Julie James - About That Night

Slowly, she eased out of the bed, fully naked. She found her panties on the floor by the foot of the bed and quietly slid them on. Then she tiptoed across the room to the armchair, where she’d done her striptease for Kyle the night before—very fun and naughty, but there was no time to linger over more steamy memories—and found her bra, shoes, and dress. With her back to the bed, she hurriedly put on her bra, then realized the zipper of her dress would make too much noise and might wake Kyle up. Deciding to put the dress and her heels on in the living room, she bent over to pick them up and—

“Very nice.”

Rylann stood up, clutching her dress against her chest, and looked over her shoulder.

Kyle lay in bed, propped up on one elbow while watching her with an amused expression. “Fleeing the scene of the crime, counselor?”

This man could read her like a damn book sometimes. “No,” she said defensively. At least not for the reasons he likely assumed. She had no problems with the sex—all three scorching rounds of it. It was the ex-con part that had her somewhat agitated. “I just have this…thing I need to go to.”

He glanced at the clock on his nightstand. “At seven thirty on a Saturday morning?”

“It’s an early-morning thing. And I have to go home and shower first, obviously.”

“Of course. Here’s a tip, counselor: plan your getaway excuses the night before.”

Right. She’d forgotten that she was dealing with a pro. “I’ll keep that in mind for next time.” Since there was no need to sneak around anymore, she stepped into her shoes and was about to put on her dress when she noticed the way Kyle was staring at her in her underwear and high heels.

His eyes went all warm and dark, taking in the sight. “Maybe you really should stay a little bit longer.”

The lure of those blue bedroom eyes was tempting.

Then his gaze shifted to the wild bush sprouting from her head. “Wow. Did I do that to your hair?” He looked oddly pleased at the thought.

Rylann made a mental note to throw a flat iron in her purse the next time she had sex in the shower with a billionaire ex-con. Not that there was going to be a next time. “Not all of us are lucky enough to have freakishly perfect, shampoo-commercial hair. This is what happens when I get wet.”

His expression turned wicked. “I know exactly what happens when you get wet, counselor.”

Yep, she’d walked right into that one.

“Usually there’s a lot of moaning and heavy breathing,” he continued. “Although my favorite part is the way you say my name—”

“Kyle,” she interrupted, glaring at him.

“Nope, not like that. A bit more fiery and enthusiastic.” He patted the bed next to him. “Let’s work on it until we get it perfect.”

“I’m going now,” Rylann said.

“Are you? Because I see you fighting back a smile there.”

Well, maybe she was. But she was still going. “Since you mentioned the hair—do you have a rubber band anywhere?” It was bad enough she had to do the walk of shame through his lobby wearing the red dress. No way was she letting anyone see the full extent of how mussed she was after one night with Kyle Rhodes.

“I’ll find something,” Kyle said.

He threw back the covers, giving her the perfect view of his delectable body, erect penis and all—seriously, did that thing ever go down?—and strode around the bed. He grabbed his gray boxer briefs off the floor and pulled them on. “I saw you peeking.”

Busted. “I was just noticing that you have really impressive…thighs.”

“I run a lot.”

Rylann could picture him, all sweaty and slick, peeling off his clothes when he got back to the penthouse after a jog.

Hmm.

“Counselor, if you want to leave, I wouldn’t look at me like that when you’re standing in my bedroom in your underwear and heels.”

She blinked. Right—the getaway. “Sorry. The rubber band?”

While Kyle went to look in the bathroom, Rylann slipped on her dress and left the bedroom. In the hallway, she found her purse—a small clutch that held her cell phone, keys, and, thankfully, mints. She popped one in her mouth and stole a look in a large framed mirror in the foyer.

Great. Crazy hair and no makeup.

“Try this.” Kyle came up behind her in the mirror and held out his hand.

Rylann looked down and saw a black hair band in his palm. “Something one of the models left behind?”

He threw her a look. “No, it’s mine. The freakishly lustrous, shampoo-commercial hair is a pain in the ass if I don’t pull it back while running.”

With a smile, Rylann took the band and began combing her fingers through her hair. “I can’t picture you with a ponytail.”

“It’s not a ponytail. I just pull back the sides and top.”

“Ah. Like a partial updo.”

“Remember the thing I said last night? About being a burr up my ass?”

Indeed, she did. He’d said it right after giving her two of the best orgasms of her life. And then had followed it up with two more.

Pushing the memories from her mind, she pulled back to inspect her hair, which she’d wrangled into a bumpy, messy ponytail. “Probably not as fancy as your updos, but it’ll have to do.”

Then she met Kyle’s gaze in the mirror. “Last night was great.”

His expression was uncharacteristically unreadable. “That’s supposed to be my line.”

And she had no doubt he’d said it plenty of times. But that was neither here nor there. She managed a coy smile. “You should feel free to say it, too,” she joked.

He turned her around, lowered his head, and softly kissed her lips. “Last night was great.”

Since there was nothing more to say, Rylann stepped back and headed toward the front door. She noticed now that he’d thrown on a pair of jeans after looking for the hair band, and she realized that this would probably be her last image of Kyle Rhodes—sexy, bare chested, and barefoot in his jeans, standing in his foyer as they said good-bye.

She turned and grabbed the handle, about to open the door, when he stopped her.

“Rylann—wait.”

Her heart skipped a beat as he crossed the foyer with a serious look in his eyes, reaching his arm out to—

—pull up the zipper of her dress.

“I just noticed that,” he said.

“Right. Thanks.” She unlocked the door and opened it. “So we’ll…talk.”

“You know where to find me, counselor.”

Then Rylann stepped out into the hallway and walked to the elevators. As she pushed the down button, she heard the soft click of the lock behind her.

“AND THEN YOU just left?”

Rylann shrugged at Rae’s question. “What else was I supposed to do?”

They’d scored an outdoor table at Kitsch’n, a popular neighborhood brunch place a few blocks from her apartment. Naturally, she’d called Rae that afternoon for the post-sexcapades debriefing.

Rylann drizzled syrup over her coconut-crusted French toast, continuing on as Rae took a sip of her mimosa. “It’s not like we were going to run out for coffee and pancakes. Last night was fun, but that’s all it was.”

Rae raised an eyebrow. “How much fun?”

Rylann grinned mischievously. “Three rounds of fun. Including one in the shower.” She cheekily took a bite of her French toast, saying nothing further.

Rae laughed. “Wow. Clearly, I need to find myself an ex-con. Since prison is probably the only place in this city I haven’t looked for Mr. Right yet,” she added dryly.

“What about the guy at the bar last night?” Rylann asked. “You were talking to him for a while.”

Rae sighed. “He was nice, I don’t know…” She shrugged, discouraged. “I keep waiting for this magic moment where I meet a guy and just know. But maybe that’s not what my story’s going to be.” She looked at Rylann and waved this off. “Ignore me. I don’t want to talk about my nonexistent love life today.”

“Are you sure?” Rylann asked. Actually, she had an idea on that front—she’d been trying to come up with a sneaky way to introduce Rae to a certain single, good-looking, all-American male prosecutor at the U.S. Attorney’s Office—but she didn’t have the details worked out yet. She needed to tread cautiously on that front, since Rae hated setups.

“Very sure.” Rae said emphatically. “Let’s get back to the part where you hightailed it out of the multimillion-dollar penthouse of the gorgeous billionaire heir who obviously has the hots for you big-time. You bitch.” She smiled. “Whoops. Did I just say that out loud?”

Rylann pooh-poohed this with a wave of her own. “That gorgeous billionaire heir is doing just fine. Trust me, Kyle Rhodes is not pining away in his penthouse for me. The guy goes through women faster than I go through legal pads.”

“Yeah, but you heard what his friend Dex said. About how Kyle was grinning like a fool after walking you home the night you met.”

Rylann paused at that. That was a really cute story. But still. “That was nine years ago, Rae. A lot has happened since then. He’s not some unknown, charmingly irritating grad student in a flannel shirt and work boots anymore.” She looked around, lowering her voice. “He’s the Twitter Terrorist. And I’m an assistant U.S. attorney. There’s only so far this can go. My office prosecuted Kyle just six months ago. Called him a ‘cyber-menace to society.’ Do you know how awkward it would be at work if anyone found out that he and I were sleeping together?”

“It would be weird. No doubt,” Rae said in complete agreement.

“Exactly. And I don’t want things to be weird. I’ve got plans for that office—like kicking butt and making a name for myself. And that name is not going to be ‘That New Girl Who Boned the Twitter Terrorist.’ “

“Uh-oh.” Rae grimaced. “Then I hate to be the one to break this to you…but you and Kyle are in this morning’s Scene and Heard column.”

Rylann’s heart stopped. “What? No.”

“Not your name,” Rae said quickly. She took out her iPhone and pulled up the gossip column online. “I’d been waiting to mention this, thinking you were going to get a kick out of it. Guess I called that one wrong.” She began reading out loud. ” ‘Kyle Rhodes, Chicago’s Twitter Terrorist and son of billionaire businessman Grey Rhodes, made his return to the social scene at the much-anticipated opening of Gold Coast hot spot Firelight, where he was spotted cozying up to an unknown brunette bombshell wearing a knockout red dress. Sources say the couple shared several drinks and appeared to have eyes only for each other as they left the nightclub together…’ “

Stunned, Rylann said nothing for a moment.

She cursed the red magic boob dress.

“On the bright side, they did call you a brunette bombshell,” Rae said.

And under different circumstances, Rylann would’ve preened shamelessly for at least two or three minutes over that, but right now she was too busy panicking. Back in March, there’d been that picture of her and Kyle in court, the one that had been blasted all over the media. If anyone connected the dots between that and the “brunette bombshell” he’d been seen with last night…

Not good.

“They don’t have any photographs of Kyle and me at the club, do they?” she asked anxiously.

“Just another one of him staring at your boobs.” Rae put down her phone, seeing Rylann’s face. “I’m kidding. Take a deep breath, Ry. You’re fine. No one will know this is you. It’s a big city, with lots of brunettes.”

“Right.” Rylann exhaled, slowly climbing down off the ledge and thinking how close she’d come to carelessly blowing her cover.

Too close.

ON HER WAY home from the restaurant, Rylann’s cell phone rang. For a moment, as she dug around in her purse to find it, she wondered if it would be Kyle, calling her about the Scene and Heard column. She could practically hear his low, teasing voice already. Just calling to check up on my favorite brunette bombshell, counselor. Thought I’d see if you’d be up for round four tonight.

Rylann finally found her phone.

Oh. Just her mother.

“Mom…hi,” she answered.

“Looks like I was right to warn you about that Kyle Rhodes.”

Rylann stopped at a four-way intersection, immediately on high alert. How could her mother, down in Florida, possibly know anything? So she played it cool. “Not sure what you mean, Mom.”

“I was just reading the Trib online,” Helen said. “The Twitter Terrorist made the Scene and Heard column again.”

“You read Scene and Heard?” Rylann asked.