‘Neither do I,’ he says solemnly, crossing his heart in a boy scout-like gesture. ‘Actually, I’m not usually allowed,’ he confesses, running a hand through his dark crew cut.
‘I can see why, if this is what you’re like sober.’ I smooth my dress down. He stares with an unhealthy interest.
‘One glass won’t hurt either of us.’ He pops the cork swiftly before I can decline again.
‘Us’ sounds so natural rolling from his tongue. He’s good, I’ll give him that. Clearly, he’s had a lot of practice.
Thankfully I’m an expert in resisting male advances. Though I’ve never been so physically tempted this way before. I know nothing about him, and what I do know I don’t even like, but there’s something astonishingly appealing about his abhorrently caveman-ish approach. Despite the arrogance, he exudes the most infuriating sex appeal of any man I’ve encountered.
I’m painfully aware of the proximity of the king-sized bed. As is he, since he glances at it twice while I reluctantly search for a couple of wine glasses.
What am I doing?
I’ve lost the plot. His pheromones are driving my ovaries insane. His subtle masculine scent taunts my nose, sharp cinnamon with wooden undertones.
‘One drink. Then you’re leaving.’ I hand him the glasses.
‘Most women say thank you when a man arrives at their door with champagne.’ He gazes intently over my trembling body again, unashamedly undressing me with electric eyes.
‘I’m not most women.’ I take a step back again, aware that there’s only three more steps that I can take before I land on the bed.
‘So I gather. Tell me.’ He bends forwards, pouring the foaming liquid. ‘Who are you exactly?’
Does he already know? I could be alone in a hotel room with a crazy stalker who likes to wear women’s clothing and jerk off to my show. I scoff at the implausibility of it. I can’t imagine this man being stuck for female company.
‘I’m Abby,’ I tell him as Esmerelda’s words replay in my head. Her remark about me being a passionate lover doesn’t seem quite as funny now. If Mr Hot Robe Guy reveals his name is Patrick, I might literally keel over and die.
And if I did, that would come fairly close to ticking all three of Esmerelda’s boxes.
‘Abby’s a beautiful name.’ He clinks his glass against mine. ‘I’m Callum.’
Relief and disappointment seep into my skin, washing over me like a tidal wave. I exhale the breath I’m unknowingly holding.
‘Are you here alone?’ My curiosity around Callum piques.
‘Careful now, Abby, that sounds suspiciously like a pick-up line,’ he warns with a suggestive wink. Even I have to laugh at that. He’s charming and funny, no wonder he’s unbearably arrogant.
‘I can assure you of one thing with complete and utter certainty. I am not trying to pick you up. Or any man for that matter.’ There, it’s out in the open. Now I can enjoy my drink.
‘Are you spoken for?’ He glances pointedly at my ringless fingers.
‘Is it that hard to believe that a woman just doesn’t want you?’ It’s harsh even for me, but delivered with a smile. I don’t mean to be a bitch, but I can’t afford for him to get the wrong impression here.
‘Don’t hold back, hey. You ever seen a grown man cry?’ He places a huge hand over his heart in mock offence.
‘It’s not you. I just don’t date. I haven’t in years.’ I admit more than I intended.
‘I’m not asking you on a date… More like an experience, I suppose we might call it. A private tour? It could be our little secret?’ He eyes the bed again suggestively. I slap him playfully on the arm for the second time today. Instead of being offended, I’m stupidly flattered.
His bicep’s rock-solid beneath my fingers, which linger several seconds longer than necessary. It doesn’t go unnoticed. My mouth says one thing, but my defiant body screams another. I need him to leave.
‘Absolutely no chance. You’ve already outstayed your welcome.’ I sink the last mouthful of Moët and usher him pointedly towards to door. Secrets never remain a secret for long.
‘Not even a kiss?’ He chances, playful outrage etches onto his eternally hopeful face.
I admire his persistence, like a teenager out for the shift. ‘No.’ I’m firm, though surprisingly secretly tempted. Maybe it’s being in this beautiful hotel, the fact I’m away from every part of my normal life or the idea it could remain our secret. This is the closest I’ve come to wanting to kiss a man in years, and it has to be a man-whore of all people.
He hovers in the doorway before finally accepting defeat. ‘Nice to meet you, Abby.’ His tone’s tinged with regret.
‘Enjoy your night, Callum.’
‘I intend to.’ He saunters arrogantly down the corridor.
His effortless ability to embark on the next conquest stings. And that’s precisely the reason I don’t get involved with men. They tend to hurt me.
