Trace shut the door and escorted me into the building. We headed into the building, found the elevators, and entered them. I was grateful we were the only two going up.
“You didn’t hear anything from the back seat, did you, Mr. Adams?” I was still disoriented and aroused as hell. I could feel my nipples pressing against my teal bra under my turquoise blouse.
“You did appear to be talking in your sleep, Miss Davenport,” he replied matter-of-factly.
Oh, my God.I wanted to say something. To make an excuse. To ask him what I actually said in my sleep. My chance, though, disappeared quickly as the elevator bell rang to show we’d arrived at the top floor.
He better have a fucking hot bath ready for me.
Chapter8
The Penthouse
Instead of a penthouse suite,I stepped from the elevator into the restaurant at the top of the Huntley Hotel: The Penthouse. The sounds of conversation, glass and cutlery, and the bright lights of the restaurant assaulted my senses and dazed me. I stepped shakily forward as Trace moved in front of me and I followed him to the maitre d.
No bubble bath here.
“Miss Davenport is joining Mr. Baxter,” Trace said to the man dressed in a black suit with a white shirt.
The maitre d motioned to a server who guided us through a multitude of tables with shiny black tops and white cushioned chairs. The walls of the restaurant were floor to ceiling windows, which now gave a nighttime view of the ocean and city lights below. Many tables were near those windows and everyone chattered away or laughed at someone’s joke or story.
The server guided us to a white-topped table near a window with off-white couch seating and one chair. The window had a view of the bay and the far-off cliffs. A white chandelier with soft-white bulbs centered over the table and a wine ice bucket stand sat ready beside the table with a chilled red wine nestled in it.
Dirk scanned me as I approached—from my high heels to my pencil skirt to my turquoise blouse. He had that same gaze that excited me at the Cherry Pie Gentleman’s Club and it pulled me towards him. He looked famished and ready to devour me.
I could feel my face blush and extend down my neck. My heart rate quickened. That same magnetism that made me dance for him that night, that made me take off my top as I danced on stage for him, and that made me venture into the Cherry Pit to give him a private lap dance—and more—was in full force tonight. I became more aware of the slight wetness that I experienced in the Navigator dreaming about him. I approached the table with slow, deliberate steps.
Trace motioned for me to sit in the wrap-around seating, but I took the chair right across from Dirk. Trace politely pulled it out and pushed it in.
“Will that be all for now, sir?” Trace asked his boss.
“Yes. Stay in the building. We will both need rides home.” Dirk addressed Trace with an even tone, neither dismissive nor overly caring. Professional.
I sat my bag with my laptop and personal items on the seat beside me. Before I could even address Dirk and his disappearing act, a server appeared and asked for my drink order. I scanned the menu quickly and settled on the Watermelon Cucumber Mojito. When the server left, I placed my hands on the table before me, elbows out, and one hand over the other, as if creating a magical barrier between Dirk’s draw on my sexual energy and myself.
“You do know how to get a hold of me at my office?” I asked, my voice dripping with snarkiness.
“I do, but I felt we needed a meeting on neutral ground.” His look went from seducing-the-hell-out-of-me to a poker-faced look bordering on sheepishness, like a wolf who’s sworn off sheep but can’t help but salivate in the presence of one.
“Something tells me you do well in this type of place.”
“I hold my own here.”
“Then it doesn’t appear to be that neutral,” I replied.
“I was hoping we could talk and not make—”
“… a scene,” I cut him off. We weren’t in my office. I had no desire to let him finish. He owed me an explanation.And a bubble bath.
He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.
I couldn’t help but notice the view behind him, even in my suddenly simmering state. City lights curving along the beach, the hills above Malibu, and the shimmering of the moon on the ocean all set such an enchanting picture outside the window beyond Dirk.
When Dirk opened his eyes, his penetrating stare from those dark eyes of his melted me. I had to hold on to my anger, but it felt like holding on to a glass on a hot day with slick condensation on it from the melting ice. I’m supposed to be his therapist, but that seemed impossible after the carnal relations we shared at the Cherry Pie Gentleman’s Club.
My drink arrived just as he started to say something. The mojito looked amazing, and I took a sip as Dirk ordered a charcuterie tray with meats, cheeses, and pate. When the server left, he turned that gaze on me again and leaned forward.
“I have no desire to make a scene. That much is true,” he said, his voice low. “And I want to apologize for not arriving for my appointments. I had—”
