The Guy Most Likely To...: Underneath It All / Can't Get You Out of My Head / A Moment Like This

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“OH, SHIT,” SETH MUTTERED. It looked like it was game over. If she found out they were staying on the same floor in this massive place—which couldn’t possibly be an accident—not only would she not go to the dinner, she’d probably change rooms. Or leave the reunion altogether.

Not thinking about it, he leaped into a small alcove, trying to cram himself between a small decorative table and the wall. On the table stood a huge vase filled with plate-size flowers, peacock feathers and curly sticks of wood. As he tried to shove himself into the pretty pathetic hiding place, he accidentally set the vase in motion. Lunging, he grabbed the thing in both hands and yanked it toward his chest, hoping not only to steady it but to try to hide behind its fronds and branches.

This is ridiculous.

He was acting like…a high schooler. No, worse, a middle schooler, a stalker-y, wimpy kid being led around by his hormones, hoping to make a girl like him. Jesus, he was Seth Crowder, successful sports agent, named as one of L.A.’s most eligible bachelors in a West Coast magazine last year. Yet around Lauren Desantos, he’d become an absolute basket case. This reunion thing was taking all his rational brain cells and mashing them to bits. “I see you there, you moron.”

Gritting his teeth, he peered through the flowers and feathers, imagining the image he presented. Lauren was standing a few feet away, glaring at him, her arms curled protectively around an empty ice bucket. She wasn’t yet dressed for the evening. All she wore was a long robe—silky and pink against her skin.

He shoved away the want, want, want that filled his brain.

“Uh, hi.”

“Doing a little redecorating for the hotel?”

He pushed the vase back to the center of the table, then stepped out of the alcove. “I bumped into it and thought the vase was going to tip over.”

“So you leaped behind the table to steady it?”

Totally busted, he couldn’t prevent a self-deprecating grin from widening his mouth. “Would you believe I was trying to steal the flower arrangement? It would go so well with my color scheme.”

She snorted. “Not only are you the world’s worst decorator, you’re one step short of color blind. How did you get my room number?”

No point in denying it. “My sister.”

Her brow went up in surprise. “Emily’s here?”

Lauren had always liked his kid sister, and had been good to her. She’d taken the five-years-younger girl under her wing and treated her like her own sibling, as if knowing how badly Em needed an older female figure in her life. God knows their mother had never been a good one.

“Yeah, she works at this place.”

Lauren’s expression turned wistful for a moment. “I’d love to see her,” she admitted. Then, as if noticing how much that idea pleased him, she hurried to add, “To tell her to keep customers’ room numbers private!”

“Don’t be mad at her. You know she always loved us as a couple back then.”

She rolled her eyes. “Thirteen-year-olds love Edward and Bella as a couple, too.”

“I’m not a vampire.”

She hesitated, as if ready to argue that point. She had, after all, already called him a dog and a moron. What was a little you disgusting bloodsucker between old friends?

“Well, you sure don’t glitter” was all she finally said.

“And you’re not a vapid klutz.”

One brow arched up. “Do a lot of vampire-romance reading these days?”

He shrugged. “What can I say? Channel surfing on late-night cable.”

“Huh. I’d have figured you more for the porn type when you’re doing your late-night channel surfing.”

Zing.

He cleared his throat. Not to mention clearing his mind of the images her words elicited. Porn and sex weren’t something he should be thinking about while Lauren was around, not if he wanted to retain his sanity and his edge, both of which were pretty shaky right now. Damn, but the woman could cut the legs right out from under him…and make him laugh while doing it.

“Back to Emily,” he insisted. “She loved you. She always wanted you to be her sister-in-law.”

Another unladylike snort preceded her response. “Oh, and I suppose you’re here to propose to me now?”

If I did, would you say yes?

No, of course she wouldn’t. Nor was he here to ask that question. Getting her forgiveness and understanding was the first step, maybe dinner and drinks after that. He’d be lucky to get her to voluntarily touch him. Marriage seemed like a distant dream.

Funny, it had been what he’d dreamed about all those years ago when he’d been so suddenly separated from her. Would she believe that? Probably not.

He stepped closer, unable to resist leaning in to breathe some of that Lauren air. She wore a different perfume than she had in the old days. No longer innocent and flowery, it was heady, womanly, evocative.

Or maybe that was just her. She was incredibly womanly, amazingly sexy, from the top of her shining gold-brown hair down to the tips of her red-tipped toenails peeping out from beneath the robe. And, of course, everywhere in between.

The in-between was especially distracting. Beneath that pink silk was nothing but luscious female. Even with the ice bucket in front of her, he could see the way the V-neckline of the robe revealed some amazing cleavage. Lauren had been more slender as a teenager. Now she was all curves, all inviting and sultry, with full breasts, a small waist and hips that were meant to be clutched in a man’s hands. All that, wrapped up in a pink package he wanted to open like a Christmas present.

“Stop staring at me,” she said, her voice weak, breathless. As if even she wasn’t sure she meant it.

“I can’t help it,” he admitted. “You’re beautiful.”

Unable to stop himself, he moved closer, until his shoes nearly touched her toes. The robe flitted against his pants and he caught a glimpse of pale, soft leg.

Groaning low in his throat, he lifted a hand and slid it onto her hip. Memories flooded him, thoughts of how he’d like to encircle her waist in his hands and pull her close now. He’d brush his fingertips along the top curves of her bottom, teasing her lightly, knowing the caresses drove her mad. He would hold her like this, and pull her hard against him to kiss her until neither of them could even think.

She looked up at him, her blue eyes sparkling, and time fell away. Electricity sparked between them and for a half a second, Seth thought she might not punch him if he kissed her.

He leaned closer, needing to taste her. Needing to revisit that place where need and desire and emotion twirled into a quiet storm that both excited and fulfilled.

Their mouths met, a soft brush of lips, a quick tumble into memory, a time when they knew, without a doubt, they were meant to be together.

She tasted like heaven. Like sweetness. Like coming home.

And then she pushed her ice bucket hard against his chest and shoved him back. “That was way out of line.”

His hand dropped to his side. His fingers were tingling and hot, already missing the connection, and his mouth ached with the need to taste her more fully, to lick her tongue and plunge his deep, claiming her again.

“Sorry,” he said, not really meaning it.

“Just go away, would you?”

He would…except for the fact that his hand and her bucket-fumbling had done some damage to her robe and the thing was now practically gaping open. It was all he could do not to start drooling on the spot as the fabric played peekaboo with one perfect nipple, dark and puckered against the silk.

“And leave you like this?” Aroused? Unsatisfied?

“You’re acting like I’m half naked.”

Fortunately for him, she was half naked. He could stand here looking at her all day…or until she moved the bucket again.

Unfortunately, she was half naked in a public hallway. Where anyone else—any other dude—could walk up and see her. They were within eyeshot of the elevators. The doors could slide open at any moment exposing her to the leering eyes of a dozen ex-football players, drunk and horny, wanting to relive their high school carousing.

His inner caveman rising up as he imagined it, he frowned and took her arm. “Let’s go into your room and talk in private.”

“We have nothing to talk about, and I need some ice,” she insisted. Yanking away, she turned toward the vending area, which was right across the hall from the alcove where he’d hidden. At least she hadn’t been planning to hike down a long corridor in such skimpy attire.

But that yank and the quick turn made her robe flare even more, from the waist down. It was quick, just a second, then it settled back into place. Even a second was long enough to confirm what he’d suspected: she wasn’t wearing one damn thing else. Hunger flooded his mouth and blood roared through his veins, settling right in his groin. His head spinning, his mind tried to re-create the gorgeous, perfect image that had flashed before his eyes.

He was doing an excellent job of it, if he did say so himself. He’d always been a pretty visual guy.

But when he heard a door close from down the hall, Seth reacted quickly. He’d be damned if any other man would get such a gift. Not if he could help it.

He snatched the ice bucket from her hands. “I’ll get the stupid ice. Get in your room before some horny creep sees you like this.”

“Too late,” she said with a sneer.

Oy. Why the hell was he doing this? It would be less difficult to climb Everest than to think Lauren was going to forgive him. And less painful to gnaw his own foot off to get out of a bear trap than endure her insults while he tried to get her to.

“Please, Lauren, get inside,” he insisted, gesturing down her body. “That robe might have felt demure when you put it on, but considering your nipples are hard and your legs are shaking, you look like you’re begging somebody to do you like you’ve never been done before.”

Gasping, she gripped the edges of the robe and crossed her arms over her chest. “That was…”

“True.”

“Damn you, Seth.”

“Damn me all you want. Behind closed doors.”

She hesitated for a moment, then slowly nodded and turned toward her door, which presented him with the back view—Good God, that ass is a work of art. Recently, his memories had been mostly about how much he’d cared about her, loved her, so he hadn’t really anticipated such intense heat. It churned in his gut, sucking his breath from his lungs, emptying his brain. He was aware of nothing except her smell and her softness. And how she looked. Oh, God, the way those long, milky-white thighs had looked, topped with a soft tuft of curls he was dying to explore, with his hands, his mouth, his cock. All of the above, once and then again and again.

Every masculine fiber of his being was ready to do it, from his tingling fingertips, to his breathless mouth, to his rock-hard dick, which was currently putting his zipper through one hell of a strength test.

He’d never been so confused by his own emotions. He was torn between anger, regret, excitement and sharp, pounding lust. All directed at or caused by her.

Get her alone. Say what you have to say. Then see what happens.

Maybe he’d fly back to L.A. filled with all those same crazy emotions and that same twisted sense of pain and pleasure he felt every minute he spent with her. Or maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe she was protesting so much because she still had feelings for him, too.

She might claim to hate him, but once they were alone inside that room, would the ice queen’s facade melt? God, he hoped so.

Hardly able to stand the few minutes more, he watched as she unlocked her door and stepped inside. Then she turned and looked at him. He should have known by her expression she was going to say something he didn’t like.

And she did.

“Funny. I’ve suddenly decided I prefer my water warm.” With a triumphant smile, she slammed the door in his face.

Well, so much for melting.

“You could give the Snow Miser a run for his money.”

He only hoped he wasn’t the one who’d frozen her heart into such solid rigidity. God, did he ever hope that.

Seth considered leaving the ice chest right outside her door. It would serve her right if she tripped over it when she left her room. Then he thought better of it, imagining her tripping over the thing, breaking a leg. While he felt aggravated that she was being so stubborn, not giving him a chance to make a proper apology, he didn’t want her hurt. Not by him. He’d been there, done that and never wanted to buy another Seth-broke-my-heart T-shirt.

So, filling the bucket with ice for her, and leaving it on the alcove table, he boarded the elevator. He headed for the Wild West saloon-themed bar and ordered a beer. Nursing it, he argued with himself about what he was doing, trying to persuade himself to give up, get a cab to the airport and get on the first plane back to L.A.

But he couldn’t. He’d come this far, and had been so close—close enough to touch her, smell her, share her warmth and hear the voice that haunted his dreams. No, he wasn’t leaving. Not without having his say.

By the time he’d finished his drink, he realized the dinner had already started. Feeling calmer, he headed for the banquet room, which he’d mapped out earlier. When he got there, he immediately scanned the room, spying her at the correctly numbered table…the one where he’d arranged to be seated, too.

Not only had she come, she’d put on her female armor, obviously preparing herself to face him tonight.

She looked absolutely beautiful, almost as perfect now as she had when flashing him from beneath that robe. Not that she hadn’t been practically perfect in his eyes when they’d bumped into each other this afternoon, of course. Nothing could hide the natural beauty of Lauren’s heart-shaped face, the jewel-blue hue of her eyes or the thickness of her golden-brown hair, now hanging around her shoulders in thick waves. But unlike earlier, when she’d appeared frazzled and weary, she was absolutely put together now, wearing tasteful makeup, not a hair out of place, dressed in a blue cocktail dress that clung to her perfectly.

He’d bet she was wearing heels. Lauren wasn’t short. In fact, she was of average height. But she’d always worn high-heeled shoes when she needed to build up her self-confidence.

He leaned his head to the side and swept his gaze downward, noting the long, shapely, bare legs. And her feet.

Four inches. At least. Spike-heeled power shoes that were supposed to make her feel tall and in control but just made her look sexy as hell.

He smiled as he wove his way toward her table. A few people recognized him and said hello, others merely raised curious brows, but he didn’t pause. No way was he giving Lauren a chance to spot him and leave. She couldn’t very well get up and march out the second he sat down, right?

He sat down. “Hello, everyone.”

She stood up. “Goodbye, everyone.”

Damn. She startled a laugh right out of him. But knowing better than to try to reason with her, he simply muttered, “Chicken.”

She glared. “I’m not a chicken.”

“What do you call running away?”

“Self-preservation.”

“You don’t have to protect yourself. I’m not trying to hurt you.”

“Why not? It’s what you do best.”

“Ouch,” somebody muttered.

They both looked around the table at the other half-dozen people, all of whom were watching them.

“Sit down, sweetie. Don’t let him spoil your night,” said the woman sitting on the other side of Lauren. Seth recognized her as Lauren’s best friend.

“Hello, Maggie. Nice to see you.”

The pretty blonde grunted. “I thought you were in prison.”

“Sorry to disappoint you.”

“Oh, you’re good at disappointing people.”

Another ouch. Lauren had an army of defenders, it appeared.

“It’s all right, Maggie,” said Lauren, slowly sinking back onto her chair. “He doesn’t bother me.”

“Certainly not intentionally,” he insisted.

She rolled her eyes.

A guy Seth recognized from his senior English class offered him the first genuine smile he’d seen since he’d entered the room. “Nice to see you, Crowder.”

“You, too, Josh.”

“How’s life? Where are you living these days?”

“West Coast.”

Beside him, he saw Lauren yawn, as if she were completely uninterested. He didn’t believe that, though. Tension rolled off her. Ambivalence usually didn’t cause stiff shoulders, clenched fists and a defiantly uptilted chin.

“What do you do?” the other man asked.

“Actually, I’m a sports agent.”

“Get out,” the other man said, immediately intrigued as anyone with testosterone always was when they found out what he did for a living. If he mentioned the names of some of his clients, Josh would probably fall over.

Waving a hand to gloss over what was, if he did say so himself, a pretty cool job, he said, “I couldn’t make it into the pros myself. Next best thing, I guess.”

“We always thought you would,” Josh replied, earnest and loyal as always. He smiled cautiously, casting an apologetic look at Lauren before adding, “I sometimes wondered if that’s where you went—if you got drafted into the bigs and they wanted you in training right away.”

“If only,” Seth said. Then, aware he had Lauren’s full attention—and also aware this might be the only time he had that attention, since she would be looking out for him now, knowing he’d manipulated himself into the seat beside her—he went ahead and came out with the truth.

“Nothing nearly as great as the NFL,” he explained. “The real story is…”

Lauren shifted in her seat, leaning perhaps a hairsbreadth closer, as if she wanted to hear in spite of herself.

And he wasn’t about to disappoint her with anything except the whole, utter truth.

“I disappeared because my crooked parents had to get out of the country fast, so they dragged me and my sister to somewhere without an extradition treaty.”

LAUREN HADN’T WANTED to listen to Seth. Well, she’d wanted to listen, she just hadn’t wanted to hear any of his excuses. It wasn’t that she was scared, despite what he might think about the way she’d been avoiding him. The truth was, she’d always assumed there were no excuses worth hearing.

But the one that had come out of Seth’s kissable mouth stopped her heart from beating for a few seconds. She couldn’t breathe, could barely remain sitting upright. Because of all the things she’d imagined—good and bad—this definitely wasn’t one of them.

“Holy shit, man, seriously?” asked Josh, taking the words right out of Lauren’s mouth.

Seth reached for his water glass and lifted it. Lauren noticed the way the water sloshed on the top, and realized Seth’s hand was shaking. He might be projecting a smooth, everything’s-all-right attitude, but deep down, Seth was a mess. This confession, made so baldly in front of all these people, had cost him dearly. There was only one reason she could think of for him to throw it out there so publicly: because she wouldn’t allow him to say it to her privately.

A hint of shame stabbed her. She cleared her throat. “You don’t have to do this.”

He shrugged. “Everybody’s whispering about it, anyway. Might as well let the truth mingle in with all the stories.”

“You’re not kidding, are you?” Maggie asked, the sneer gone, her pretty green eyes big and round.