The smile already plastered on Allan’s face when he opened his door was equal parts welcoming and predatory. He thought he had my measure, those eyes wandering all the way down to my heel-clad feet and back up, before stepping aside to let me into his condo. I took my time looking around the entryway, shrugging off my puffy pink coat as if looking for a place to hang it. In reality, I was checking to make sure I wasn’t about to get jumped by another person. There was a slim chance Allan knew who I really was. That was part of the thrill.
“I admit, I didn’t think you were going to text me tonight,” he said ruefully. “Sorry the place is a mess.”
The place was not a mess. Aside from a cup on the low coffee table in front of a white sectional, there was hardly a sign someone lived here at all. All the counters in the kitchen were empty and spotless, the plush cream carpet was perfect, and there was nothing on the entryway table by the front door. It was more like the condo was ready for a realtor to show, not a bachelor pad for an obviously social person like Allan.
He crept up behind me and ran the backs of his fingers down my bare shoulders. Allan’s breath tickled the back of my neck just before his lips pressed against my nape. “I’m glad you could come,” he whispered into my skin, then his lips tightened as if smiling. “I think you’ll be coming more times than you thought tonight.”
I drew in a deep breath through my nose as if affected by the promise and stepped away, wobbling a little on my heels to appear a little tipsy. Then I leaned over to set the hot-pink patent clutch on his entryway table so I could turn and drape my arms around his shoulders. “I’m glad I could come, too.” His hands found their way onto my hips, and he squeezed a little. Ididn’t acknowledge his other quip and instead let him sit with that awkward pickup line he spoke into existence. He should feel awkward, after sending that sad excuse for a dick pic.
Fucking idiot.
Allan cleared his throat. “Drink?”
He waved a hand to the bar beneath the pass-through connecting the kitchen and living room. With the other hand on my back, he guided me to one of the stools and walked behind the opposite side of where the liquor was kept. I kept an easy appearance, bracing my elbows on the marble bar top and resting my chin on top of folded hands as I watched him duck out of sight. “Do you have any good bourbon under there?”
“Sorry, I’m more of a red wine guy.”
Strike one.
“Huh,” I mused. “I don’t remember you getting wine at the club.”
Allan peeked up briefly from where he was rummaging around the lower cabinets. “Yeah, who gets wine at a club?”
I shrugged, unbothered. “Plenty of people, in my experience. But carry on.”
He scoffed, and after a few seconds of bottles clinking and shifting around in the shelves, Allan pulled out two wine glasses and a cabernet with a triumphant smile. “Pardon me while I go open this bottle. I wouldn’t want you thinking any less of me, watching me struggle to get this cork out.”
I watched him slip out of sight in the L-shaped kitchen and took the time to spin on my stool and look around the open space. There was only one other door on the other side of the living room that likely led to the bedroom, and around the corner, to the right of the bar, the edge of a dining room table was barely visible if I leaned over. Along the right wall were several floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Vegas fromthe twentieth floor of this high-rise. It was a simple layout with limited options for hiding places if shit went sideways.
Perfect.
“Here you go!” Allan appeared at my elbow, two glasses full of dark red wine swirling in their glasses. I moved to take the one in his right hand, but he quickly swooped in to give the glass in his left.
Strike two.
My lips curled in what he probably thought was a coy smile. “Cheers,” I lifted my glass to tap his with a delicateclink.
“To new… relationships,” he answered. The words were innocent enough, but his eyes… those blue eyes tracked down my body like I was a piece of meat that he was sizing up in the butcher’s window. Allan watched as I brought the rim to my lips and tilted it as if to take a sip. However, he couldn’t see how tightly my lips were pressed to the glass, so a single drop couldn’t get through. I already knew this fucker’s game.
Another wide smile lit Allan’s face when my glass lowered, and he quickly followed with a drink of his own. But he was just a bit too slow, a bit too obvious that he was watching me closely. Like he was waiting for something to happen. “So,” I began. “What do you do for work?”
Allan shrugged. “Import and export, mostly. I’m a consultant for several shipping companies.”
Oh, I bet you fucking are.
“Sounds interesting. What kind of exports does an isolated place like Las Vegas have, I wonder?”
“Um, you know. All sorts of things,” Allan shifted, as if he were scrambling for a believable answer and coming up empty-handed. “Would you like to sit on the couch instead? I doubt the bar stool is all that comfortable.”
I shrugged. “I’m fine either way. Whatever you prefer.”
He gestured with an open hand toward the living, and I gave a gracious smile as I slipped off and moved ahead of him. I intentionally left the stemmed glass on the bar, curious to see what he would do if I left it behind.
“Oh, wait, don’t forget your wine!” Allan snatched it up almost too eagerly and pushed it toward my chest. I had to grab the glass or risk wearing the wine sloshing around inside.
Strike three, motherfucker.
“Let me ask you, now,” he tried to continue our conversation as he followed me down the steps to the sunken living room. I pretended to take another healthy drink of the wine before setting it on the coffee table and lowering myself carefully onto the sectional. Allan pressed closer, causing me to move one cushion over or risk being sat on. His leg brushed mine with how close he was, an arm slung behind me on the back of the couch. “What do you do for work? Or, do you work?”
