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My heartbeat stutters when he takes another step closer, the stiff material of his suit pants brushing against my bare legs.
Heat crawls across my cheeks as my body temperature spikes. I’m picturing it. I’m imagining the thick fabric of his pants chafing against the inside of my thighs. His hands gripping my hips. His erection growing beneath me. Oliver’s eyes flare, and I think he’s imagining me in his lap too.
“You can’t afford me.” I take a fortifying sip of gin, attempting ignorance to his proximity and trying to regain a little control of the conversation. I’m in an unfamiliar city, talking to a strange man. I might be feeling a tad reckless and a lot tipsy, but I wasn’t expecting this to go anywhere.
I don’t get a whole smile. It’s a half one, maybe even a quarter.
“Never been told that before.” His words are dry, almost dismal. Hardly a boast.
“You do this a lot?”
He shakes his head. “No.”
“Really?”
“Really. I work a lot. And…I’m usually terrible about going after what I want.”
Me too.Until I hit that green button earlier.
“You saying you want me?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying, Hannah.” His voice is all gravel, even lower than before, and I feel it directly between my legs. My name sounds like a dirty word, spoken in that indecent rumble. “Will you meet me?”
“Yes,” I whisper, not sure what I’m agreeing to.
This feels like more than sex. More than continuing a conversation. I’ve been wading away from shore, and now I’m suddenly realizing how deep that water around me has gotten.
His lips curve up, and I think he’s going to kiss me.
I’m expecting it. Anticipating it. I even swipe my tongue across my bottom lip.
Oliver catches the movement, and his eyes darken to pine. But he doesn’t kiss me. He holds out his hand, again, like we just closed a business deal.
I take it with a bemused laugh that fades when his thumb brushes against my knuckles. A simple touch, and it infects my whole body.
He drops my hand, then walks away.
I glance over one shoulder to watch him leave.
Oliver doesn’t strike me as the sort of man who looks back, though.
And I’m right.
He doesn’t.
CHAPTERFIVE
OLIVER
Garrett stands and waves as soon as I walk into the steakhouse. I bypass the hostess with a polite nod, weaving around tables and past wine displays until I reach the far corner of the restaurant. The lighting in here is dim, a relief to my eyes after the few blocks from the hotel past the bright, flashing colors of the Strip.
I unbutton my suit jacket and take a seat in the open chair. “Sorry, I got caught—”
Garrett shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it, man. We all get how it is.”
“No,wedon’t. Don’t lump me in with you boring businessmen,” Chase comments, reaching out to grab the bottle of bourbon sitting in the center of the table and pouring himself another drink.
“How could any of us forget you skate after a rubber circle for a living?” Garrett replies, grinning at his younger brother.
