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“Nope.” He raised his hands against argument. “Dinner on me.”
She paused, and it took him a moment before he grinned, remembering the brownie photo.
“Hey, you want dinner on me, you can have dinner on me,” he said. “Just not pasta, please. That gets messy.”
“He says from experience.”
Chris laughed. “I just have a good imagination, being a writer and all.”
She smiled up at him, and then realized she was standing there, staring and smiling as if waiting for more. As if waiting for an excuse to forget their long-suffering publicist and do whatever they wanted.
Which was wrong. Damn it.
She lowered her gaze to her key card, and when she looked up, he was right there, his face over hers. He touched the bottom of her chin and lifted it. There was the briefest pause, as if giving her the chance to back away. Then his mouth met hers in a gentle kiss, his lips on hers, and his hands on her hips, but no other part of their bodies touching. Every nerve zinged, every muscle relaxed. She wanted to melt against him, but his hands kept her there, less than six inches away. The kiss was slow and sweet and left every part of her aching.
Too soon, he pulled back, whispering, “I’ve been wanting to do that all day.”
Then he was gone. She wasn’t even sure how it happened. Her brain was still fogged by the kiss, and the next thing she knew, his door was closing, leaving her standing in the hall, gripping her key card, her lips tingling from his kiss.
And what the hell was she supposed to do with that?
Nothing, she realized. That was the point. He’d kissed her and then slipped away before anything else could happen.
He was teasing her. First, this morning with the bedroom show, and now with that good night kiss that left her aching for more.
Which was the point, wasn’t it?
She could be furious. Instead, she felt herself grinning.
Well played, Chris.
All right then, no more wondering whether he was interested. He was. Which meant Daphne was getting her fling.
“Good night, Chris,” she whispered, and opened the door to her room.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHRIS
Chris had spent the previous day dreading the 3:45 wake-up call, but when it came, he bounced out of bed, and he swore he could still taste that kiss.
He’d kissed Daphne, and she hadn’t objected.
Low bar there, buddy.
He only smiled more as he yanked on his clothing. He knew what he was doing. Everything was under control. The next step, since she hadn’t rejected his kiss—
Really low bar…
—was to let her know how he felt before things went further. Confirm that they were heading in the same direction. Yes, the long-distance aspect was a problem, but was she willing to acknowledge that it was something they’d need to eventually work out, and she still wanted to try?
Kind of rushing things, aren’t you?
Rushing would be setting a date for the wedding. What he was doing was establishing a clear course of intention, as he always did. Whether he reached the destination depended on many factors, but it was where he was heading. A serious relationship. That was all. She had to know his intentions before they went any further.
He was still zipping his suitcase when Daphne texted.
Daphne: Checking us out. Meet you at the door.
