“Three weeks.”
“My face has been everywhere for six weeks. I've been doing concerts almost every night for two. I've been in town for four. But I haven't heard a word from you until we happen to cross paths at a sex club? And even then you didn't tell me who you were? When you knew I was staying right across the street from the Venetian, where I know the cast and crew are staying?” She crossed her arms, but it didn't help calm the full-body tremor. Or the urge to throw herself into him and pray he caught her. “No, Troy, 'I just wanted to be close to you' is absolutely not something that ever crossed my mind. Just man up and admit it. When you recognized me and realized I was alone, you saw the perfect opportunity for a revenge fuck.”
One big step forward, and he'd closed the distance between them. His hands curled around her arms and hauled her body up against his so hard, she gasped.
“You know that's not true,” he said, teeth clenched, pain radiating from his eyes. A few deep, quick breaths later, his grip eased, and his gaze traveled hungrily over her face. “It had nothing to do with revenge. I've never wanted revenge.”
She had her hands pressed to his chest, and his heart beat hard and fast beneath her palms. A heart that had once belonged to her, and only her. A heart that had more capacity for love and giving and sacrifice than almost any other heart she knew. A heart she'd crushed.
“After the way I left, maybe I deserved it.” Her voice shook. “I just wish you had the guts to admit that's what it was about.”
He shook his head and slipped one arm around her waist. All the skin along her spine tingled. “And I wish you had the guts to admit the chemistry between us is real. Seven fucking years and an anonymous meeting later, and it's still white-hot. It's still there, El.”
His forcefulness, his confidence, his sheer dominating presence stunned Giselle. Made her insides quiver. This was a very different man from the one she'd left. The Troy she'd left was all heart and soul where Giselle was concerned. All about bending over backward to make her happy-until her career took off. Until her career came between them. Then he'd turned sullen and angry and unpleasable.
“Nothing about that club is real. Nothing about Las Vegas is real.” Giselle didn't even know what “real” meant. She had very little of anything “real” in her life. “It was a one-time research trip for me that got out of hand, that's all.”
“Oh, it got out of hand
, I agree with you there.” His free hand slid deep into her hair, his palm cupping the back of her head. “But it was real, Ellie. All that fire between you and me, it was one hundred percent real, and you know it.”
His head lowered, and Giselle stiffened, expecting an aggressive attack. Instead, his mouth hovered a breath above hers, the tip of his nose tracing the line of hers in a way that brought back a rush of heartbreakingly sweet memories. “You still wear…Forever,” he whispered, referencing her perfume as his lashes fluttered closed. “God, that makes me ache.”
His lips touched hers. Just barely. Giselle was trembling, caught between pushing him away and grabbing on. Between anger and longing. She didn't know what to feel or how strongly to feel it. And all those old emotions from their five years together, all that deep, deep love they'd shared, all that time when he'd been her absolute everything, were mucking up her head and her heart and diluting her good sense.
“Troy…” She barely whispered his name, the single word shaky. “I…can't think…with you this close.”
He kissed the corner of her mouth.
Her hands fisted in the back of his jacket. “I should knee you in the balls.”
“But you won't.” He dropped three kisses along her upper lip, then whispered, “Because you love the heat between us. You love the way we read each other, the way we give each other exactly what we need. You love the way I push you and test you. So, you're going to open to me. You're going to let me taste you the sweet way I should have tasted you for the first time again in seven years. Not the nasty way I did at the club.”
He pressed his lips to hers, stroked his tongue across her bottom lip. And just as he'd predicted, she opened.
He groaned with passion and approval as he swept his tongue in and found hers. He was wet and warm, and his tongue glided over hers in the sexiest way. He tasted like a mix of whiskey and Troy, and Giselle moved her tongue against his even when everything inside her told her not to. His lips were soft, his beard rough, and he kissed her with his whole body. Hers instantly responded with a ball of heat in her pelvis, sliding deep between her legs, making her wet…
Stop, stop, stop. That voice of reason kept screaming in her head. She knew it was right, knew she'd regret this, knew she needed to push him away and turn her back, but… This was Troy. Troy. And, God, he felt so good, and when he was holding her, kissing her, she felt so…whole. So complete. So strong. Like she could do anything.
It won't last.
It will blow up in your face.
The fear finally broke through the pleasure, and Giselle pulled out of the kiss. She forced her fingers to unclench from his jacket and pushed him back a step. Her gut felt heavy and tight when she met his heavy-lidded gaze, his expression cautious.
“The chemistry may still be there,” she said, “but the trust isn't. What you did at the club was wrong, and you know it.”
All the heat in his expression drained, and the Troy she knew vanished with it. He straightened and pulled on his suit jacket to uncrumple the fabric from Giselle's hands. He gave her a lopsided smile, rigid with a mix of anger and hurt. “Trust is something we lost seven years ago, Ellie. That had nothing to do with the club.”
He turned for the stairs, and that strange sense of panic licked her belly again. Confusion abraded her nerves. She was about to call after him, though she wasn't sure what she'd say. She wanted to tell him not to leave angry. Wanted to ask if they could set aside some time to talk. But she was glad she didn't get the chance, because the turmoil churning inside her like a tornado did not align itself well with rational ideas.
At the top of the stairs, Troy paused to speak to Jeff Michel, who stood at the banister, and from the surprised smile on Michel's face, she was sure he'd just witnessed their kiss. After a few quick words with the director, Troy darted a quick, none-too-happy look Giselle's way before striding out of sight.
She clenched her teeth and told herself all her sexy actions were good for her image.
But it sure as shit didn't feel good on her mind, body, or heart.
Giselle sat in the window seat of her suite, her gaze blurred over the Las Vegas strip below, picking chords and humming to herself, searching for a tune that struck her. She was worthless for anything more demanding, and many of her best songs started this way anyhow. Besides, she needed the feel of the strings beneath her fingers to keep her sane.