He didn’t deserve her kindness.
His smile was grim as he grabbed both the salmon and the unfinished bottle of wine from the night before and thumped the refrigerator closed. He hadn’t been too pleased with himself all day for practically attacking Megan by the elevator last night. Christian knew that he could use the powerful attraction that surged between them as a tool to seduce her. It’d been a grueling trial to sit there with her on the couch last night after their little spat and not touch her. Megan was uncertain, but she wanted him, too. Couldn’t he assure her that he was a decent human being at the same time that he loved her, naked and willing in his bed?
He knew the answer to that, of course. Her level of readiness had to be based on her own agenda, not his level of lust. She was special. He wanted things to be right for her.
So he was pretty damn disgusted with himself for practically mauling her when she got up to leave. Not that she hadn’t reciprocated. She had…in spades.
Maybe that made his lack of restraint all that much more despicable.
He pulled the cork out with his teeth and spit it out like a projectile into the garbage can. The phone started ringing at the same time that he threw the salmon in the microwave and took a slug of wine straight from the bottle. He wiped his mouth on his bare forearm and picked up the receiver.
“What do ya want?”
He didn’t feel the need to be formal. Only close business associates, intimate friends and his family had his phone number. He’d given it to Megan, but he doubted that she would be using it after last night. He began to wonder, though, when he heard the long stretch of dead air.
“Hello?”
“Nice,” the female voice on the other end said.
His eyebrows drew together. The wine bottle made a clinking sound when he set it on the granite countertop absentmindedly. “Megan?”
“Same gene pool, wrong sibling. It’s Hilary. I need to speak with you. You’re doorman is a real stickler for etiquette. He wouldn’t let me come up without your permission.”
“That’s not too surprising since the elevator opens right into my house,” he replied mockingly, but his brow crinkled with concern. Why did Megan’s sister want to speak to him?
This can’t be good.
Down in the lobby, Hilary glanced over at the doorman and smiled with a confidence that she was far from feeling. The poor guy looked like he was anxiously sweating out every possible dollar of his imagined Chris Lasher Christmas bonus. Hilary, who usually had a saleswoman’s talent for glibness, hesitated. But then Christian himself gave her an easy way out.
“Is Megan okay?” Christian asked.
“That’s what I need to talk to you about. I can’t reach her, which is very unusual. Can I come up and speak to you. Please?”
“Put Jeff on,” Christian said, referring to the doorman.
“It’s not Jeff. It’s some guy I’ve never seen before.”
Hilary ground her teeth as she listened to the doorman “yes sir, whatever you say, sir” Christian Lasher. Apparently, you give a guy some good looks, a lone-wolf syndrome, and a trace of talent, and you had all the ingredients for winning unwavering respect from half of the nation’s population. The night doorman didn’t look a day older than twenty-one, and acted like he’d just been put on the phone to talk directly to God.
A minute later, Hilary strutted in high heels across Christian’s wood floors to meet him. Even her walk was aggressive, he thought sourly. He sat on the couch plucking at the guitar in his lap.
“When people gouge instead of walk, they usually have the courteously to take off their shoes before entering a room,” he said impassively when he met Hilary’s eyes. Before Hilary had a chance to give an equally nasty reply, he cut her off. “Do you think something is wrong with Megan?”
Hilary secured her shoulder bag and faced him squarely. He didn’t like her particularly, but he had to admire her chutzpah, coming into his house like she was ready to do battle and screw his home team advantage.
“I guess you would know that better than any of us, right?” she asked sarcastically. “You’re undoubtedly the expert on Megan. You,” she said, flipping her wrist around in a sarcastic gesture of respect that made him grit his teeth and bite his tongue, “who have known of Megan’s existence for all of two weeks.”
He set his guitar on the couch and sat back in a semblance of calm. Hilary Molloy was primed to get something off her chest, and she was going to say it whether Christian participated in the conversation or not.
“I want you to stay away from my sister,” she snapped.
“Not going to happen,” he said after a few seconds of mock consideration.
“You’re a selfish son of a bitch.”
When he didn’t answer, but just stared at her stoically, she began pacing and gesticulating at him for emphasis. “I know what you are. You’re a player. You can’t be that depraved, can you? So whacked out that you would want to seduce a girl like Megan?”
He leaned forward, part in curiosity and part in fury. “What do you mean a girl like Megan? Don’t you mean a woman? A woman who is smart and sensitive…and talented and beautiful? Oh, no. Let me guess. Hilary is jealous that little sister might second-guess her smug, ‘Heed me, I’m the queen of the realm’ trip.” He collapsed back on the couch. “Damn, it’s going to cost you a bundle to lose that role with Megan, isn’t it? No wonder you’re here to defend it.”