My heart gets a little fluttery for a few seconds. I don’t know why I love that he’s not carrying one, but I do. “Like an ‘if you know, you know.’”
“Exactly.”
“Perfect. Meet me in Room 210 in ten minutes,” I say.
Banks cups my cheek, soft this time, gentle. He presses a tender kiss to my lips. “I’m counting down.”
Then, he gives me the kiss I was expecting at first. A slow, heady kiss. A kiss that makes my mind feel hazy and my body warm. I’m melting into it and into him. He’s the most alluring mix of rough and tender, and I’m dying to experience more of him.
Maybe more of my own untested wishes tonight.
He breaks the kiss, leaving me wanting him even more, then runs his knuckles along my jawline possessively. “Whatever you want tonight, it’s yours.”
I want to explore my desires.“I’ll tell you when I see you in ten minutes.”
“You better,” he says. That dark look has returned, and he maneuvers a hand down my back, smacking my ass lightly but sending a message.There’s more where that came from.“Nine minutes and forty-five seconds now. Better get moving, Ripley.”
I hustle out of there so fast. I can’t wait for my night to really begin.
4
MY LUCKY NIGHT
BANKS
My dick hasn’t even had a chance to deflate when my phone rings thirty seconds later.
Annoyed at the interruption, I reach for the device in my back pocket where I’ve been happily ignoring it since I met the most interesting woman I’ve encountered in ages. I don’t want to deal with a phone call right now while my mind is lasered in on Room 210 and all the ways I want to make Ripley come tonight.
But you never know who’s calling. Could be Mom, or my sister Emily, or my landlord telling me a pipe’s burst. I guess pipes bursting are on my mind. I adjust myself surreptitiously in the booth, even though no one else is in this back corner of the bar. The phone bleats again as I wrestle it from my pocket.
It’s…
It’s a 415 number.
My heart sprints.
It’s the number of the San Francisco referral agency I met with a couple hours ago right here in this hotel where they conducted interviews with a few key candidates about a highly specialized contract job for a hush-hush client, they said. I flew up from Los Angeles for the meeting. Signed an NDA in advance, even though they didn’t share details of the client. But that’s par for the course in my field, where discretion and subtlety are mission critical. When the meeting ended, the guy told me they’d get back to me soon about the opportunity.
I figured that meant when the fuck ever, so hurry up and wait.
But a call mere hours later has got to be good. I try to tamp my excitement, but already I’m feeling damn good. Meeting a sexy-as-sin woman I vibe withandscoring a plum gig for our new firm in one night?
I’m not a guy who believes in luck. But maybe I should. I answer it. “Banks here,” I say, cool and professional.
“Hello, Banks. It’s Liam Halperin,” the man says. “We met earlier.”
I laugh lightly. “Yes, I remember.”
“Of course.” He clears his throat. “Listen, our client was impressed with your credentials, and they’re moving quickly on the project. Everything has come together quicker than expected. You know how it goes.”
In the booth, I sit up straighter, zeroing in on the call as my hard-on vanishes. It’s business time now. “I do.”
“We need to move fast and provide a full suite of services. And they’d like to hire your firm,” he says, then rattles off the parametersof the job and drops a key detail at the end. “And it’s a high-profile assignment.”
No surprise. Most of them are. That’s the nature of my business. “You’ll have our utmost discretion.”
“Excellent. Let me send you some more details over email. Then, we can connect you with the folks in the Los Angeles offices who handle logistics.”
