The Guy Next Door - By Lori Foster, S Donovan, V Dahl Page 0,92
by the tasting room.”
Andrés handed him a little box wrapped with a gold bow. “A torte for your brother. I know how much he enjoys sweets.”
“Thanks. Stop by the brewery in a week. We’ve got an apricot hefeweizen that’s almost ready.”
“That’s a deal, my friend.”
Andrés moved on to the next table, and Eric took a last look around. He’d already schmoozed with everyone at the dinner, and he still had a younger brother to yell at, not to mention invoices to review back at his office. So he said his goodbyes and escaped to the quiet of the hallway. He was scrolling through his BlackBerry when he walked around the corner, sparing a glance down the hallway as he did. This part of the hotel was packed with meeting rooms and suites, and the hall was a jumble of corners and alcoves. The hallway jagged to the right about twenty feet ahead, and beyond the corner of the wall, Eric caught a glimpse of one green high-heeled shoe.
The tip of the dark green shoe tapped the floor in a languid rhythm. He watched it closely. His pace slowed.
As he drew closer, Eric saw a delicate ankle, then the curve of a smooth calf. And then he caught sight of the brown skirt.
It was her.
Despite his certainty, he was still surprised when he passed the corner and saw her profile. Her hair was down now, a sexy fall of sable brown that shone beneath the floodlight above her.
She leaned against a glass railing, staring down into the hotel atrium. Her arms rested on the railing, and one knee was bent, the foot still tapping out a secret rhythm against the floor.
Christ, those heels.
She turned her head then, and her gaze met his. For a moment, she looked just as shocked as he felt. Her lips parted. Her brown eyes went wide.
Eric’s focus fell to her red lipstick as she recovered herself and smiled.
“Hi,” she said, her voice just slightly husky at the edges. “You’re Jamie Donovan, right?”
“I—” His fingers twitched as he started to reach out to her. “Actually—”
“I’m Beth,” she continued. “Beth Cantrell.” Her hand slid into his, distracting him from correcting her.
“Nice to meet you, Beth.”
She laughed a little, and his stomach tightened at the sound. “In case you’re wondering if I’m a stalker, I saw the sign on your table. That’s how I know your name. And you’re a little notorious.”
“I am?”
She raised one shoulder in a shrug, and her fingers tightened for just a second before she drew her hand away. “Just a little,” she answered, her eyes twinkling.
She thought he was Jamie, which was kind of a surprise. He would’ve expected Jamie to be well-known at a place like The White Orchid. Still, she’d heard about his brother, and her grin was for Jamie, not Eric.
He meant to correct her. He really did. But he hesitated. Eric wouldn’t flirt with a woman who worked at a sex shop. He was responsible, careful and risk-averse. But Jamie? Jamie would do way more than flirt with her.
A door opened behind him, and she darted a nervous glance past his shoulder. He followed her gaze, but the man who stepped out of the room moved on down the hallway.
A peek at her ring finger revealed bare skin. “Are you waiting for someone?”
“Oh, no. I just finished a marketing session. I need to waste a few minutes before the next presentation. It’s on tax prep. Are you going?”
“No, I was at a dinner.” He gestured down the hallway.
“The Andrés Villanueva dinner? Wow, you are lucky.”
“Are you a fan?”
“Who isn’t?”
Eric rubbed a thumb over the box in his hand, considering. It was meant for Jamie, but Jamie sure as hell didn’t deserve it. If he’d been at the expo as he was supposed to have been, he would’ve had his damn torte. “You’re not one of those women who doesn’t eat, are you?”
“No, I am definitely not one of those women.”
Offering a wolfish smile, Eric held up the box. “Want a little taste?”
Her dark brown eyes went wide. “What is that?” she demanded.
“It’s manna from heaven, also known as salted caramel torte.”
“Shut up,” she gasped.
He gave the box a little wiggle. “Want it?”
“Yes!”
The lustful anticipation on her face shot heat into Eric’s veins. She stared at the box as if it held something naughty. What were the chances that he’d be presenting her with a naughty gift?
“Wait here for one second,” he said before rushing back the way he’d come. He