"Yes," she murmured, grinding against him. She was shameless. Wet. Desperate.
More than that, she was determined, and she reached for his fly. She started to tug down his zipper, but his hands caught hers, stilling them, his touch gentle, but firm. "Later," he whispered, shattering her soul. "Not now. Not like this."
Mortification burned through her, and she scrambled off of him, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. She'd opened herself. She'd let herself want. And he'd completely shut her down.
"You bastard," she whispered, her eyes burning. But she was determined not to cry.
"Megan, I'm sorry. You don't understand. I let us both get out of control, but--"
"Shut up," she whispered as the plane started to descend and tears leaked from her eyes. "Just shut up and take me home."
Chapter Seven
Parker kept a tight rein on control even though he wanted to lash out--not at her, but at himself. He'd made a goddamn mess of things, and in the process he'd hurt her. A horrible, ironic outcome considering he'd planned this trip with the specific goal telling her how much he craved her.
"I can't take you home now," he said, working to keep his frustration out of his voice. "It's too late for the jet to take off. But if you still want to leave in the morning, we can be gone as early as eight."
"Good," she said. "Plan on it."
The plane was in the hanger now, and she moved to the open exit door without waiting for him, then started down the stairs. By the time he caught up with her at the hired car, the driver had already opened the back door, and she'd slid into the slick black Lincoln.
When he joined her, she started to slide the rest of the way across the bench seat to open the opposite door and get out. "I think I'll sit up front."
"No," he said, pressing his hand to her thigh to still her. She looked at his hand, then at his face, her eyes cold. "Stay," he ordered, in a voice that allowed no argument.
He saw her swallow, then watched as she fastened her seatbelt, then leaned back, her arms crossed over her chest as if in protection. From him.
Slowly, he took three deep breaths, trying to temper his emotions and calm his mind.
"I assume we're going straight to the hotel? I'm really not in the mood for dinner or jazz."
"The Ritz-Carlton," he told the driver, who lifted a hand to his cap in a silent salute, then pulled out of the hanger and headed toward the heart of the city.
They drove in silence, and it was only when there were miles of distance between them and the airport that he said, "I was nineteen when I walked away from my father's money."
She continued to stare straight ahead, but her posture shifted almost imperceptibly, and Parker hoped that meant she was listening. "My sister-in-law had filed for a restraining order against my brother. It turns out he was beating the shit out of her."
Now, she turned toward him, and there was no question but that he had her attention. "My sister was married to a man like your brother. Watching her suffer and making excuses..." She trailed off with a shake of her head, then drew in a fresh breath and continued. "I swore I'd never let that happen to me. It escalates. It always escalates. First sign he's trouble, and that's the end as far as I'm concerned."
"A good policy. But not your sister's, I'm guessing."
She shook her head. "No. She got out, but she stayed too long. She--she's not the same woman she used to be. She has sharp edges now. And a lot of scars--the kind you can't see, but they're there."
He nodded. He knew the kind of scars she meant.
"What happened with your sister-in-law? Did she get out?"
"She filed for divorce and she pressed charges. Assault. Battery. Rape. My family's powerful, and the money--well, my father could have funded a thousand defenses and not even made a dent in our financial wherewithal. My father might be a prick, but he's a brilliant one."
"Defenses," she repeated. "You're saying that your father financed your brother's defense. Even though he attacked and raped his wife? Or was she making stuff up to try for a settlement?"
"I saw her in the hospital," he said, closing his eyes to block the horrific memory. "She wasn't faking."
"Your father couldn't see that? Couldn't believe that his son would do that?"
"Oh, he believed it. He just couldn't let something that sordid soil the family name. After all, the little tramp was messing with our family. That meant we had to destroy her."
She licked her lips. "We?"
"Or so my father insisted. The family had to stick together. My mother, my sister, me. Even though my brother had always been a violent son-of-a-bitch, because he had the Manning last name, the wagons had to circle."
"What happened?"
"My brother got off without even a slap on the wrist. My sister-in-law got her divorce and not a single dime. I'm pretty sure she was fine with that, so long as she was free. My mother sank further into her shell, and my older sister and I cut ties with the family. Permanently."
"But--" She cut herself off, and he could practically see the questions churning in her mind. "But everyone says you used your family money to get your start. That's how PCM Enterprises was funded."
"No." The word came out sharper than he intended, but he'd worked his ass off to make that dream a reality and while he could deal with the general public having the wrong idea, he needed Megan to understand the truth.
"I inherited some money from my grandfather. Most people would say it's a lot, but in my family it's a pittance. But it's all I took with me. That money, my clothes, and a few books."
"Is that when you moved to LA?"
She was listening intently now, and he tried not to react. Tried not to show how much he hoped they were over the roadblock that he and his idiocy had thrown in their path.
"I ended up at UCLA, and while I was there I invested pretty well." That was an understatement. He'd quadrupled his money when he sold his interest in a biotech company, then did essentially the same thing a few years later, once he was out of college.
After that, he'd invested a portion of his money conservatively, but used the bulk of it to get PCM Enterprises off the ground. Initially, it was based in Los Angeles, but as he grew more and more disillusioned with the crowd he hung with, he made the decision to move back to Texas. Not to Houston where his parents still lived, but to Austin, where he'd gone to high school at a private boarding school.
"The rest," he concluded, after telling her as much, "is history."
They rode in silence for a while, thoughts churning in Parker's head. Memories of a time not too long ago when he'd still been living in LA. When he'd distanced himself from men like Carlton, and yet their paths had still intersected, not in small part because Carlton was the kind of man who was drawn to money and power. He had just enough of both to be dangerous, and not enough to truly understand either.
And at the time, Parker was still enjoying all the perks that his bankroll got him, not yet realizing that when he breathed in that life, the reason he felt so damn suffocated was because he was living in a vacuum. And nothing survives like that.
Looking back, Parker despised the man he'd been in Los Angeles, at least in those early years. Megan had known him then, or at least tangentially, and it bothered him that she surely remembered the Parker from the past--the one who would have just plowed forward without thinking about what Megan might want, the one who went through women and money like candy--and only now was getting to know the Parker he'd worked so hard to become.
He wanted to say something, to explain how much he'd changed. But they'd arrived and the Town Car was pulling to a stop. Before the valet could open the door, he took her hand, relieved when she didn't pull it away.
Maybe--just maybe--he'd managed to crawl part of the way out of the doghouse.
Chapter Eight
Since they had no bags, it was easy to slide straight from the car and into the lobby. No one paid them any attention, of course, but Megan still felt as if all eyes were on them.
After all, they'd arrived at a hotel with no luggage. Which could only mean one thing.
Or, at least, when they'd left Austin she'd assumed it would only mean one thing. Now she wasn't sure. He'd revealed a part of himself in the car, and she knew that somehow he was leading up to an explanation of what happened. Of why he'd pushed her away when they'd both so clearly wanted each other.
But that didn't change the fact that her ego was still bruised.
While she stood near the massive flower arrangement that dominated the lobby, Parker went to the front desk to check-in. It only took a minute--he'd gone to a VIP desk that apparently had the perk of supersonic speed--and was back at her side before her ping-ponging nerves had settled.
"I don't know about you," he said, "but I'd like a drink." He nodded to the lobby bar. "Shall we?"
He started that direction, but she pulled him back by the hem of The Fix on Sixth T-shirt that he still wore. "Forget it, Cowboy. I need some answers. First you practically seduce me at the same time that you scold me in your office, and you punctuate that encounter by telling me that you want me. And then when I'm down with that program and about to earn my membership in the Mile High Club, you shut me down fast. And while I get that there's a reason buried in the life story you were sharing with me, I haven't really heard it yet."
She'd started her spiel in a low whisper, but emotion had made her voice rise, and she realized they were attracting a few interested looks.
She stepped closer and lowered her voice again. "Forget the long explanation, okay? I know it's cheating, but I want to skip straight to the end of the mystery. So just tell me the bottom line, already. Because dammit Parker, I was throwing myself at you, and my ego is now in desperate need of an icepack and some Tylenol."
He smiled at that, which was her intent, because the conversation had gotten a little too real in the car. She truly did want to understand him--heck, the more time she spent with him, the more she wanted to know how he ticked, this man who'd walked away from one fortune only to build another on his own terms.
But right now, it wasn't his background she was concerned with. It was his libido. Because despite the fact that he'd pushed the abort button, now that her fury had settled, her own libido was back in gear and ready for launch. "Truth time, Parker. Did you mean what you said? Do you want me or not?"
He took a single step back, then lifted his hand to her hair, running the long strands through his fingers. "Do I want you?" His voice sounded tight, almost pained. "Dear God, yes. I want you desperately. But not like this."
"Like this?" she repeated, confused. "Like what?"
"Not as a demand. And definitely not as a payment."
Now she was even more confused. "But that was the deal. That's what we agreed on, right there in your office. Just a little inappropriate office conduct between consenting adults, right?"
He chuckled. "That's one way of putting it." He nodded toward the elevators. "I think we should take this upstairs."
She followed without question, her mind still whirring. "Okay, then. Tell me another," she said, when they were alone in the elevator. "Because I'm really confused right now, and have absolutely no idea what you want."
"Just like I've said all along. I want you, Megan. But I don't want a fast fuck."
He let her hair fall from his fingers, then gently stroked her cheek, the contact scorching her skin and making her breath shudder.
"I've had a lot of women over the years, but not anymore. What I told you about rebuilding my reputation, I meant it. I don't fuck around anymore. And I'm damn sure not making it a game to see how many women I can get into my bed."
Her brows rose. "Did you ever?"
"A game, no. Though some of my friends did." A self-deprecating smile played at his lips. "I was more of a collector. I'd date beautiful women, and there would be an attraction. But I never got close. I never wanted to."
He met her eyes, then held her gaze as the heat of that moment charged the air between them and awareness curled through her, all the way down to her toes. "I want to get close now, Megan."
Her head was spinning. "I--"
He cut her off with a gentle finger to her lips. "For years, I was given everything I ever wanted. When I walked away from my family's money, I learned that the only things I value are the things I've worked for. Or the people who also value me."
"Are you saying that I'm of value to you?" Behind her, the elevator doors slid open.
"Aren't you?" He took her arm, then steered her out.
"I don't know." She understood him wanting sex, but what about her caught the eye of someone like Parker? Not only wealthy, but talented and ambitious. And she was just a makeup artist scrambling to keep her head above water.
They walked in silence for a moment until they reached the room. He opened the door and they stepped into the living area of a stunning suite, with bedrooms on either side.
She stood still, not interested in the room. Only in him. "I really don't know," she repeated.
"Then let me answer the question. You are, Megan. You're of great value to me."
She tilted her head so that she could see his face better, trying to discern if this was the truth or a line. But all she saw was sincerity. And there was nothing evasive in his voice.
"Why?"
"Maybe because I think you might understand what I've accomplished. What I'm still trying to accomplish."
She shook her head. "I don't know what you mean."
"Well, look what you've done. You left a job at Sephora at an Oklahoma City mall at twenty-one and went to LA by yourself with nothing but a dream and a little bit of cash."
"How did you--"
"You worked three jobs while you got your cosmetology license, then you ordered a box of business cards and offered a card to pretty much everyone you met. The business grew slowly, but it grew, and by the time you turned twenty-six, you had a solid career working with portrait photographers before shoots and name brand celebrities before events."
He flashed an innocent smile. "Don't forget, I know a few of your clients, and they all like to gossip. And what you built wasn't shabby."
"Yeah, well, I don't have much of it left now." Immediately, she regretted the words. She hadn't told him why she'd run from LA, and she hadn't asked him to not tell Carlton where she was. But now he was probably going to ask why she bolted, and she really didn't want to talk about it.
But all he said was, "That's why they call it a fresh start, sweetheart. You'll build it up again. After all, you already know that you can. And gaining the confidence is the hardest part."
She peered at him, trying to discern if he knew why she'd wanted that fresh start. She couldn't tell. But at least he seemed to respect it. Which meant that he probably wasn't sending telegrams back to Los Angeles announcing where the long lost Megan Carter had got off to.
Even so, she should probably specifically mention that she was keeping a low profile and ask him not to post on social media, too. Just to be sure.
After all, loitering black cars made her twitchy. How much worse would it be if she suspected that Carlton knew where to find her? Assuming he even still cared. Which he probably didn't. It had been months; surely he'd moved on.
"It's late, Megan," he said before she'd gathered her thoughts. "And I'm tired. But here's the bottom line. I'm not interested in a fast fuck. I don't do that anymore. But I'm also not proposing marriage. Hell, I'm not even asking you to go steady. All I'm saying is that I want you for more than one night. You fascinate me, Megan. You always have. You light a fire inside me, and unless I'm mistaken, I think I make you burn, too."
He ran his fingers through his hair, looking both sexy and exhausted. "If I led you on, I'm sorry. But it was worth it to spend the time with you. And I'll get you back to Austin first thing in the morning."
He reached out and took her hand, then lifted it and pressed a soft kiss to her palm. "Your bedroom's over there. Goodnight, Megan. I'm sure I'll see you in my dre
ams."
Chapter Nine
Needless to say, Megan couldn't sleep.
She was in his dreams?
Boy, could she beat that. Because Megan didn't even need to go to sleep for Parker Manning to fill her head.
Was he lying in his bed, sound asleep, while she tossed and turned, a mess of sensual longing and unfulfilled need?
Or was he, like her, lost in fantasies? Was he imagining coming to her door and slowly turning the knob? Was he closing his eyes and picturing the way she'd respond if he reached for her in the dark and gently stroked her shoulder before sitting on the edge of the bed and tugging down the sheet to reveal her bare breasts, her nipples tight and hard with longing?
She sighed, unable to ignore the insistent warm glow spreading over her body in response to her decadent thoughts. And since they'd come without luggage, she was naked under the sheet, and the cool cotton felt incredible on her overheated skin.
I want you to want me.
Was that what he'd said? Because oh, God, she did want him.
Not a fast fuck. Not a one-time thing.
Her stomach did a little flip at that. She'd been doing fine on her own in Austin. She had friends. A nice life. And she didn't have to worry about her boyfriend turning possessive and weird and creepy.
But still...
There was no denying that Parker had gotten under her skin--heck, she'd been intrigued by him even back in Los Angeles. And now that she'd been around him so constantly, the thought of not having him in her life left a hole in her heart that she wasn't sure how she would fill.
So, yeah. She wanted him.
And, yeah. He wanted her.
Which begged the question of why she was in this room and he was in the other when the whole point of coming on this trip in the first place was sex. Wild and hot and intense and Parker.
She sat up, the thought blinking in her head like neon.
Parker.
And that was her answer, wasn't it? Because it wasn't just sex that she wanted either. She wasn't looking to get laid, she was craving the man she'd laughed with. The man who'd intrigued her. Who'd turned her on. Who'd valued the work she'd done and the sacrifices she'd made.