Page 15 of Tempting the Player
Frozen at the foot of the bed, she wondered if Chad would have buyer’s remorse come morning. Then he’d tell his brothers about the chick he accidentally brought home. Oh God, Chase would so recognize her name and she would die of embarrassment.
A ball of ugly emotions formed in her belly. She hadn’t felt this way since she had tried to fit into the prom dress her mom had saved up for, and she’d busted the zipper after falling off a crash diet. Or when her last boyfriend—a relationship that ended well over two years ago—brought up the newest diet craze everyone would be talking about. It had been his way of letting her know she needed to drop a few pounds. What a bastard.
God, why must she think of this right at this moment? She’d grown to love her body, the power of a woman with curves.
The only logical explanation, besides the fact that he’d been able to drive her home and appeared sober, was that Chad was three sheets to the wind.
Swinging around, her gaze landed on where her clutch had fallen onto the ground near the closet. Her flight or fight response kicked in the moment she heard the water turn off, and her chest spasmed.
In her head, she’d already left him. Now she only needed to follow through with action and not let the door hit her ass on the way out.
…
There was a real good chance Chad was going to come before he even got his pants off, which would be embarrassing to say the least.
Damn, he needed a minute—lots of minutes.
Shutting the bathroom door behind him, he turned on the cold water. Lust was swirling inside him, stringing him painfully tight. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted a woman as badly as he wanted to sink deep inside Bridget. Hell, she was the kind of woman he could lose himself in all night—all weekend.
Would she protest if he demanded that she stay for after-breakfast sex?
His lips twitched as he stared at his reflection. His hair was mussed from her hands and he could still feel her flesh spasming against his mouth. Her scent was everywhere and his cock twitched.
Shit.
Splashing cold water on his face, he reached for a towel and dabbed himself dry. He couldn’t wait to strip that dress off her, settle between those lush thighs, and hear her scream his name again.
Chad groaned.
If he kept thinking like that, he wasn’t going to last long enough to walk out of the bathroom.
After turning off the water, he swiveled around and thrust both hands through his hair. What he was doing tonight, bringing Bridget home, was exactly what the Club had warned him against, but it wasn’t like the photo-hags had been hiding in the bar. And even if they were in his bedroom right now, it wouldn’t stop him from taking Bridget.
Hell, an apocalypse wouldn’t stop him.
But his eagerness, the need to be in her, made him feel strangely unsure of what he was doing. From what he knew of her, which was more than he knew about most of the women he slept with, he was intrigued. Actually, fucking intrigued.
Intrigue had never been in his vocabulary before, not when it came to women he just met. Sure, a few of them he was rather fond of. There were even a few friendships that had blossomed from hooking up, but he’d never been interested in what made them tick. And how could he be so damn intrigued after talking with her for a few hours over shared drinks?
Damn it, he was overthinking this, and he was still hard as a damn rock.
And he really needed to come out of the bathroom.
Rolling his eyes, he opened the bathroom door, swaggered out, and…came to a complete stop in his empty bedroom. He looked at the bed, expecting to find her snuggled there and waiting for him. Just like his bedroom, the bed was absent of one sexy-as-hell woman.
“Bridget?”
No answer.
Confused, he turned around. His bedroom was big but not so big he would lose a woman in it. If so, this would be a first.
His gaze fell on the closet. Remembering her fascination with it, he stalked toward it and pushed the door the rest of the way open. Thank God she wasn’t in there, because that would wig him out a little. Stepping back, he looked down at his bed again. Her clutch was gone.
A slow-burning disbelief simmered in his veins as he prowled out of his bedroom and into the hallway. He stopped at the banister, placing his hands on it as he leaned over and stared down into his empty living room.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said, pushing off the railing.
Taking the steps two at a time, he hurried downstairs and went into the kitchen. He called her name once more, but there was no answer.
