The Survivor - Cristin Harber Page 0,55
anything with Jared. They were too far apart in age. She almost looked at him like her father. Though he’d kill her for that. Maybe a younger uncle. They’d always had a good rapport. But the idea of her and Jared Westin? Impossible. “He’s terrifying.”
“I can see he scares the crap out of you,” Hagan deadpanned.
“We …” She had no words. Hagan really believed that it could be true? “No.”
“If you say so.” He stabbed a julienned carrot.
“Are you jealous?”
“Of you and my boss?” Hagan grimaced. “Considering what happened in the war room? It’d make things awkward.”
“I can’t believe you think he’s my type.”
Hagan’s gaze narrowed. “What is your type?”
She’d never had one until he’d pestered her away from her rules. “You.”
His lips parted, and his posture changed. Now he was the one without something to say.
Their waiter arrived with the next set of wine pairings. Neither of them had touched the most recent glasses. Wine accidentally sloshed, and the waiter overcorrected. The glasses collided, spilling red wine, drenching Amanda’s blouse. She jerked back, knocking her water glass into her lap.
Hagan came to his feet. Ice-cold water soaked into her pants. A hush fell. Every table stared. The waiter apologized again and again as the host and manager appeared. She wanted to hide her face and cry but heard herself laugh.
Hagan handed her his napkin. His face cracked. “You might need another.”
Dozens of eyes were on Amanda, and she didn’t even care. They might recognize her, they might not. For the first time since gossip bloggers had made their living reporting her blunders and faux pas, she didn’t care, laughing into Hagan’s protective arms.
The manager interrupted with promises their meal was free and her clothes would be replaced. Everyone must have thought they’d lost their minds.
Amanda pulled herself together and lifted a palm to the side like a model striking a pose. “This can’t be your type.”
“Trust me.” Hagan nabbed her arm to his side again. “It absolutely is.”
They thanked everyone for the help, and Hagan grabbed a tablecloth on the way out. He cloaked it over her shoulders to keep prying eyes away from the wet, thin fabric.
“Where to?” Hagan asked as they joined the general flow of foot traffic. “You’re not going to let see-through clothing and wet pants keep you from the casino, right?”
She tipped her head back to look at him. “You’re crazy.”
He grinned. “Shower, then bed?”
“Yeah. It’s been a long day.”
“Ten-four, beautiful.” Hagan directed them toward the closest elevators.
She couldn’t wait to peel off her clothes and go to bed. In their bed. Nervous energy skipped down her spine. What would happen later? She hadn’t expected earlier, and she wasn’t sure what she was ready for.
They rode alone in the elevator, staying close, but her thoughts were already in the bedroom, wondering what he expected and wanted. It had been so easy when they’d first arrived. Spending time with Hagan should only have made it easier.
They made it to their floor without running into another guest, then walked to their room hand in hand. He opened the door like a perfect gentleman.
“Thanks for tonight.” She walked in and stood at the same place they had before when she’d been certain of what would happen next. “We did a good job tonight.”
“Easiest gig I’ve ever had.” Hagan broke away and headed for the couch, pulling his shirt over his head. The move wasn’t to show off his jaw-dropping physique as much as he needed to strip away their day. Amanda gawked at the rippling display of muscles as he slung the shirt onto his shoulder. “I’ll stay out of your way until you’re done in the bathroom.”
“All right.” Moving toward the shower required her concentration. She’d felt his body before, but she apparently hadn’t taken time to appreciate it.
She kicked off her high heels and unbuttoned her blouse, tossing it in the trash. The pants stuck to her legs and took wriggling to get off, and she left the wine-stained bra and underwear on the tile floor.
Hagan knocked on the door.
How about that timing … “Yes?”
“I forgot to ask what bothered you earlier.”
She cracked the door and stuck her head out. Butterflies swarmed at the sight of him.
“You’re busy,” he volunteered. “I’ll come back.”
“There’s a store I didn’t recognize on the spreadsheet.”
“Okay.” He backed away. “So long as it’s not a big deal.”
It was actually a huge deal, but her explanation went hazy. “I was worried about coming back to the room.”
His brow furrowed as though