‘Those who fear heights can be treated through varying therapies developed to help deal with the range of symptoms ... ’ I keep up a steady stream of clinical observations and statistics—some made-up, though mostly fact—as we make our way into the hotel lobby and, subsequently, the lift. Thankfully, though the interior is also largely glass, the elevators are a little more traditional. I can’t imagine I’d be able to distract her from whizzing upward towards the twelfth floor while encased in a glass box.
As we reach our destination, a greeter scans our invitation before wishing us a pleasant evening. Sadie’s face is a picture as she suddenly takes in the view; the wall of glass, the terrace, and the buildings beyond.At least, the tops of them.
‘I-I can’t,’ she murmurs, wide-eyed and terrified.
‘We don’t have to go outside. We can sit at the bar and turn our back to the view.’ I take both her hands in mine, trying not to focus on the plum colour of her lips, the slick sliding of them as she rubs them together.I wonder what she’ll taste like.‘And I’ll be here the whole time.’
The way she looks at me—I can’t quite explain. Trust and a mixture of something obedient. Whatever it is, fuck, it makes me feel good.
‘Nothing ventured, nothing gained,’ she murmurs, her gaze faraway.
‘That’s the spirit.’ I feed her hand into the crook of my arm and head for the bar.
Air Bar. I’ve been here before. It strikes me as the kind of place only a total knob would book for his own birthday party. Who plans a birthday party for themselves, for Christ’s sake? I’d read the invitation that had fallen from her purse and know instinctively that he has. Whoeverheis to her. And that’s not clear yet. Unfortunately, the invitation didn’t say. It was just headed by a line from a 50 Cent song.
The unoriginal fuck.
He could be an ex that she’s still hung up on, but I doubt it. She seems too nervous, even taking account of the view beyond the terrace. It’s has to be someone she’s interested in romantically. Sexually. A woman doesn’t wear a dress like that and expect to be ignored. Because, as we walk through the bar, weaving through tables heavy with linens and glassware, heads turn, and eyes follow us. More specifically, men’s eyes follow her, tracking the natural sway of her hips while mentally undressing her.Men. What can I say? We’re largely bastards.
And I would know. We’re all competitors in this game, and as she’s on my arm, I feel a certain level of triumph. Even if the notion is misguided. Even if she’s here because she’s interested in some other fuck. It’s my arm she’s on, and if I have anything to do with it, it’ll be my arm she leaves on tonight.
Hopefully with her knickers in my pocket.
What I’m trying to say is, given the opportunity, I’d bang her senseless to disabuse her of the notion she needs someone other than me tonight.
‘Is that Saint Paul’s Cathedral?’ she asks, her feet coming to a halt, her expression a little awestruck.
‘One and the same. If you feel brave enough to go out onto the terrace, you’ll get a better look.’ Only the tip of the dome can be seen from inside. ‘There’s a great view out there of the city skyline.’ She answers with grimly gripped lips and a quick shake of her head. If it’s possible, she moves even closer to me. ‘The bar it is.’ I take the opportunity to place my palm low on her back, unprepared for the warmth and charge of the contact.
If Sadie feels it, too, she doesn’t say.
‘What would you like to drink?’ I ask, once we’re at the bar. Thankfully, we’re not fighting to be served, but maybe it’s still early. Or maybe I’m being generous, and the fucker, whoever he is, isn’t as popular as he thinks he is.
‘I’ll get them,’ she says, opening her clutch.
‘I don’t think so.’ She looks up at my dark tone, her lashes fluttering rapidly.
‘But . . .’
But get fucked. ‘Do I look like a man who’d allow you to go Dutch?’
‘I’m not asking for permission,’ she says, her spine straightening.
An expression I can’t quite read slips across her face, then I’m taken aback as she places her hand on my chest, tips up onto her toes, and brings her mouth to my ear.
To anyone looking on, the moment would seem sublimely intimate. Even my body seems to be having a hard time separating the action from the intention—and I do mean hard. Everything tightens; my muscles under her fingertips and my dick beneath my belt. I inhale a deep lungful of her perfume, a subtle floral scent, as she brings her lips to my ear.
‘I’m not sure if my friend is paying your services by the hour or if there’s a flat fee, but I do know she’s not going to pay for our drinks.’
As she lowers once again, I cover her hand with my own, preventing her from moving away.
‘Congratulations. No one’s ever made me feel like an actual prostitute before.’Sadly.
Never let the truth get in the way of a good story, I say.
Her gaze clouds for a beat, her expression softening with regret.Perfect.
‘I didn’t mean to be rude.’
