I need him, Trey thought. Out loud he just said, “I know.” They’d been so busy in the room that the next session of panels was about to start so they managed to slip through most of the crowd.

He wanted to go up to his room for a little while, sit down. Call Clayton—

“Hi!”

A punch of heat that was becoming almost brutally familiar slammed into him, catching him in the throat, the gut—lower.

Ressa cut in front of them, so close now that he could smell whatever she’d smoothed on her skin. She was glowing, the grin on her face was a cross between ecstatic and nervous—sort of how he felt.

“That turned out pretty good, didn’t it?” The words tumbled out of her, a hard 180 from the easy calm she’d shown both last night and during the panel.

Arching a brow, he opened his mouth, but she was already talking.

“Don’t you think? Max, I know you said it went well, but you always say that. What did you—” She stopped, snapping her mouth shut and then blowing out a sigh while the smile on her face turned sheepish. “Sorry. Nerves. They never really hit until I’m done.”

“I get that.” Trey smiled as that blast of heat melted away into something . . . softer. Easier. She wasn’t just sexy as hell, he realized.

Just then, she was . . .

“You know what? I think I’m going to go up to my room for a little bit,” Max said.

Both of them whipped their heads around to look at him.

Trey almost shot out a hand to catch him by the arm.

“But—” Ressa opened her mouth, closed it.

“I’m getting too old to pound the floor all day,” Max said, grinning at her. “I’ll see you both around later. It was a great panel, Ressa. You know better than to think I’d lie.”

As Max disappeared, Trey ran his tongue along the inside of his teeth. He should do the same thing. Go up to his room. He needed to call Clayton. Relax, maybe change into some shorts and go running or something. Swinging his head around to look at Ressa, he opened his mouth.

The words that came spilling out shocked the hell out of him.

“Would you have a cup of coffee with me?”

Her mouth fell open. “Ah . . . excuse me?”

What the hell . . . The words couldn’t be pulled back, but he realized, now that they were out, he didn’t want to take them back.

Elation, and nerves, pounded inside him, but he managed to hide all of that behind a grin as he took a step closer.

It was like riding a bike, he told himself. He hadn’t thought it through, and he hadn’t ended up flat on his face.

In a matter of seconds—a blink, really, her lovely, wide eyes cooled.

“I’m afraid not. I try to avoid having coffee with married men.”

Then after a scathing look that left him feeling like she’d just sliced the top layer of his skin off, she turned on one ice-pick heel and strode off.

He was distracted enough by the sway of her hips—and the delightful, round curve of her ass—that it took him another fifteen seconds to make himself move.

Yeah, maybe he should have explained that part first.

*   *   *

“Hey, wait a minute.”

As he ducked into the elevator with her, Ressa folded her arms over her chest. “Afraid I can’t, Mr. Barnes.”

Her icy tone drew the eye of more than a few passengers in the elevator. She started to tap her foot, watching the numbers speed by.

The floor stopped at eleven, fourteen, fifteen—

“Ressa, wait.”

She pushed through the bodies as the elevator slowed at seventeen. “I’ve got a busy afternoon, Mr. Barnes, so if you’ll—”

She hissed as she turned to see him coming off the elevator after her.

Not a single damn soul said a word, although more than a few watched with rapt gazes until the elevator doors slid closed in their faces.

“I guess I didn’t make myself clear,” she said. “Let me take care of that now.”

“I think I should go first.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, inclining his head.

“Oh?” With a cool smile, she waved a hand. “Please do.”

Despite herself—and the disappointment—and heaven help her, that knee-jerk reaction she’d had to say yes to whatever he wanted to do—she wondered what excuse he’d pull out of his ass.

He lowered his head, reaching up to rub at the back of his neck. With his left hand, one that was noticeably bare today.

He was nothing but another player. It pissed her off, too. She’d liked him. He’d seemed so . . . nice. He was an amazing father, and he adored his son and he was . . . well, he’d seemed almost perfect. Taken, yeah. But still . . . perfect.

He went to drop his hand, head still bowed. But as he was lowering his hand, he stopped, pausing, staring at the pale strip where his ring would have been.

He looked at his hand like he’d never seen it.

“We only had a few years together,” he said, his voice soft, almost distant. “We met in college and . . . that was it for us. We just knew. We waited until we graduated to get married.”

Something about his tone had her stomach twisting. Stop it. You’ve heard these lines before.

“My wife . . . she . . .”

“Look, if you all are separated or whatever, fine. But I don’t date married guys. So—”

“She died almost six years ago.” He looked up then, his gaze flat. So flat, almost cold. He looked back at his hand, staring at the place where his ring would have been. “I was at a conference. She was pregnant with Clay and there was an accident—a drunk driver crossed the lines while my wife was on her way to her OB appointment. She . . .” He stopped and looked away, but not in time to keep her from seeing the diamond bright glint in his eyes.

“She went into early labor—died during the C-section.” He cut another look her way. “The ring . . . well. I know she’s gone. It’s not like I’m clinging to her memory or anything. It’s just . . . things were . . .” He stopped and shook his head. “Never mind. I’m sorry I bothered you.”

With her heart tangled up somewhere in her throat, Ressa stared after him as he walked away.

Chapter Nine

“I rode the roller coaster!”

Back braced against the headboard, Trey smiled as Clayton peered up at him from the screen of his iPhone. His grin was a mile wide and he had a smudge of chocolate or something on his nose, and the sight of the boy soothed the ragged ache in Trey’s heart.

“Did you throw up?”

“Gross! No. Have you ever thrown up on a roller coaster?” Clayton asked.

“Nope. One time, though, when we were kids, your uncles and I ate like three hot dogs—”

Two seconds later, his mother was on the phone. “Don’t you dare, Trey Malcolm Barnes. You hear me?”

“Ah, hi, Mom. How are you?” He summoned up his best smile, knowing it wasn’t going to do any good. It hadn’t, even when they were kids.

Denise just narrowed her eyes at him.

That made him laugh. “So that panel earlier was . . . kind of intense.”

“Don’t you go putting any ideas in that boy’s head,” she said, ignoring his attempts to distract her.

“Mom. He’s my kid,” Trey pointed out. “He was probably born with those ideas imprinted on his DNA.”

“Exactly. I’m hoping they’ll stay there—inactive—and here you are, telling him about . . . that.”

He laughed, felt more of the shadows fall away. He could practically see his mother shuddering as she remembered that one time. A hot dog binge, three kids on a coaster—Zane had proven to be smart enough to not do it—although he had dared them. Sebastian had been too short, and of course, he’d cried the entire time. Right up until they all started getting sick and then he’d laughed. And laughed. And laughed.

“Okay. I won’t give him ideas while he’s at Disney with you.” That was the most he could promise. “Now, can I talk to Clayton? Please?”