He pushed to his feet and paced the hallway again, pausing at the end to stare out at the Colorado River reflecting the moonlight. Too bad he wasn’t in a romantic mood. Once the shock of Brooke denying knowing him wore off, frustration set in. Frustration developed into anger as she went through the day without ever even looking his way. As his texts over the course of the day for explanations about her behavior went unanswered. As his question of whether or not they were going to meet tonight as planned was ignored.
And none of the images that kept floating into his head from the day were helping calm him down. The memory of her face floated into his head—of how happy she’d looked when she?
?d first seen him, contrasted against the shock and hurt in her eyes after she’d figured out he and Jillian had slept together.
“Fuck,” he bit out. That had been so goddamned long ago. He’d made some stupid decisions where women were concerned, no doubt. But Jillian was definitely one of his worst. It would have to be that one to come back and bite him in the ass.
And her stupid comment—stolen her heart? What a bunch of fuckin’ bullshit.
The worst part was, he had no idea what was going on in Brooke’s head. Could only guess why she’d played the “Hi, I’m Brooke Dempsey” card today, and absolutely hated the idea that she planned on pretending they didn’t know each other while they were working together.
Talk about torture.
He wandered back toward her room, paused at another window, and pressed a fist to the ache in his gut, one created by a combination of acid from the stress and pure pain from the thought of losing Brooke so soon after thinking they’d get a chance to develop something.
Movement made him look left.
Brooke turned the corner, looking down at a keycard in her hand. She was wearing another dress. Black. But this one was more casual than the one she’d worn earlier. And sexier in a far more playful way. It had spaghetti straps and was fitted from her breasts to her hips, then flared into a short skirt. And it laced up the front through a double row of eyelets.
He wasn’t feeling the least bit playful or lighthearted, and even though the comparison between the mood her dress evoked and his current mood was absolutely ludicrous, it still added heat to his anger. So did the fact that she looked ridiculously sexy in the damn thing. And the way his body surged at the sight of her.
It all blended to throw his emotions into a gear he didn’t even know he had, let alone a gear he knew how to operate.
When he straightened from the window, she looked up and stopped. A gasp passed through her lips, and she darted a look over her shoulder.
His temper flared.
He didn’t even have a fucking temper until today.
“Good to see you too,” he said. “Been waiting all fucking night.”
She turned back. “I was going to call you,” she said, her voice hushed. “It’s just, Jillian—”
“Isn’t here. I made sure she left the building before I came. And I’ve been here over a fucking hour. Had my phone the whole time.”
As if on cue, her cell rang. She exhaled, her shoulders rising and dropping. While she answered her own phone, she slid the keycard into the lock and opened the door to her room. “Hey, honey, I’m a little busy right now. Is everything okay?”
She had to be talking to her nephew.
“Okay, sure. I’ll help you with that. Can I call you back in a little bit? Okay. Love you too. Bye.”
She sighed and walked into the hotel room.
Still standing in the hall, Keaton was struck by an epiphany. He knew right that second exactly why he was so damned pissed. Because he didn’t do this to women. Ever. He was up-front with them before they ever got close to a bed or an alley or bathroom or wherever they went to fuck. They knew when the fuck was over, they were over.
Brooke hadn’t done that.
The realization made hurt ooze out beneath the anger, and things inside him got volatile. Keaton needed to downshift this shit and coast out of here.
He followed her in, saying, “Look, I wouldn’t have liked hearing that we were done this morning, but I would have accepted it. What I don’t like is having you act like you wanted things to continue and then pulling the shit you’ve been pulling today.”
She put her purse and keys on the side table and turned to face him.
“I’m not pulling anything. I’ve been working my ass off all day. Someone, who shall remain nameless, put Jillian in a mood this morning, and she’s been bent on taking it out on me. Suffice it to say, Jillian has been the crazy fucking bitch from hell today. And God forbid she settle for just any hairdresser. No, Jillian Bailey has to have the woman who did Mariah Carey’s hair for the Oscars. Which means I have to fly her in, and I have to pick her up at the airport, and I have to settle her at the hotel. So forgive me if I’m not the picture of patience right now.”
She crossed her arms and balled her fists, plumping her breasts over the edge of her dress and adding another edge of heat to Keaton’s frustration. “And I didn’t answer your texts because Jillian is the queen of paranoia half the time and the queen of micromanaging the other half. I didn’t want her reading over my shoulder.”
“You seemed to be able to text me just fine before you got to the set this morning…while you were in the car with her.”