"I'm feeling pretty bold," I hear myself say.
His eyes darken. "How bold?"
The question hangs between us, heavy with possibility. My heart is pounding so hard I'm sure he can hear it over the ambient noise of the bar. This is crazy. This is exactly the kind of impulsive decision I've spent my adult life avoiding.
But God, I want this. Want him. Want to know what it feels like to let someone else take control for once.
"Bold enough to ask if you'd like to get a room," I say, the words tumbling out before I can stop them.
His smile is slow and predatory. "You're full of surprises, Red."
I ignore his reference to my hair color. I’ve been called Red a thousand times before. It’s annoying.
But when he says it, fuck me. It sounds like a dirty word.
"Is that a yes?" I ask.
I don’t know what happened to my good sense. Did he spike my drink?
No.
The moment I laid eyes on him, I knew I wanted to fuck him.
He doesn't answer immediately. Just studies me with those deep-blue eyes, like he's weighing something important. Then he reaches into his jacket and pulls out enough cash to cover our drinks and a generous tip.
"What do you think?" he asks, standing and extending his hand to me.
I look at his hand. There are a few tattoos across his knuckles. The tats don’t track with the designer suit. I should ask questions. Should demand to know his real name, his actual job, why he's playing along with this case of mistaken identity.
Instead, I place my hand in his and let him pull me to my feet.
"I think that this is either the best decision I've ever made or the worst."
"We'll find out," he says, his thumb brushing across my knuckles.
As we walk toward the exit, his hand at the small of my back, I catch a glimpse of us in the mirror behind the bar. We look like we belong together—him in his perfectly tailored suit, me in my little black dress. We look like the kind of couple that kicks ass by day and fucks like rabbits all night.
My hair, which is technically auburn, is perfectly styled in thick waves hanging down my back. My pale skin, thanks to a long Chicago winter, contrasts with the black of my dress.
And yeah, the Spanx suck, but damn, I look good in this dress. I look like a woman worthy of being on the arm of the man that looks like he could bend steel without breaking a sweat.
For once in my carefully planned life, I'm going to let go of control and see what happens.
After all, what's the worst that could go wrong?
2
HANNAH
The hotel is three blocks from the bar, close enough that we choose to walk. My silly thought process is something along the lines of crazy. I don’t want to get in a car with him because that’s dangerous. I have no desire to end up as a floater in Lake Michigan.
But I’m going to a hotel room with him. Just me and him. All the privacy in the world to murder me.
I’m well and truly fucked in the head.
When we reach the entrance—all gleaming marble and understated luxury—he guides me inside with a possessive hand at my back. The lobby is opulent with only a handful of people around.
No witnesses.
