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He nods and looks down the bar. Perhaps looking for the date that he’d found to keep him company when I didn’t appear. If he even showed up in the first place. “Well, I’d ask if this seat was taken but a man can tell when he’s being given the brush-off. It was nice to see you, Grace. Enjoy your dinner.”
Before I can stop myself, I reach for him. “Wait, Cash, I’m sorry.” I look up sheepishly into his devastatingly handsome face.
“What do you have to be sorry for?” he asks, his eyes taking on that quizzical look he gave me when I turned down his offer to get to know me in the car.
“I didn’t show up. Not because I didn’t want to, but I fell asleep,” I admit with a sigh. “I think you might have been right to tell me that I would regret drinking that champagne too quickly. It went straight to my head.”
His face softens. “You don’t need to apologize. You never agreed to show up. And it’s your pleasure trip…” His lips turn up in a teasing smile. “You should find pleasure in whatever way you can.”
What I want to say—what my inner hussy is begging me to say—is I’d like to find pleasure with you. But the nagging voice inside me doesn’t let me respond that way. I could flirt on the plane when I thought it was only a few hours, but knowing that we are now in a hotel where things could escalate quickly, I need to watch what I promise.
I nibble at my bottom lip and dip my eyes to the seat next to me in an invitation. Cash raises his brow to me. “If you want something from me, Grace, you have to ask for it. I have made it very clear I’m interested in spending time with you, and you’ve blown me off every chance you could. You’re in control, Grace. Tell me what you want.”
He reprimands me with his stare, and something stirs inside me. It’s that control again. Even when he wants something, and he knows he’s going to get it, he wants to control how he takes it. But in a way he is also giving me the control that I’ve been lacking for so long. Although I’m not someone who enjoys games, I find myself drawn to the way he speaks.
“Please join me for a drink, Cash?” I ask sweetly.
His eyes sweep up and down my body, and then he sits down on the stool next to me. “Fine, but you’re buying.”
A laugh escapes my throat, and I nod. “Whatever you want, Cash.”
He orders a whiskey, and I stifle a giggle. “What’s so funny?” he asks.
I shake my head, trying to keep my thoughts to myself, but then remember I don’t have to do that anymore. I’ll say what I think, and everyone else can just deal with it. “When I first saw you, that’s what I thought of—whiskey.”
“Whiskey? How come?”
“Your eyes. Although I’m beginning to realize all of you is kind of like that.”
His dimple pokes out again. “Like what?”
“Smooth.” I hum to myself as I imagine how smooth he would feel pressed against me.
Cash sips his whiskey as he considers my comment. Or maybe he’s just taking a drink. I honestly have no idea what he sees in me and why he’s pursuing this. I haven’t made it easy, and I likely will continue to make it difficult. I don’t do one-night stands. Or vacation flings. I’m a married woman. Even if it’s only on paper, it still feels wrong. I’ve been with one man for nearly the last decade.
I’ve always done things by the book. After graduating from college and getting a job, I moved into an apartment with friends, dated several men, and spent time with my girlfriends on the weekends. When I turned twenty-six I decided it was time to settle down. Then I started dating Steven. I waited until we were together for six months and after we’d exchanged I love yous to have sex with him. Then on our one-year anniversary he proposed, and we were married a year later.
We even lived together during the engagement to make sure that we got along.
I did everything right. I checked off all the boxes. And yet I still ended up as a thirty-six-year-old woman who is about to be divorced.
What the hell did doing the right things get me? I never strayed. I never even paid attention to the clients who flirted with me. And there were plenty. It’s in those men’s genes.
I dart my eyes down to Cash’s lap and imagine what sits inside his jeans. He’s just like the rest of them. Probably just like Steven, too.
No thank you. I don’t need it. What I need is a stiff drink, a delicious steak, and a dessert that is filled with too many carbohydrates for me to even consider getting naked after eating it.
“So, tell me, Grace, what did you want to be when you grew up?”
I laugh at his odd question. “What? Is there a dating questionnaire that you have hidden under that glass?”
He chuckles softly into his whiskey glass and then meets my eyes. “No, you told me what you really do is off-limits, but I want to know something about you. So, what would you be doing if you were doing what you really wanted to do?”
I smile at his question. “I wanted to be a ballerina.”
His gaze slides down my legs again, and I laugh. “I clearly don’t have the body for it. Nor the grace, despite my name.”
Cash’s eyes snap to my own. “I happen to be infatuated with your body.”
