To say the woman got pissed out of her skull after her sister left was a vast understatement.
One espresso martini turned into four, and it was Dair pouring her (and his sister) in her car after he took the fob off her.
He didn’t know where Ned’s place was in these mountains. He only knew where Duncan Holloway, the outdoor gear magnate, and Imogen Swan, the award-winning Hollywood star, lived, since that was where they had cocktails and tapas the first night they were in town.
And having his hands on a drunk Blake Sharp was far too advantageous of a circumstance for him to go to Ned, who was still there, quietly sharing a drink with his set, and ask where Dair should take his daughter.
So he took Blake to the posh Victorian hotel off the quaint Old West town square where his family was staying.
Holding it close to her chest like a prized possession, Blake had cooed at and maybe drooled a little over her bouquet the whole ride back.
That was, she did that when she wasn’t twisted in her seat, havering with Davina about fuck knew what.
It involved shoes. And shopping in New York.
So he zoned out.
He dragged her and her heavy as all fuck tote to the elevator, Davina following, both of them making too much noise, all of this protestations about going up to their rooms rather than to the hotel bar for another drink.
He deposited his sister at the door to her room, only for her to blow a raspberry at him and throw herself in Blake’s arms. They hugged in the hall, blathering rubbish about how neither of them knew how awesome the other one was for years and how they were so glad that was over, and now they could be best mates forever and ever.
He let this go on for a while before he peeled Blake out of Davi’s arms and guided her listing, slender body in that fucking miraculous dress to his room.
He let them in.
The first thing she did was flip her shoes off.
They went flying. One hit the bed. The other flew over it.
He was setting her tote on the couch, about to laugh at her movements, but she let out a sound that did things to his cock and gushed, “I’ve been needing to do that for three full hours.” She got over that and looked around, asking, “Do you have a minibar?”
“You’ve had enough,” he replied.
She narrowed her violet eyes at him.
Christ, she was stunning.
She’d always been stunning. Even as a little girl.
She looked like her mum.
But there’d been something else to Blake. Something more raw. More real. Warmer.
More vulnerable.
She came to him and poked him in the chest. Three times. Hard.
It probably hurt her finger more than him.
What it did to him was make him want to bust out laughing.
“Who’re you to tell me I’ve had enough?” she demanded.
“The man who’s good with ye like this and will not be good rubbing your back while ye boke in his toilet.”
She scrunched her nose.
Fuck, he wanted to kiss her.
