Pleasure Payback

The pulse between my legs throbbed harder, my breath fracturing the longer he stared.

Maybe it was his inability to look away, despite his words, that bolstered my confidence. Or maybe I was making excuses.

But for whatever reason I wanted to draw him out of the funk eating him up. I was in a celebratory mood and wanted someone to celebrate with. And he intrigued me. A lot. Enough for me to slide off my stool and venture closer, accepting that my motives weren’t wholly altruistic.

Long before my last boyfriend, Gray, had tossed his bags into the back of his Chevy and made a false promise to call when he reached his new job in Chicago eight months ago, I knew the relationship was as dead as the lacklustre sex we’d been having. When he’d failed to call, my primary emotion had been relief.

I hadn’t been fucked to anywhere near my satisfaction for longer than I could remember.

This stranger, with the harsh, handsome face, brooding eyes and wickedly sexy hands, could cure me of the ache between my legs. Barring that, he could make it so my evening wasn’t wracked with the last-minute doubts plaguing me. Doubts that had fuelled my decision to come down to the bar instead of celebrating solo in my room.

He watched me with a dark gleam in his eyes, his nostrils flaring as I paused with one stool between us. Slowly, he blinked, a slightly bewildered look whispering over his features, as if he couldn’t make up his mind whether I was friend or foe.

Walk away. Return to the safety of your suite.

My feet had other ideas though. They stayed put, compelled by that look in his eyes.

Time slowly ticked by, the atmosphere thickening as we stared at one another, acknowledged the dirty desire eddying around us.

‘You shouldn’t let it go to waste.’ He tapped a fingernail against the whiskey glass without taking his eyes off me.

‘It won’t if you drink it.’

His mouth firmed. ‘Do you make a habit of buying four-hundred-dollar shots for strangers?’ he asked, one eyebrow quirked.

This time eighteen months ago, that price tag would’ve made my eyes water. Not any more. Pride swelled inside me for all I’d achieved and I shrugged. ‘I can afford it. And you look like you need it.’

He stared at me for a beat, shifted closer and leaned down until his lips brushed my ear. ‘You don’t have the faintest clue what I need,’ he breathed, sending a wild shiver down my spine.

I swallowed as his scent—rich and earthy and mouth-watering—engulfed me. ‘Don’t I?’ I challenged faintly.

Hazel eyes ringed with darkness clashed with mine. ‘You’re looking for someone to tangle with. Nothing wrong with that. But I’m not your man.’ Despite his words, I heard the throb of betraying lust in his voice.

He wanted me, and that dark, torrid longing stopped me from calling quits to this strange but exhilarating exchange. I’d never done this before. But I’d never pulled a multimillion-dollar deal together before either.

His dark intensity was a little scary but that only amped up my buzz.

‘You take yourself far too seriously.’

His sensual lips twisted as he straightened. ‘You have no idea.’

‘Go on, enlighten me,’ I invited, aware that he hadn’t moved away. If anything, he’d leaned closer.

He stared at me for an age, myriad expressions flitting across his face. A few too fast to catch. Others lingered. Interest. Lust. Bleakness. Hard-edged determination.

‘It’s private,’ he finally said in a tone that reeked of deep, dark secrets.

‘If you want privacy, you shouldn’t have come to a bar.’

From close by, I heard the bartender’s swift intake of breath. I ignored it, keeping my attention on Tall, Dark and Acerbic.

‘Tell you what. Let me return the favour and we can call it even, hmm?’ He lifted a hand and beckoned the bartender.

I flicked my hand too, belaying the order. ‘No need. I’m all set. Two drinks is my limit anyway.’

He flicked a glance at my glass with something approaching approval. ‘That’s probably wise.’

I raised my glass, wrapped my lips around the thin straw and sucked. The cold tartness went nowhere near cooling the fires his darkened gaze stoked as it landed on my mouth. Beneath the soft layer of my black wrap cocktail dress, my nipples tightened, my skin tingling under his scrutiny.

Whoever this man was, his words were saying one thing but his body was betraying him mercilessly, broadcasting his interest.

Shamelessly feeding off it, I slowly swirled my tongue over my bottom lip.

Hunger, raw and potent, blazed in his eyes then slammed mercilessly into me.

‘Did you need something else, Mr Mortimer?’ the bartender interrupted.

He blinked, then frowned at the intrusion.

Mr Mortimer? Of The Mortimer Group? Inside, the butterflies in my stomach somersaulted. Surely that wasn’t a coincidence.

Did I really just try to buy the owner of this amazing hotel a drink?

The bold and reckless demon inside me grinned wide even as the less effervescent Neve cringed.

But why the hell not? He was wildly attractive, with the kind of sexual charisma that set women’s panties alight with alarming frequency. What was wrong with wanting a piece of that?

The grim set to his jaw put paid to that wild fantasy.

I was already at my two-drink limit, a hard cap I’d set myself after witnessing countless times what alcohol did to my mother. The dark depths of despair interspersed with endless bitter rants about the world at large and me in particular whenever she’d had more than a few. Much as I’d told myself that it was the alcohol talking, the barbs she’d thrown my way had found their mark.

Thoughts of my mother dampened my mood. Tucking my purse under my arm, I turned to the bartender. ‘Put the drinks on my room, please. Suite 6799.’

I felt Mortimer move, his shadow looming closer. My insides tightened, my pussy throbbing at the thought of further tussling with him.

But as much as I wanted that thrill, my screaming instincts had other ideas. Curbing the need for one last thirst-quenching look, I turned on my heel and walked out of the bar.

Twenty minutes later, fresh from a hot shower, I shrugged into the complimentary satin robe, tying the belt loosely around my waist. Drawn to the spectacular view, I was halfway across the carpeted suite when the hard triple-rap on the door froze my steps.

For some absurd reason my pulse jumped. It could be many things. The concierge delivering my final bill before I checked out tomorrow. The complimentary turn-down service listed among the numerous guest perks.

Still, my blood thrummed with excitement as I pulled the door open.

He stood with hands rammed deep into his pockets, his hair a little dishevelled and his tie still loose, exposing the beginnings of a mouth-watering, hair-dusted chest.

For a pulse-racing stretch of time, we stared at each other, neither of us making a move.

‘You shouldn’t blurt out your room number in front of strangers,’ he rasped, his gaze climbing from my legs to clash with mine.