‘What’s wrong with Macallan?’ I ask as the barman mixes her cocktail.
‘It’s Scotch,’ she says, twisting her body until she’s facing me. Her eyes linger for a beat too long on my lips. Is she imagining what they might feel like on hers? Does she feel the chemistry pulsing between us?
‘And let me guess, you prefer Irish?’ I twist my own body, until there are mere millimetres between our knees. Those deep chocolate eyes dart over my torso, and I’m suddenly grateful for Graham, my personal trainer, and the gruelling daily workouts he puts me through.
She shrugs as her eyes meet mine again. ‘When you’ve had the best, it’s hard to settle for anything less.’
That, I have to agree with. ‘What if you onlythinkyou’ve had the best?’ I cock my head to the side, dipping my face closer to hers deliberately. ‘What if you haven’t even tasted the best yet?’
‘Are we still talking about whiskey?’ Her lips curve upwards, and I get a flash of her perfect white smile. ‘Because it sounds suspiciously like something else.’
‘You have a dirty mind.’ Electricity buzzes between us.
‘So, what if I do?’ Her smile widens, and her irises flare with devilment.
‘What’s your name?’ I blurt.
‘Does it matter?’ She inches forward a fraction, and our knees touch. Despite the water, heat singes my skin, shooting straight up over my thighs, directly to my dick.
No, her name shouldn’t matter. In fact, not exchanging names is a bonus. At least then I don’t have to worry about her working out how to lock me and my billion dollar empire down.
‘No, it doesn’t.’ My eyes remain trained on her as I lift my glass to my lips. She’s right; the ice ruined the whiskey.
‘I didn’t come here for a deep and meaningful conversation,’ she drawls, dragging her knees from mine, and crossing her legs. Without the contact, my body feels bereft.
‘What did you come here for then?’ I shift in my seat, deliberately repositioning myself until my thigh touches hers again.
She jolts like she experienced the same intense sensation that shot through me. ‘Same as everyone—a break.’
‘From what?’
‘Work. Family. Expectations. Life in general.’ Her tongue darts out over the dip of her cupid’s bow. What I wouldn’t give for that to be my tongue. I bet she tastes sublime. Everywhere.
If I get my way, I’m going to find out.
‘I know the feeling.’
The server hands over her drink, along with the slip to sign the cheque to her suite. For some reason I find myself squinting at the receipt as she scribbles.
Shit. What now I’m like some sort of stalker?
Clearly, the heat is getting to me.
Or she is.
My attempts at glimpsing her name are futile. She snaps the leather bound receipt closed before I can ascertain a single thing about her.
Twisting her torso back to me, her eyes fixate on mine and my pulse spikes. I’ve never experienced attraction like it. ‘So do you come here often?’ She reaches for her cocktail. ‘To escape work, family, expectations and life in general?’
‘Careful, Irish. That sounds like a pickup line.’ I grin.
‘Irish?’ She inclines her head, and my focus falls to her slim elegant neck. What I wouldn’t do to mark it with my mouth. Mark her as mine for however long she’s here.
‘Well, I have to call you something seeing as we’re not exchanging names.’
‘Huh.’ She flicks her glossy hair from her shoulder. My gaze follows the motion, drinking in the smooth lines of her clavicle. ‘I suppose I’ve been called worse.’
‘By who?’ I inch closer until I’m a hair’s breath away from her. The scent of her citrus perfume floods my senses. I lower my voice. ‘I have connections—if you want them dealt with.’
