Читать книгу Obsession - Tori Carrington, Tori Carrington - Страница 11

JOSIE’S BREATH LEFT HER at the first touch of Drew’s mouth against hers. One moment she’d been walking, talking about…she couldn’t remember. The next, he was gently turning her toward him, brushing his fingertips against her jaw, and kissing her as if he hadn’t been able to help himself.

And the surprise she read in his eyes surely had to be reflected in her own.

When Drew Morrison had walked through the doors of the Josephine yesterday, the last thing on her agenda had been personal involvement of any sort. She’d traveled down that road before and knew the dead end she would eventually crash into.

But what she hadn’t factored into the equation was that she’d gone into her previous luckless relationships without using her head. Each interlude had offered an opportunity just to feel.

And feeling was exactly what she was doing now, as she stood in the middle of the street kissing an almost perfect stranger.

And enjoying it more than was safe.

Drew’s tongue slid along her bottom lip, then dipped inside her mouth. He tasted like coffee and powdered sugar from the beignets they’d gotten at Café Du Monde. He tasted like one hundred percent man. Like desire and want and need all rolled up into one nicely wrapped package.

And Josie wanted more than anything to open it.

She splayed her fingers against the hard wall of his chest and broke the kiss.

“That was…” She drew a ragged breath, her eyes turned downward. “Unexpected.”

Drew chuckled, the sound rumbling against her palm. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

Josie stared at her short, unpainted nails against his expensive Egyptian broadcloth shirt. She was dark to his light. Poor to his wealth. Yet on a primal level they emerged equals.

She knew instinctively this man could make her body feel things as it never had before. But it was time to bring her head into the equation for a change.

“Look, Drew,” she said, meeting his gaze, “I don’t want either one of us to go into this with our eyes closed.”

“Into what?”

She smiled softly. “I’m not naive. Most of the men who come down here are looking for a brief, no-strings-attached affair with a native.”

“Josie—”

“No, don’t interrupt.” She twisted her lips. “I’m not passing judgment on you, merely stating fact. And the fact is there is no hope for a future beyond this moment. I understand that.”

He ran the back of his index finger across her brow. “Josie, we just kissed.”

“No lies, Drew,” she said quietly. “That’s all that I ask. No lies. What develops—if anything develops between us—is temporary. I don’t want either one of us to pretend otherwise. That’s all. That’s my only request.”

He stared at her for long moments then nodded. “Okay.”

A simple word, really. But one that immediately smoothed the tension from her shoulders. Wiped the memories of the other times when men she’d been involved with had sworn never to lie to her then proceeded to do exactly that.

She kissed him again, long and hard. “I, um, think we’d better get back to the hotel.”

“Best idea I’ve heard all day.”

She laughed softly. “I need to relieve Philippe so he can do his job instead of mine.”

She began walking. She felt Drew’s hand on her elbow then shivered as he moved it down to grip her fingers in his.

“Would I be moving too fast if I asked for the pleasure of your company for dinner tonight?”

Pleasure. Yes, it would definitely be a pleasure to dine with Drew.

“No. You wouldn’t be moving fast enough. How about a late lunch? Say at around three?”

DREW FELT AS IF HE’D NEVER be able to get rid of the light sheen of sweat that covered his skin. Of course, he acknowledged that the thick heat wasn’t entirely to blame, even though it definitely was getting to him, since he’d been careful to bring only the clothing a businessman attending a professional convention would need. Suits to reflect a first timer’s unfamiliarity with the Crescent City.

But the clothes and weather weren’t the only reason for his discomfort. Rather his anticipation of promised time alone with Josie Villefranche had him in a constant heated state.

It had been some time since he’d been with a woman, and he was afraid his body was showing him exactly how long. After his ex had pulled the stunt she had on him, he’d been subconsciously leery of becoming involved with anyone, even physically. The laser-like focus he’d put on rebuilding his career also explained the ease with which he’d steered clear of women.

But Josie…

While he tried telling himself his interest in her was merely professional and physical, there existed in the pit of his stomach the sensation that there was something more to his attraction to the mysterious hotel owner. He’d listened as she’d shared her story about her mother and grandmother, told of her attachment to the hotel, and he’d felt admiration for her fighting spirit and loyalty to the establishment.

And guilt that it was his job to take it away from her any way he could.

He stood outside a small shop nearer the more touristy area of Bourbon Street, not really seeing the T-shirts or the colorful beads. If he knew what was good for him, he would forgo his three o’clock date to meet Josie back at the hotel. Offer up a story about a superior requesting his presence at the convention. He’d told her he’d hoped she didn’t think he was going too fast. In reality, he was beginning to think he was. A concept that had never occurred to him before. He’d always been painfully careful about personal attachments, including with his ex-wife. But no matter how cautious he’d been, he’d still gotten burned by a woman who’d turned out to be far too similar to his mother.

And while Josie couldn’t have been further away from Carol in looks, temperament and background, and she was obviously fiercely independent, she was in financial trouble. And he’d learned long ago that money, or rather the lack of it, made people do unexpected and hurtful things. It was that very fact that he exploited in his job every day.

Then why was his gut twisting into knots at the prospect of enjoying Josie’s company at the same time he talked her into selling the hotel?

Conscience.

He’d once been accused of not having one. It had been early on in his career and he’d befriended an older man, Bernard Glass, who had built up his shoe factory over a period of fifty years into a moderately viable business he’d hoped to leave to his grandson, who would be graduating college in a year. Then one very successful television show had written the lead character as a Glass shoe fanatic and overnight the old man’s orders had quadrupled.

And his factory had become prime pickings for an Italian clothes designer who had had his eye on adding a shoe company to his impressive list of businesses.

“Can I help you find something, sir?” a voice interrupted his thoughts.

Drew stared at the young saleswoman.

He found himself fingering a necklace of tiny shells like the ones Josie wore around her slender ankle. He removed his hand. “No. No, thank you.”

He strolled down the street in the opposite direction of the hotel, not due to meet Josie there for another fifteen minutes, his mind still on Glass and his company.

Back then, Drew had still been testing the boundaries of how far he would go to close a deal. He’d had the grandson investigated and discovered David had more than a taste for gambling. Worse, he was in trouble way up to his neck, owing a loan shark near Boston University, which he attended, far more than he could ever hope to repay on his own.