Her face is relaxed, giving me no clue about what she’s thinking. She tilts her head.
“Well, you have to now. No takebacks.”
My eyes nearly pop out of my head.
“Excuse me? Could you repeat that?” I ask.
“You have to screw me senseless now. It’s how this works. You implied I should go with you to your suite for sex, and you can’t?—”
“I never said that you should have sex with me. Or go to my suite.” I swear I’m actually sweating now.
She glares at me, but something about it doesn’t seem quite right, like it’s not mean enough. Then she laughs. A robust laugh. Hell, it’s practically a cackle.
After several long seconds of her relishing in her amusement, presumably at my distress, she moves to the stool nearest me and sits.
“You should have seen your face. I’m sorry. But heck, I needed that. You didn’t seem like you were trying to get lucky—no offense—but I had to test out my theory. I didn’t expect your reaction to be so funny. Thank you for that.”
I grunt at her. “Glad I could provide you with comic relief,” I say dryly. I take a sip of my drink.
Her smile falls away. “Shit, did I go too far? I’m sorry. It’s just, do you have any idea how hard it is for a woman to go out and not get hit on? I mean, Jesus, I’m in jeans and a summer blouse, and I’ve had three offers already tonight, including the bartender. I definitely would not tease him about going back to his room. He’d?—”
“What did he say to you?” I have to fight to control the timbre of my voice and keep the irritation out of it.
She rolls her eyes. “Nothing original… or effective. Oh, speak of the devil.”
I glance up, and the bartender is approaching with our bottle of Macallan for me to inspect before he opens it. I take it in my hand and smile, thinking of how much my dad loved a glass of Macallan. Once a year, he allowed himself to splurge and buy a bottle.
“Would you be able to have this sent up to his room, along with two fresh glasses and a bucket of ice? We’d like to share it there.” I nearly fall out of my seat at her words, but the stunned expression on the bartender’s face is priceless.
He looks at me, then back at her, before returning his confused gaze to me.
“Sir?”
“You heard the lady. Close out both tabs on my card and send the bottle up to my suite.”
“Yes, sir.” He takes the bottle from me and walks away.
“Oh, no. I don’t need you to pay for mine.” Her protest is sincere. She grabs the cash she left on the bar top and slides it over to me. “Here.”
I stand and wave off the money. Her cheeks turn red.
“Tonight’s my treat,” I say.
She holds my gaze for a few seconds, then looks at the forty dollars. When she tugs the corner of her lower lip between her teeth and looks between the bills and me one more time, her hesitation is palpable. When relief washes over her features, I know she’ll keep the money. It’s been a long time since that amount of cash made a difference in my life, and I hate that it clearly does for her.
“Thanks,” she says in a hushed voice. “That’s very kind of you.”
“My pleasure. Shall we?” I gesture to the bar entrance and follow her when she walks to and then through it, her steps sure.
Once outside of the bar area and heading toward the elevators, it strikes me that I have no idea what to call her.
“I’m sorry, but I just realized I don’t know your name.”
She stills for a moment, and her face betrays a nervousness in her I haven’t seen yet. She grasps a piece of her hair and twirls it with her fingers.
“Uh, I’m not sure we should give real names, right? Like, in case one of us is a creep.”
She’s probably correct.
