Page 9 of Hard to Love

“I believe that’s my question considering I asked you if you’d like a drink,” he says with a ghost of a smile.

We stare at each other for a beat, a small battle of wills over who’s in control, before I clear my throat and let him know what to order for me. It’s a small concession in the scheme of things.

He places our drink orders, his attention on the bartender, while mine is fully on him. “What exactly are we doing?”

Brilliant question, Stevie. Freaking brilliant. It takes everything I have not to roll my eyes.

“It seems self-explanatory. A drink or two. A little conversation. Perhaps some flirting.”

“Flirting?” I ask as he shifts in his seat, and I get the hint of a sculpted chest from beneath his open dress shirt.

“Yes. I’m more than certain a woman as gorgeous as yourself knows exactly how to do that,” he says as he slides money across the bar and hands me my drink.

“I’m sure I do.” There’s a moment where we stare at each other as if we’re the only two people in this bar. And it’s weird for me, not the being attracted to him part, but rather my almost desperate want for him to like me—when normally I couldn’t care less.

“So, Scarlett,” he says, “I take it you’re not from Vegas?”

“No. Just visiting.”

“And you decided that of all the men in the bar, I’m the one you want to target.” There is an aloofness in his tone. An incredulity to it that tells me he might not be game for my sudden interest.

I’m not sure how that makes me feel.

“Why am I getting the feeling that you find my interest in you hard to believe?” I ask as I play with the straw in my drink. “Should I be worried that I’ve picked the wrong man to set my sights on?”

He chuckles. “That remains to be seen . . . but I’m just curious as to why.”

“Why?” I ask.

“Yes. Why?” He glances over his shoulder and waves to where Vivi and Jordan are pretending miserably not to be monitoring what the two of us are doing. “How do I know this isn’t some game that you and your friends have concocted to see who could get a guy to bite first for some ridiculous prize? Or better yet, how do I know this isn’t some scam where you’re going to take me up to my hotel room, tie me up, and then the three of you are going to rob me blind?”

I stare at him, at his coy smile and playful eyes, and secretly love that he’s not a pushover. Too many men are when it comes to a beautiful woman and even the remote chance of getting lucky with her. Not that I know from personal experience or anything.

“Tying you up? That remains to be seen,” I say, repeating his words back to him and hoping the words come off as sexy when they feel so lame on my lips. “But one thing’s for sure, this isn’t a game, and I’m not a con artist.”

“Then what is it?” he asks as he swings my barstool so that both of my knees are between his, placing a hand on my bare leg.

My heart lurches at the connection, and I pray he doesn’t feel my pulse pounding beneath his touch.

“It’s me looking across the bar and finding you compelling and attractive. It’s me having one more night before I have to return to the everyday grind of my life and wanting to live a little.” I lean in close to him so he can smell my perfume and feel the heat of my breath against his ear when I whisper, “It’s me wanting to feel a little. Trust me when I say that’s all it is.”

“Trust is a tricky thing,” he murmurs as his fingers close around my wrist and hold it still. I meet him stare for stare and don’t back down until he murmurs, “Jesus,” and the rumble of that word has anticipation fluttering in my stomach.

“What about you? Should I guess? You’re here in Vegas for work. You’re some kind of high-power someone who enjoys being in control and telling people exactly what they should and shouldn’t be doing. While you’re not opposed to the temptations of the casino, it’s really not your thing considering your need for control, so what you really want is someone to hook up with. Someone who has no objections to a quick one-night stand where the woman you sleep with doesn’t tell you her real name nor promise to whisper sweet nothings in your ear. And after said fun, she walks out while you head to your meetings tomorrow no worse for the wear.”

“That’s quite a supposition,” he says, head angling to the side, and all traces of his playful smile are gone as he studies me.

“It is, but then again, it’s true, isn’t it?”

“Perhaps, but there is such a thing as coming on too strong.” He leans in close and whispers, “Anything worth wanting should be slightly harder to get.”

His words hit me in a way that’s foreign to me. Rejection isn’t something I’m used to, and I do believe he just rejected me.

“And yet you’re intrigued.” I run my tongue over my bottom lip to lick away a drop of my drink. He notices. He definitely notices. “Interested even.”

“Who said I was interested?” he asks as he shifts his gaze and then his head to eye a woman who walks past us.

I clear my throat. “Eyes on the prize, Rhett.”