But then something occurs to me, and a smile tugs at my lips. I stop her as she’s passing me, close enough that I can breathe the words into her ear.
“Are you going against a client’s wishes?”
I see the way her red lips curl. “I guess I am.”
I can’t contain a smile of my own. “Good girl,” I whisper.
After I close the door behind her, I spin to see she’s sitting on the couch. She doesn’t look surprised, or disappointed, that we’re in a hotel room again. I guess she didn’t believe me last time.
“So,” she starts, crossing one leg over the other. “How was your week?”
I don’t answer. I simply walk over to her and gently pull her to her feet.
“Already?” she asks with a chuckle, brushing a finger down the front of my shirt.
I stop it in its path. “How do you feel about going out tonight?”
She freezes, just as I knew she would. Her eyes shoot up to mine. “What?”
“I didn’t exactly want to ask you through the agency,” I explain patiently. “I wasn’t sure how they would feel, or even howyouwould feel about them knowing. I didn’t want to ask about policies and things. But I meant what I said.”
When her eyes go wide, I realize she was hoping I was lying last time.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she says, clearly unsure. “Any new locations or date types need to be cleared with the agency.”
“The way you cleared it with them last time?”
“That was different,” she says defensively, head tilting up to me with a little sass. “And a unique situation. I’ve never done that before.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” I say as I smooth a strand of hair behind her ear.
Her eyes go wide again. And then the fear comes back, and she looks around the room.
“Anyway, why would you want to leave? We’re already here, the bed is right there. We could just?—”
“Scarlett,” I interrupt gently. “I meant what I said last time. No more hotels. No more sex. I’ll pay you, but I want dates. Real dates.”
Her eyebrows pinch. “Thesearedates.”
“Not real ones,” I say, shaking my head. “Not ones that matter.”
She doesn’t understand.
“And where exactly do you want to go that matters?” she demands.
Okay, that’s progress.
“I’ll give you a choice. Physical activity or sightseeing?”
“A physical activity? Is that why—?” She looks down at her legs, lips pursed. “Is that why you said jeans?”
I shrug. “Yeah, but you’re actually fine in that dress. I was more so suggesting something casual. Which I have a feeling is what this is for you.”
She seems so unsure of herself, looking down at her dress and shuffling her feet, that I find myself stepping forward and pressing a gentle kiss to her exposed shoulder. “You look beautiful,” I whisper. “You alwayslook beautiful.”
I canfeelthe way the tension leaves her body.
It drives a bolt of warmth through my chest.
