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With one last wave I make my way out to the car and text Henley.
On my way.
A reply bounces straight back in.
Meet me in the bar downstairs.
Nerves dance in my stomach. Meeting a hot, mysterious guy in the bar of a hotel: it’s all so exotic. Like a spy movie or something, hopefully one that ends well.
I take one last look into the rearview mirror at my face.
I’m nervous.
And I know it’s stupid and that I shouldn’t be because this isn’t my first rodeo, especially not with Henley. But that’s the thing: every time with him feels like the first time, and maybe that’s why I’m so jittery . . . I know in my heart that this is something special, or at least it could be.
Nobody has ever made me feel the way that he does.
I need to remind Henley James of the chemistry we share.
Blow his fucking mind.
I get out of my car and make my way into the hotel. It’s super fancy, with doormen in black suits standing around. The floors are a beautiful green marble, and huge oversize chandeliers are hanging from the ornate ceilings. I spot the restaurant and bar and make my way in, and instantly I feel more at ease. It’s nicer in here, with a much more relaxed ambience. Timber-and-metal tables and chairs, and candles in small copper vases are on all the tables. The bar is a dark timber with old-fashioned stools lined up. Big copper light fittings hang low over it.
I smile as I look around. This is cool.
My eyes roam around the room, and then I see him, sitting in the corner booth.
He gives me a slow sexy smile, and excitement runs through me. All week I’ve thought of nothing else but him, and to be here now . . .
Play it cool.
I smile and, trying to be as casual as I can, make my way over to the table. “Hi.” I pull out the chair.
“Hello.” He taps the couch beside him. “Sit here.”
My stomach flips, and I walk around the table and slide in beside him.
“Hi.” He takes my face into his hands and kisses me softly. “You’re late,” he purrs.
And you’re perfect.
Chapter 15
“Good things are worth the wait?” I pull out of his grip, trying my best to play hard to get.
He fills two wineglasses from a bottle that is sitting in ice on the table and passes one to me.
“Champagne.” I smile. “What are we celebrating?”
“Well”—he taps his glass on mine and takes a sip—“we’re here.” He raises his eyebrow playfully.
“You mean, we made it through our first meltdown?” I smirk.
He breaks into a breathtakingly beautiful smile. “Did we, though?”
His smile does things to me. I get flutters all the way to my toes. “We did.”
He leans in and kisses me again. His lips linger over mine, and I begin to lose sight of the mission.
