This was by far the best evening Calista had ever had. She’d never enjoyed herself quite so thoroughly. The game had been a brilliant idea on Mr. Donahue’s part. It allowed her to compete against a man on equal footing, which was something she’d never done before. And she loved it – loved the competitive thrill along with the confidence he instilled in her as he applauded her efforts.
She loved his company too – all that seriousness melting away beneath laughter and smiles. Pleasure bloomed in her breast at the realization that she’d been the one to dissolve the granite façade he’d worn since they first met. He’d worn it again this evening until their conversation forced his lips into gentler curves and softened his eyes.
Still, as the evening progressed, she grew increasingly conscious of an underlying tension between them. It wasn’t the sort one experienced during a quarrel, or when keeping company with a person one couldn’t relate to. Nor was it unwelcome but rather…exciting.
It enhanced her awareness, alerting her to his proximity and to the weight of his regard. Which remained upon her as she resumed her position and took her aim once more. He’d shifted so he was no longer behind her but slightly to one side, and although she kept her eyes trained on the table and the red ball that awaited, heat swept the length of her back, nestling at the base of her neck, as if Mr. Donahue’s gaze caressed her.
Calista’s heartbeats quickened. She sucked in a breath and tightened her hold on the cue stick, steadying herself before propelling the tip of the stick forward. The red ball spun and rolled with perfect equilibrium before disappearing into the corner pocket.
Excitement rushed through her, prompting her to jump back a few steps, laughing with joy as she straightened and turned and…
A steadying hand came around her waist. Her hands rose to press against solid muscle. Mr. Donahue chuckled and Calista gasped. “I must stop bumping into you.”
He could have released her then – he probably should have – but he didn’t. Instead, he drew her slightly closer. His gaze dipped to her lips, darkening when she instinctively licked them. “I can’t say I mind.”
The rough murmur prompted a series of sparks to scatter across her skin. A fluttery feeling erupted against her breast, and she quickly swallowed, unsure of what else to say or what to do next. His overall masculinity, that enticing scent he wore and the heat radiating from his person, the dark gleam in his eyes and the strength with which he held her, called for her to surrender to something she had no experience with.
Feeling completely out of her element, Calista needed to know his intentions before she did something foolish like kiss him. So she said the first thing she could think of. “What do you want from me, Mr. Donahue?”
He blinked and set her aside with impressive swiftness, allowing a chill to set in where his body connected with hers a mere second before. “Nothing besides your company. Well done on your hit, Miss Smith. Let’s finish the game.”
Disappointment slammed against her. She wished she’d held silent but something told her a kiss would not be enough for a man like him. So she should be grateful to him for ending things rather than pressing advances.
And yet, when he bid her good night in front of her bedchamber door one hour later, she failed to convince herself she didn’t secretly yearn for more than the friendship he offered. Indeed, with Mr. Thorkilson waiting upon her horizon, she rather believed she owed herself at least one night of pleasure – the sort she was sure she would find in the arms of the man who’d saved her.
Steven was an ass. He knew this because he was keenly aware that he’d hurt her. The evidence had been there in her eyes, which had dimmed when he’d told her what he wanted from her.
He’d lied, and that had been a mistake. What he should have said was, “Let’s start with a kiss and take it from there.”
The gaming room had been empty by then. Nobody would have seen. And damn him if he hadn’t wanted to experience the soft press of her lips against his. But he also didn’t want her to feel indebted, to kiss him out of obligation. He’d taken her out of the kitchen, set her up in the best guest suite the hotel had to offer right next to his own, and covered the expense of her new clothes. She’d already claimed it was too much for her to accept – that she owed him.
Well, he’d be damned if he would let her feel like she should repay him by hopping into his bed. That would make him no better than Mr. Grant. In some ways it would make him worse since he’d essentially be turning Miss Smith into a whore.
No. If she wanted him as much as he wanted her, she’d have to come to him of her own volition. Not because he overpowered her ability to think straight or because he made her believe she had no choice.
With this in mind and because he’d also glimpsed a hint of uncertainty in her eyes as she’d posed her question, he’d ended what could have turned into an even more spectacular evening. He’d not lingered outside her bedchamber door when he’d told her good night, but had taken swift leave, quitting her company before some foolish notion could prompt him to change his mind.
It was for the best, he decided once he was safely inside his own suite of rooms. Moreover, it had been the right thing to do.