One Night, White Lies (The Bachelor Pact Book 3) Read online

  If she was running into him here, of all places, the universe must be nudging her to take action where he was concerned. It was a sign.

  “Can I buy you a drink?” he asked.

  A laugh bubbled from her throat. A second chance to make a first impression on Reid. To find out how long it took him to realize that he was flirting and chatting with none other than Drew Fleming, Gage’s younger sister, and not the mysterious “Christina” from the conference.

  This should be fun. And no less than he deserved for not recognizing her on sight.

  “Only if it’s golden yellow and bubbly.”

  He eyed her gold shirt. “Fitting.”

  He offered his arm and she curled her fingers around his biceps. Whatever cool she had slipped from her like rainwater off a duck’s back. She’d easily navigated the room in her high-heeled shoes all evening, but now worried she might stumble and fall. She swiped her teeth with her tongue in case her lipstick had transferred. She suddenly worried there was something in her nose or—

  “Champagne and scotch rocks, please,” Reid ordered from the bartender. Her palm was sweaty. So were her teeth, for that matter.

  Do not freak out. Do not freak out!

  She’d play a role. Like an actor. Deep inside she was the same Drew, but her outer appearance had changed enough that some days she felt like someone else. She was definitely a stronger version of herself. A happier version of herself. She’d sprouted and then bloomed, and now a tender new bud was around the corner. She could feel it.

  Screw Chef Devin Briggs for never seeing the rose he’d had.

  She shook her head. She wasn’t going to let thoughts of her ex-boyfriend ruin a one-on-one with Reid.

  “Golden and bubbly.” Reid handed her the champagne flute. “Should we sit or linger?” He leaned in when he asked, and she was so focused on the shape of his upper lip, the tempting fullness of his lower lip, that she didn’t answer.

  “Huh?” Smooth, Drew.

  He gestured to a cluster of boxy-looking chairs and a sofa in the corner. Currently unoccupied.

  “Sit. Let’s sit.” Before she had a case of the vapors and fell flat on her face.

  He took her free hand this time, his blunt fingers and wide palm dwarfing her smaller ones. She walked toward the sofa with one thought dominating all others. I’m holding Reid’s hand. I’m holding Reid’s hand!

  She felt like a teenager again, smitten by this gorgeous god of a man who seemed too perfect to be real. Except she was closer to his equal now, wasn’t she? The playing field hadn’t been leveled, but close. She was a professional with a great job and a great life, and her shoes were adding four inches of much-needed height. She was confident and strong, and she wouldn’t trade this second chance for anything. His being attracted to her was doing wonders for her ego.

  Shallow, but no less true.

  Dipping his chin, he gestured for her to sit. She did, crossing one leg over the other and noticing when Reid noticed. She hid her smile at the rim of the champagne flute. As bubbles tickled her throat and popped on her tongue, he settled in next to her.

  “Where do you hail from, Christina—” another glance at her name tag “—Kolch?”

  “And you pronounced it right. Impressive.” Christina was always complaining that she’d heard everything from “Cock” to “Couch” whenever someone said her last name.

  “Like the soda but with an L, I figured.”

  “You figured right.” A weighty pause hovered in the air and she realized her faux pas. She recovered with a stilted, “What’s your name?” and felt silly for asking.

  “Singleton. Reid Singleton.”

  “Did you intentionally introduce yourself like James Bond, or did I hear it that way because of your accent?” His smile erased her mind like a powerful magnet, but thankfully she recovered quickly. “I assume you didn’t grow up in California?”

  “I’m from London, but I live in Seattle and have for years. Never developed a knack for you Americans’ hard Rs.”

  He overpronounced the R in hard and Rs, which made him sound a little like a pirate. Drew laughed again.

  “Do you always giggle this much or only when you drink champagne?”

  “Only when I drink champagne with handsome strangers,” she said, enjoying the game and the new rules for it. When Reid figured out who she was in the next two minutes, she would shove his arm in an ole-buddy-ole-pal way and chastise him for his weak powers of observation.

  But she was in no hurry. She liked him this way—trying to win her attention, sitting taller when she’d paid him a compliment he had to know was true. It wasn’t like Reid didn’t own a mirror. He was obviously good-looking to the nth degree.

  It was unfair to every other man on the planet.

  “Well played.” His voice was a low murmur as he leaned in, his eyes touching her lips. He then sat back, taking her breath with him, and sipped his scotch while she drained half her champagne.

  She suddenly didn’t want this to end. She didn’t want him to recognize her. She wanted to be seen as charming and playful and beautiful. She wanted to relax and have fun and flirt.

  Her gaze locked on his full lower lip below his contoured top lip. She wanted to kiss him. Before it was too late. Before she lost her nerve, and her only chance with it. As soon as he figured out that she was Drew Fleming, the moment would be lost.

  A wave of panic sailed through her chest. She’d regret not kissing him for the rest of her life if she didn’t do it now. She set aside her champagne glass and faced him.

  “Tell me more about—” he started, but she cut him off. In the most delicious way possible.

  She grabbed his dashing, perfect face, tugged his mouth to hers and kissed him hard.

  Three

  Reid’s spicy cologne tickled her nose as she tasted his amazing mouth. She’d sort of slammed her lips into his to start—blame years of pent-up lust—but now she eased into a more tender kiss, sliding her lips over his in gentle exploration.

  She didn’t know if he felt the same electric sizzle that flamed to life inside her the moment their mouths met, but she accepted that this couldn’t go on forever. When they pulled apart, she’d come clean. She’d tell him her name—her real one—and then she would do the awkward dance of apologizing for the subterfuge.

  But when she would’ve ended the kiss, Reid’s fingers fed into her hair, holding her close. He opened his mouth wide and stroked his tongue against hers.

  That ignited flame inside her burst into a five-alarm fire. He kissed like no man she’d ever known. The slide of his tongue was ten times more intoxicating than the champagne she’d been drinking—in and out, in and out. A needy sound resonated from her throat.

  Reid Singleton was even more delicious than she’d imagined. And, oh, had she imagined. In the darkest corner of her bedroom with a flashlight and her journal. A shoebox in her closet held some truly horrible poetry. She’d imagined him saying her name in his proper accent—not in polite greeting, but with passion.

  She might never know what it was like to hear him say her name in that way, but at least she knew how he tasted. Like smoky scotch and sexy male. Every part of her from her peaking nipples to her overheating thighs wanted to climb onto his lap and satisfy the insistent throbbing between her legs.

  His kiss was both thorough but careful, his skill and his tongue almost too much to bear. Here was a man who knew how to please a woman, and Drew was a woman who needed pleasing. Badly. Not just sex for sex’s sake, but sex with Reid. Sex with the man who’d noticed her from across the room, who had always been polite and friendly to her and her family. The man who, if she told him who she was, would end this fantasy in an instant because he would never take advantage of his best friend’s little sister.

  She wanted to hover in the in-between forever. Where they knew each other phys
ically, where the past had no weight on the present.

  She palmed his chest, and even over a shirt, he felt better than he had in her fantasies. Hard and firm, and real. So real. Greedily, she ran her fingers to the open placket of his shirt and touched the bare skin of his neck. That’s when he broke their connection.

  Blinking like he was having an epiphany, he took her hand from his chest and held it, her fingers gripped lightly in his. She watched in horror as he studied her, his eyebrows drawn. She waited for recognition to hit, her own fear and worry a toxic mix. He’d recognize her, reject her—and possibly apologize for kissing her back, which would be worse than the other two combined.

  Turned out he did that first.

  “Apologies for that,” he said, his accent thick, his voice tight with what she hoped was lust and not disappointment.

  “Don’t be sorry. I’m the one who kissed you.” She licked her lips, needing another drink of her champagne like her next breath. She reached for the flute, but he beat her to it, handing over her glass. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”

  A deep chuckle brought her eyes to his, and she held his gaze and silently asked the question she wouldn’t dare ask aloud. Did you figure out who I am yet?

  “All seven minutes you’ve known me, Christina?” His lips twisted temptingly. If that didn’t answer her question soundly, nothing would. He still had no idea who she was.

  She polished off the remainder of her bubbly. Disappointment had no place in the moments following kissing him, but it was there anyway, making her chest tight and causing her to feel something else. Sad, if she wasn’t mistaken.

  Beggars can’t be choosers, Drew. You wanted to kiss him, and this was your only opportunity. Did you expect more?

  More.

  She blinked, the rogue thought so far from her good-girl tendencies she instinctively wanted to shut it out. Reid’s throat moved as he swallowed a sip of scotch. His Adam’s apple bobbed, and she chased the line of his neck to the scant bit of chest hair visible where his shirt gaped open—just below where she’d touched him seconds ago.

  Lie or confess?

  “I’m an impatient woman. That’s why I kissed you.” Lie, it was.

  She wanted more. She wanted to run her tongue along his neck and kiss his bare chest. She wanted to kiss the firm, flat plane of his belly and trace that trail of hair down to the promised land. She wanted his mouth on hers, and lower. On her breasts and body, between her legs where she knew he’d be incredibly attentive and pleasing.

  Although, if she walked out of this party without him—without telling him who she was—she’d be off the hook completely. She didn’t hang around online and chat with old friends or new. She wouldn’t cross Reid’s path again unless Gage invited them to the same party—oh, shit.

  Her brother’s wedding!

  Reid would see Drew at the wedding because he’d be there, obviously. Hell, he’d probably be the best man. He’d recognize her then, now wouldn’t he?

  That narrowed her options to an unfortunate one: confessing her real identity.

  Reid tucked her hair behind her ear, then rested his arm over the back of the sofa. Leaning close, he watched her carefully. “I like impatience in a woman. And not to sound like a complete nutter, but I feel as if that kiss was inevitable. That even if you’d have waited seven more minutes, and seven more after that, it would’ve happened eventually.”

  Or maybe if I’d waited nine years. Ha ha ha...sigh.

  He traced his finger along her jaw, his eyes following the path. Her heart rate was erratic. Could he see her pulse point thundering at the side of her neck? Then another, more devious, thought occurred. If she didn’t tell him the truth just yet, how far could she take this night of fantasy? He’d forgive her. He’d have to. Gage and Reid weren’t going to stop being friends because Drew told a white lie. Although one had to wonder if her own identity would be considered a “white” lie. Maybe off-white. Light gray...

  “Like fate?” she whispered as he traced the scoop neckline of her shirt. This felt like fate to her.

  “Bold word, but why not?” He continued touching her exposed skin, barely any pressure, the tickling sensation bringing forth goose bumps. “I also imagine that the evening will end with more than kissing if you’ll allow it.”

  The skipped beat of her heart caused her breath to catch. “M-more?”

  He trailed his hand to her palm and wove their fingers together. “A night together would amp up this conference to best-ever territory. I know you don’t know me, Christina, but while I’m a man who enjoys a woman in my bed, I rarely mix work and play.”

  He lifted their entwined hands and kissed the top of hers, his stunning blue irises burning into her. She’d known Reid well enough to know that he didn’t hold back in the physical affection department, but she’d never label him a player. That was too crass a word for him. He was simply a physical guy, acting on his instincts and his, she assumed, amazing skill. She couldn’t imagine a single woman leaving his company being disappointed in his performance. Though many of them probably felt like she did: full of longing and worrying he wouldn’t return her affections.

  If ever there was a “seize the day” moment, this was it.

  “What do you say? My room or yours? I’ll let you choose, but mine is a suite with a kitchen, a balcony and a soaking tub.”

  “No piano?” She wanted to shout “yes!” but her nerves—or maybe her habit of always doing the right thing—had her stalling.

  “No piano.” His glorious chuckle might be the death of her. She wasn’t a swooner, but she was close. “Room service and I are acquainted. I arrived two days before the conference started, and there wasn’t an after-party with a beautiful woman in gold waiting to share my steak and movie.”

  “What movie?”

  He grinned, maybe knowing she was stalling and not caring. “Jaws.”

  “Jaws!” His answer startled a laugh out of her. “How did you sleep?”

  He let go of her hand, charm dialed to eleven as he swept his hand to her nape. He said one word—“fitfully”—before covering her lips with his and drinking her in for a kiss that lasted long enough to turn her brain to mush.

  “Christina.” His warm breath coasted over her lips.

  Drew’s eyes were closed, the pretending still in play. She could carry on this farce, let him seduce her for real and agree not to regret the sex. It wasn’t as if she would’ve had a prayer of seducing Reid as herself, but as “Christina” she had a chance.

  “Let me make your dreams come true,” he said. “Come to my room.”

  It was everything she wanted to hear, but guilt niggled at her.

  “Isn’t that a secondary location?” she breathed. “I learned never to be moved to a secondary location.”

  Another light press of his lips, and she opened her eyes. It was like seeing him for the first time, that angled jaw, those entrancing eyes, the full mouth slightly pink from her recent attention. How could she say no?

  She couldn’t.

  “That was a joke.” She gripped his shirt and kissed him. He let her, which was thrilling. “I’d like to see your room, Reid. I’d like to see much more than your room.”

  Her heart was tapping out a salsa, her palms sweaty, her stomach a Tilt-A-Whirl of excitement. This was happening—really happening—and since Drew was a woman accustomed to setting goals and achieving them, she decided to stop justifying and embrace the moment. This moment.

  “That might be the yes of my life, Christina.”

  She didn’t know if he said that to all the girls, but she wanted to believe that it was just for her. They stood, leaving their glasses on the low table by the sofa, and then he led her away from the thumping bass of the speakers and out of the room.

  Four

  Drew entered the elevator and Reid stepped in be
hind her. The doors swished shut as he punched the button for the twenty-first floor.

  She was in an elevator, alone with Reid Singleton, heading skyward to his hotel room, where they would have sex. Drew smothered a smile as she examined her strappy shoes, a flush of heat creeping along her neck as she imagined him removing those shoes and kissing his way up her calves...

  She was as confident in his ability as she was in herself, although admittedly her confidence was fairly recent. Three years ago, at age twenty-four, she decided she’d no longer hide behind the excess weight or comfort herself by eating. She hired a personal trainer and cut out processed and fried foods and quickly dropped the unwanted pounds.

  Drew loved food. Of that she’d had no doubt. But she didn’t feel an ounce of shame admitting she loved food now that she had a healthy relationship with it. No longer did she soothe her negative emotions by eating; now she exercised or worked. She’d changed her mind-set—decided she was worthy of the good things life had to offer—and that had made all the difference.

  A little over a year ago she’d achieved another goal. She’d been featured in Restauranteurs, an industry magazine, as one of the “Top 30 under 30” professionals. She’d been the only restaurant public relations manager in the magazine.

  Her employer, Fig & Truffle, owned several restaurants, cafés and bars in and around Seattle. It’d been Drew’s job these four years to oversee the soft openings. Seattle’s foodie scene was massive. And after the feature in the magazine, Fig & Truffle boosted her pay and made Drew the PR go-to.

  She handled press, booked reviewers, interviewed top chefs from around the world...which was how she’d met her previous boyfriend. Chef Devin Briggs was the cherry on top of her “I’ve arrived” sundae, but they didn’t last. How could they when he was a selfish ass in love with only himself?