Amusement sparkled in the pale blue of her eyes—he could see the color clearly now as she slid onto a stool on the other side of the bar, and he had the uncharacteristically whimsical thought that he could drown in that ocean of blue—and her smile deepened. “And how did you earn such a laudatory nickname?”
He returned her smile, keeping it light. Playful, in a way he was rarely ever able to be outside the club. “Ah, I could tell you, but a hands-on demonstration is so much more fun.”
Her brows rose, and for a second, he was hit with the unsettling feeling he did in fact know her. But he prided himself on never forgetting a face, and he knew damn well hers was a face no man would ever forget.
“I’m only here for the wine.”
Amused to be playing bartender, he stepped back, scanning the glasses set up neatly beneath the bar and selecting the appropriate one. “White or red?”
“Red. Dry.”
Turning, he looked over the wine selections, and felt her appraising him with the same critical eye he was giving the bottles in front of him. Her gaze was heavy, heated with curiosity.
Hopefully she liked what she saw.
When he turned back with a bottle of the petite sirah he favored, she did that little eyebrow raise again, and again he had that flash of recognition, though he still couldn’t quite pin it down.
Perhaps she’d come to the club with Lottie before. It was possible that he’d seen her in passing and simply not given her much attention. Which he highly doubted, but at the moment it was the only explanation that made any sense.
“I don’t think I’ve had this variety before,” she said as he poured the ruby liquid into her glass.
“It’s not as dry as a Cabernet, but I think you’ll enjoy it.”
“In my experience, men always think they know what a woman will enjoy. They’re very often wrong.”
He set the bottle off to the side, corking it with one of the reusable stoppers Tara kept behind the bar. And when he met his mystery woman’s gaze again, he let the corner of his mouth lift in a knowing smirk. “I think you’ll find I’m not other men. But go ahead, tell me if I’m wrong.”
Eyes locked on him, she lifted the glass to her lips, while he sipped at his whiskey and pretended not to watch the way the slender column of her throat worked as she swallowed. The need to feel her beneath him, her pulse against his palm, fear and excitement in her eyes as he slid into her wet heat was like a living thing inside him.
Down, boy.
In silence they both drank, their gazes locked, heat pulsing through his veins as he waited for her verdict.
“Not bad,” she said at last, and he couldn’t help but laugh.
“High praise, indeed.”
“It is, from me.” She took another drink, but this time she sighed a bit. “Okay, it’s lovely. Is that what you wanted to hear?”
“Only if it’s the truth.”
Her head cocked to the side, just a fraction, those pale eyes raking over him in a way that would have had a lesser man squirming. “Is that important to you? The truth?”
“It is. Especially here.”
“Why?”
“Because here is where I’m the most me. And I expect the same from my partners.”
He hadn’t actually meant to say that. Unease settled in his stomach, but he kept his expression neutral.
Never let them know what you’re really thinking, son.
His father’s words, that he’d taken to heart both in business and in bed. And yet, here he was, ready to bare his soul to a complete stranger for reasons even he couldn’t fathom.
Across the bar, his companion watched him, the barest hint of a smile playing on her lips. “Can I give you the truth without giving you my name?”
It was a standard practice in their circles. One he often employed himself, though by now the majority of the patrons here at Club BDE knew who he was anyway. So if she wanted anonymity, he wouldn’t be the one to deny her. “Yes. What would you like me to call you?”
