Lilla walks in and sees me. “What’s happened, honey?”
I take a deep breath to try to slow my racing pulse. “Do you know Dante Robinson?”
“Ugh.” She makes a face. “That jerk. Why, did he just say something to you? Because he came after me earlier and told me to leave Marcus alone, says he wants nothing to do with me. He seems to be skipping the part where Marcus wants to have his cake and eat it, too, because every time I pass him he grabs my ass when his girlfriend isn’t looking.”
I pat her arm. “That’s pathetic. You can do so much better than that, Lilla.”
“Yeah, well.” She shrugs. “So, what’d Dante say to you?”
“He told me not to put Dylan on, not to mess with him. Called me an ice queen.”
“Who does he think he is?” Lilla asks. “Don’t listen to him.”
“Think I should sculpt myself and then squash it?”
“No, I think you should sculpt Dante and throw it out of your fifteenth story window. Hurt, don’t be hurt. Besides, this evening is basically over. I heard a bunch of the guys talking about late dinner plans. I’m getting out of here.”
I follow her out to the bar area. And before I can think too hard about what I’m doing, I turn left and keep walking toward the bar stools.
“You staying here for a while?” I touch Dylan lightly on the back.
He turns on his stool, his face expressionless. “If you are.”
I fist my hands at my sides. “I’m sorry we haven’t talked more tonight. I’ve been working like a dog.”
“I’ve noticed. I notice everything about you, Jasalie. But you have nothing to apologize for—” He sucks in a breath. “I do, though.”
“Dylan, let’s not rehash. We got carried away upstairs, and it’s not a big deal…”
His hand goes around my waist and he pulls me close. I let out a gasp, and his eyes come alive. Especially the gold flecks. His hand tightens on my hip, and his fingers brush over my bare back.
“It is a big deal,” he murmurs. “And I fucked up not letting you know that.”
My eyes half-close as I sway into him.
He pulls me closer until I’m standing in between his legs.
“Let me take you to dinner so we can have some privacy. I don’t know how much more of this bar stool my ass can take.”
I want to tell him his ass seems to be taking it quite well, but I restrain myself.
* * *
We run into Bill in the lobby. “You’re leaving already, Ms. Gordon?”
Before I can speak, Dylan jumps in. “I asked Jasalie if she would take me out and show me Tucson’s nightlife. I hope that’s okay.”
Bill bows—he freakingbows—in Dylan’s direction.
“Absolutely, Mr. Wild. Whatever we can do to be of service. Ms. Gordon, you are excused for the rest of the evening.”
Dylan nods at him, and we head toward the parking lot. Security is tight tonight, and I don’t see any cameras or annoying reporters hanging out on the premises.
“Thanks for the save,” I say to him as we start down the front steps. “Bill usually jabbers at me for twenty minutes about everything I’m doing wrong. But he wants your owner to give him the account so badly. Pretty much whatever your team wants, he vows to get.”
“I’m glad he’s sufficiently intimidated that I can prevent him from harassing you.”
A car drives through the hotel lot, and we stop to let it pass.
