“Let go,” she said, shoving him back.

She pulled the door open, but he quickly shoved his entire body against it, slamming it back shut. Seconds later, Leila heard it too.

“Hey, Ryley!” the voice bellowed into the room. “I thought you were coming out tonight.”

Leila sucked in a sharp breath. This wasn’t bad. It was catastrophic. Only one person in the world got to call Mr. Arrogant, Henrik Rylander, by his childhood nickname, and that was only because her brother was the size of a yeti.

Henrik held his finger up to his lips, pleading with her to stay quiet. He looked terrified. She really wanted to roll her eyes at him. Like he was the only one who’d get a lecture out of it.

“Sorry, man, I fell asleep,” he insisted, yelling through the door. “I was just about to get in the shower.”

“Well, you really missed it tonight—” Austin began, rambling incoherently about the happenings of the evening. He was drunk. Thank God. His words slurred together, and he sounded tired.

Henrik quietly locked the door. “What are you doing?” she mouthed, pushing away from him.

She realized too late that he was still naked, and took a few more cautious steps away from him. He grinned.

“Stalling,” he whispered back, “unless you want to walk out there together like this.”

She picked up his underwear and threw it at his smug face.

“That’s what I thought.” He paused long enough to slip them on. “He’s wasted. He’ll pass out in a matter of minutes.”

Austin stopped talking, and the room went quiet. Henrik walked over and flipped on the shower. “You’ll be out of here in thirty minutes, tops.”

“Great,” she mumbled, going to sit in the corner of the bathroom as far away from Henrik as possible. She didn’t need his perfect abs and cryptic body art staring her in the face. She slid down the wall, noting the ache in her thighs. A quick reminder of what had transpired.

She lost her virginity. In a bathroom. To the reigning man-whore of the east coast.

Awesome.

Her head fell in the palm of her hands as she sighed. The strap of her dress fell off her shoulder, but she didn’t care. Why should she? She’d been completely naked in front of Henrik just minutes ago. Naked. He’d seen her naked, and they had—

Shit. Shit. Shit.

She cried, silently, but she could feel the tears leaking down her cheeks.

“Leila—”

Henrik’s face was white. His stupid, perfect face. If that wasn’t enough, he was going to act concerned. He wasn’t concerned about her, he just wanted out of this situation without his best friend kicking his ass.

“Are you okay?” he asked, but a knock resounded on the hotel room door. It sounded urgent.

Leila jumped up. She could hear Austin stumbling out of bed. She rushed past Henrik and pressed her ear to the door. Sighing, Henrik followed suit. It sounded like Michael, one of Henrik’s teammates, but he talked in a rush, so it was hard for her to be sure.

“Where is Henrik? Callen got in a fight with some idiot in the stairwell. The cops are threatening to take him in if he doesn’t calm down.”

She looked up at Henrik, but he shook his head. “Idiot,” he mumbled under his breath.

“Just go,” she insisted, her eyes looking anywhere but at him. “And take Austin with you.”

It would be easier that way. No awkward conversation. No listening to Henrik pretend he cared. No chance of her brother deciding he needed to piss.

Henrik bit his lip, thinking. “Stay here,” he said quietly, placing a hand on her hip. “I’ll pawn your brother off on someone down the hall. I’ll drive you home.”

Now Austin yelled for Henrik.

She vehemently shook her head. “No, just go and get him out of here.”

He tightened his hand on her hip. “I don’t feel right leaving you when—”

“That’d be a first,” she snapped, whirling away from his touch.

He paused. Hurt.

She should have kept her mouth shut. He didn’t need to know why she hated him. At least—not why she started hating him.

It was history. It was over. Actually, it never even began.

Henrik’s eyes narrowed as he studied her expression. She knew it looked spiteful. It was her customary Henrik response look.

“Fine,” he spat back at her. “Be miserable by yourself.”

He jerked the door open and pushed through it. He didn’t even bother to look back, like nothing had even changed.

Because it hadn’t. It was Henrik Rylander. Of course it hadn’t. She waited until the door clicked shut before she cried.

Chapter 3

 

 

HENRIK’S CRASH DOWN

Henrik felt like a seven year old longing after an ice cream truck the way he gazed at the bundle of red lace in his bottom drawer. He’d come in the room to raid his condom stash, but realized too late that in his haste of unpacking a couple weeks ago, he had thrown his souvenir into the same hiding spot.

He didn’t know what he expected to find or feel when he got back to his hotel room that night in Newark. He knew Leila would be gone, unwilling to risk the chance of Austin finding out about their tryst in the bathroom, but a part of him had felt disappointed.

The feeling was undeniably foreign. He’d never felt disappointed to find out one of his conquests had left without notice. It made him uneasy.

He’d been exceptionally quiet the remainder of the night, listening as a sobering Austin rattled on about Callen’s run-in with the cops. It wasn’t until he lay down, rolling onto his stomach, determined to make himself sleep, that his hand slipped underneath his pillow, coming in contact with the unfamiliar fabric. He pulled it out, unsure what he’d uncovered, but it had only taken a second for the reality to sink in.

Leila left her panties.

His pulse started a slow and steady thud in his ears.

She left the panties she’d voluntarily removed because she’d planned to seduce him.

He could practically feel her breath on his neck, her fingers clinging desperately to his back. He clenched his eyes, determined to focus.

Why? Why would she do that?

They hadn’t left on good terms. He’d been in the middle of an argument with her when Austin showed up. He couldn’t comprehend what could have happened in those five minutes she was alone in his room to make her want to do such a thing.

Leila Blakely was pure evil. She didn’t require a logical reason to torture him.

He hastily shoved the evidence of his betrayal back under the pillow, his heart rate and libido panting wildly as he tried to pretend everything was normal.

Nothing was normal now.

As his hand gripped the delicate lace, he fought not only to find sleep, but also to muster a thought that didn’t involve her image. He lay there deep into the morning, silently fearing nothing would ever be normal in his life again.

It had been less than a month since their encounter, but he’d been thinking about Leila all night. Maybe it was the blatant contrast between her and the lackluster date waiting for him in the living room.

Or maybe it was because he hadn’t heard a peep from Leila, not even a pass-along hello from Austin. Girls always called, or at least left a desperate voicemail or two. He wasn’t accustomed to being shafted, and the thought of it wasn’t sitting well with him. Mainly, he had questions for Leila that he wanted answered.

“Hey. There is a grouchy old man on the phone for you.”

He whirled around to see his date, the buttons already undone on her blouse, holding his cell phone out for him.

“You answered my phone?” It was obvious, but he was annoyed and wanted her to hear the disdain in his voice.

“The number wasn’t in your phone,” she replied, completely unaffected by his retort. “I was just curious.”

In other words, she was making sure it wasn’t another woman. He shut the drawer without retrieving the condoms. This girl wasn’t worth the headache. “Give me the phone,” he huffed, stalking into the kitchen for privacy. He rubbed the tips of his fingers against the pain that was slowly forming behind his eyes. “Yes?”