“Oh?” She came forward. Hips swaying. Hair shining. Eyes trusting. “Why?”
Christ, she couldn’t leave it alone. “Because I can’t be alone with you right now.”
I need public spaces and judging eyes.
I need to be reminded that I’m me and you’re you and whatever we’re trying to create can never work.
“Oh…” That one little word could be delivered in so many ways.
“Yes, oh.” I rolled my eyes and prowled to the door. She padded beside me with a soft smile on her lips. “I understand.”
Our eyes met.
Lust ignited.
And I knew she did understand.
All too well.
* * * * *
“A table will be ready in ten minutes, Mr. Prest,” the smartly dressed, middle-aged maître d said. “Can I perhaps interest you in a drink at the bar while you wait?”
I wanted to say no—that alcohol had no place in tonight’s activities—but I needed to do something with my hands to prevent from reaching for Pim. Maybe, for once, liquor would calm me rather than wind me up further.
I nodded. “Fine.”
“Great. Right this way.” The maître d guided us forward through the richly decorated restaurant to an intimate mood-lit bar. I’d chosen Hôtel de Paris’s signature eatery, partly because I needed to be close to our room in case I lost my shit, and partly to ensure Selix wouldn’t have an aneurysm for sending his protection away.
Pim was wearing on my self-control. In the elevator down here, I’d pressed myself against the glass wall and pretended I wore a straitjacket to prevent reaching for her. In the short walk across the lobby, I’d resisted the urge to bite my knuckles every time I glanced at her perfect ass.
If she broke my remaining restraint, then at least I had a room to vanish into before the world saw me snap.
I made the mistake of looking at Pim’s hips again as she moved in front of me, climbing seductively onto a velvet flocked bar-stool. I was so used to seeing her barefoot or in flat sandals, I hadn’t taken into consideration just how fucking sexy she’d be when wearing heels. How her natural step would switch from temptation to pure fucking addiction.
“What can I get you?” the bartender asked, his hair shaved on the sides and crew cut on top. His uniform matched the rest of the hoteliers with its sleek navy waistcoat and deep blue embroidery.
The colours reminded me of the ocean and how much I missed being on it. If I was on the Phantom, I would strip off my suit and dive into the cool waves. I wouldn’t come up for air until I’d suffocated every piece that had no willpower left when it came to Pim.
Gritting my teeth against the urge to count the stitches on his lapel or shove away an extra bowl of nuts on the bar because the numbers were even rather than odd, I waited for my date to order.
However, she glanced at me instead. The heavy weight of silence settled over her. Her eyes pinched with apology and worry—hinting she was used to talking to me but wasn’t ready for this—wasn’t ready for eager bartenders, five-star hotel escapades, and upcoming sexual encounters.
She was strong. Yet I kept forgetting how terrible her life had been, how much she had to overcome just to sit here with me and not sob into a martini.
Accepting her need not to speak to strangers and understanding her crutch because I had my own, I ordered for her. “She’ll have a tequila sunrise.”
Her lips parted.
I didn’t know if it was in approval or denial, but I added, “Make that two.”
“Right away, sir.” The bartender turned to create our drinks while Pim’s eyes remained locked on mine.
“What?”
She shrugged, taking a napkin from the bar and curling the edges. “Nothing.”
“It’s not nothing.”
“I just—”
I reached out, stilling her hands on the napkin. “Just what?” Her skin blazed beneath mine, electric and intoxicating. Touching her made me want to touch more and more and fucking more. I wanted to stroke, lick, and adore every inch. The itchy, overwhelming need crackled in my blood, begging me to let go and just give in.
To forget this sham of a dinner and go back where prying eyes wouldn’t judge. To layer Pim with warnings about how close I was to snapping and make this her fault when I finally broke.
But I didn’t.
I wouldn’t.
Letting her go, I nodded in thanks as two glasses of orange juice, tequila, and grenadine were placed in front of us. “You can use silence on others, Pim, but not on me.”
She sipped her drink, wincing at the potent taste of alcohol while avoiding my question. Giving her a few moments, I drank my own. The tartness of citrus didn’t help my on-edge mood.
A soft whisper beside me. “You don’t drink.”
I stilled, placing the glass back onto the bar, and turned to face her. “How do you know I don’t drink?”