought that was you!”

“Colton Donavan?” Ryker stands automatically and is shaking the man’s hand instantly. The name rings a bell, but I can’t place it. “No shit.”

“You don’t call. You don’t write,” Colton says with his hands out and a killer smile on his face that has a lone dimple winking on one side. Boyish charm exudes from an absolute grown-man’s body.

“Like you’re one to talk,” Ryker says through a laugh.

“What’s it been? Five years?”

“At least.” They man-pat each other’s shoulders. “What are you doing in town?”