by S. J. Tilly
Opening my eyes, I do my best to act casual. “I am. Thanks to you.”
His appearance is just as jarring now, as it was the first time I laid eyes on him. Only this time he’s standing closer. Too close. His dark eyes studying me intently. Searching for the lie in my words.
“Really, I’m okay.” I force a small smile onto my face. “Can I buy you a drink?”
Somehow, his face gets even more serious. I can’t read the emotion. Disapproval? Disappointment? My cheeks flush when I understand how inappropriate my offer must’ve sounded. Here he was, saving me from unwanted advances and the second Mr. Idiot disappears I basically hit on the guy.
I instantly backpedal. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I meant to offer a drink as a thank you. Payment for your services or whatnot. You wouldn’t have to drink it with me.” And just like that, I’m rambling.
I clamp my mouth shut and turn forward. Attention on my wine. Maybe if I stop talking and pretend he isn’t there, he’ll fade away and I can believe none of this ever happened.
Spinning the stem of my wine glass, I watch through my periphery as he pulls out the stool next to mine. What is he doing? He can’t honestly want to sit here. With me. But that’s exactly what he does. Now I’m really lost. Do I start over? Run away as fast as I can?
I try not to notice how graceful he is, as he seats himself next to me. His foot bumps against the leg of my stool, and I think it’s on purpose.
“No.” His gravelly voice sounds beside me.
That’s it. That’s all he says.
Ugh, time to woman up. Pretending my high-waisted black pants and emerald silk blouse give me superpowers, I slowly turn in my seat. He’s already turned himself towards me, so I find myself facing the Devil head on.
Meeting his eyes, I stay silent. I may have sounded like a simpering nitwit a moment ago, but I’m going to act like a mature adult now.
The side of his mouth pulls up. “I’m sorry, but no. I can’t let you buy me a drink. Call me old fashioned.”
That’s not exactly a clear answer. Old fashioned like he won’t let a woman pay? Or old fashioned like he’s married and he won’t have a drink with a woman who isn’t his wife? Or old fashioned like he’s a rich attractive man who’ll only drink with startlingly gorgeous women half his age?
The bartender interrupts my musing. “Sir, is there something you’d like?”
First the bartender calls me miss, now he calls the Devil sir. He’s so damn proper with these titles.
“I’ll have what she’s having,” the Devil says as he gestures towards my wine.
And then before I can object, he hands the bartender cash. I wasn’t prepared for it, so I didn’t get a good look, but it seemed like a lot more money than necessary. Either that or drinks here are way more expensive that I thought.
“It was kind of you to offer.” The Devil says to me. “I can’t recall the last time a beautiful woman offered to pay for my drink. But I can’t in good conscience let the woman pay.” I open my mouth to argue, but he holds up one of his large hands. “I’m all for equality, but until the glass ceiling breaks and women make the same as men, dollar for dollar, I’ll be the one buying.”
Well, shit. He’s stunning and progressive. And let’s not forget that he called me beautiful. I don’t even know what to say to all that.
The bartender sets down the glass of wine with a nod towards me. “I think you broke her, sir.”
The Devil smirks.
I blink away the shock. “My apologies. With how easily you handled Mr. Idiot back there I was expecting you to be more of a macho, pretty-body-empty-brain caveman type. Not, well, not whatever the hell you are. Some sort of goddamn unicorn.”
Just as I think I may have stepped too far out of line; his lips pull into a full smile. “You think I have a pretty body?”
Feeling the tension break, I roll my eyes. “If that’s all you heard then maybe my original assessment was correct.”
“No taking it back. You called me a unicorn, it’s on the record now.”
“On the record? Okay, counselor.” I study him closer. “So, who’s the girl? There’s got to be at least one woman in your life to make you so attuned to things like harassment and equal pay.”
If I wasn’t staring at him so intently, I would have missed his smile tightening.
“My mom is very… let’s call it outspoken.” His tone is still light, but I can feel its fakeness.
“Moms will be like that -” I reply.
“Is it safe to assume you’re here for work?” he asks, his eyes doing a quick sweep of my body.
His sudden change of topic is obvious, but I don’t fight it. Even though I ditched my black suit jacket after dinner, I still look very much like the businesswoman that I am. I don’t have many vices, but clothes are one of them. Luckily, I make enough money to indulge myself. My style tends towards simple but tailored. Accentuating the curves I like and hiding the ones I don’t.
I nod. “I am here for work, but tonight is my vacation. And as with any good vacation, I’d rather not talk shop.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” The Devil said, sounding sincere.
I probably shouldn’t continue to call him the Devil in my head, one of these times I might say it out loud.
As if he can read my mind, he extends his hand. “I’m Vincent. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
When my palm slides against his, I feel the friction all the way to my center. His hand is so large that mine disappears inside his grip. His fingers are warm. His hold on me firm. The rough spots are a welcome surprise. He’s a man who knows how to use his hands.
“Sasha.” My voice comes out breathy.
“Sasha.” Vincent repeats. My name sounds like pure decadence on his lips.
I roll Vincent’s name in my mind and find that it fits. I’ve never known a Vincent before. It’s unique, dark, and a touch exotic. There’s a chance that I might be projecting.
“Thank you.” I tell him. “I mean it. If you hadn’t intervened, I’m not sure what would’ve happened.”
“You don’t have to thank me, but since you seem to insist, you’re welcome. I’m only sorry I didn’t break his arms sooner.”
“Is that what told those security guys to do to him? Take him out back and break his arms?” I raise an eyebrow.
“Now, now, Sasha. No work talk, remember.” He scolds playfully.
I laugh. Cute, smart, and witty. This guy has to have a bad side. He needs to. It’s not fair to the rest of us mere mortals if he’s really this perfect.
I decide to change the topic as abruptly as he did earlier. “So, Vincent, what’s the last book you read?”
When he chuckles, the vibrations make me realize that I’m still clinging to his hand. I let go, but Vincent is slower to release. The slow glide of skin on skin feels horribly erotic and I do my best to stop the shiver that crawls up my arm.
“The last book, hmm? I’m a bit embarrassed to say that I don’t remember the name of it. But it was a Mark Greaney novel. I usually have at least one thriller going at a time.”
“Fair enough. I’ll admit there are books I’ve read without ever looking at the title.” I said, telling the complete truth.
“And you? What’s the last book you read?” He asks.
“A J.D. Robb novel. I don’t remember the title either.” I lie.
“You’re lying.” Vincent narrows his eyes on me.
I shrug. “Perhaps.” I’m not going to admit to a title with the word naked in it. Not to him. Not right now.
Vincent’s heated look causes a swarm of butterflies to take flight in my uterus. I take another sip of wine to calm them.
“Do you prefer physical books or the digital versions?” He asks.
“Both.”
“Explain.”
I don’t know how a single word command can be sexy, but with Vincent speaking it, it is.
“I get all of my favorites as physical books. But I love
the ease of a digital novel. Being able to finish one book in a series and immediately start the next is my kind of lazy convenience. Not to mention having the app on my phone. Like right now for example, say you start to bore me, but I’m not done with my wine yet.” I tip my head towards my glass.
“Extremely likely -” Vincent grins.
“Indeed. And if that’s the case I simply pull out my phone and start reading. Couldn’t do that with a real book.” I gesture towards my small purse.
“I concede to your reasoning.” Vincent gives me a slight bow, never breaking eye contact. “I’ll do my best not to bore you.”
CHAPTER THREE
SASHA
O ne hour and another glass of wine later, I can solemnly swear I have not been bored. In fact, I’m completely taken by Vincent. He’s so much more than just a lickable face. He’s smart. Like genius level smart. And clever. Not sure he’s funny exactly, he’s too guarded for that, but my oh my he’s a fun time. And he’s even closer. Closer than he was when he first sat down.
The volume of the crowd around us has increased, and instead of talking louder, we’ve gravitated towards each other. At one point, Vincent reached over and single-handedly pulled my stool closer to his. The arm strength he demonstrated had me biting my lip. We were still facing each other so he had to spread his legs in order to accommodate my knees. And now with one arm on the bar and one stretched to the backrest of my chair, he has me trapped. I’m surrounded by his heat. His scent. His overwhelming presence. And I’d willingly drown in it.
I’m blaming my next words on that. On the fact that he’s muddied my senses and made me nearly suicidal with lust.
“Vincent…” I pause, then swallow down my nerves. “Would you like to come up to my room?”
I swear his impossibly black eyes darken.
Instead of answering, he stands. He doesn’t push his stool back. He doesn’t turn. He just stands. He’s tall. Taller than I remember. His legs are still straddling mine, now with more contact than before. He places a hand on the back of my arm, pulling me up to join him.
On my feet, I catalog the fact that the top of my head comes up to about his shoulder. With my five-foot five frame, I’d put him well over six feet. But instead of feeling frightened, I feel safe. I know I shouldn’t. I don’t really know him. I definitely shouldn’t have invited him to my room. I should walk away. But I won’t. I’m sick of playing it safe. I’m sick of nights alone. I’m sick of boring.
Bolstered, I tip my head back to look Vincent in the eye. He leans in and I think he’s about to kiss me. My breath catches and my lips part. But he stops short, reaching for something behind me.
“Can’t forget your purse.” Vincent says, holding out the offending item.
Fighting a blush, I take it. “Thank you.”
“Come.”
Again, with the one-word commands. His tone is demanding but not demeaning. He’s either a very direct man or one who’s used to getting his way. Probably both. But I don’t mind. Come is precisely what I plan on doing. And because I don’t want to overthink this, I’ll willingly take his commands all night.
Vincent grabs my hand, intertwining our fingers, and leads me through the crowd.
I know we’re on our way to have sex, but there’s something about the way he’s holding my hand that feels so intimate. So familiar.
I mentally chide myself. This might be my first real one-night stand, but I’m no blushing virgin. I can’t go into this overthinking every detail. I need to go into tonight with one thing on my mind. And one thing only. Pleasure.
After passing through the entrance of the bar, we end up in the main lobby of the large hotel. It’s actually more than a hotel, basically an event center, but thinking about this building would mean thinking about work. And work is not important. Not tonight.
Vincent turns right and it takes me a few steps before I realize that the elevators for my floor are the other direction.
I tug on his arm. “Um, we’re going the wrong way.”
Vincent glances down at me but keeps walking. “My room is this way. Hope you don’t mind.” His tone is sincere, but he doesn’t slow his steps.
I feel like I should argue, but really what difference does it make? It’s a hotel room. Not a dungeon. Not a cabin in the woods. And since I wasn’t planning to hook up with a stranger, I didn’t bring a single condom with me. Hell, I don’t think I even have any in my apartment. A guy like Vincent, he probably has one on him, but at the very least he’d have one in his room.
I comfort myself by thinking that this way, when we’re done, I can leave and go back to my own room. Hopefully, I’ll have time to catch a few hours of sleep.
Pleasure. I remind myself. I’m 30 not 80. I can survive a night of little sleep, especially if the price is an orgasm. Or better yet, orgasms. Oh, pretty please let there be multiple.
Vincent leads us around a corner to a pair of elevators I hadn’t noticed before, swiping a card to open the doors. Stepping inside he swipes his card again and the car starts to rise. No buttons pressed. Curious.
The ride up is swift and silent. The heat radiating from our palms has crawled up my arm and infused my entire body with awareness.
When the elevator doors open, we step out together.
This must be an expensive floor to stay on since I can only see a handful of doors. Vincent halts us to unlock his door and my brain’s so focused on the promise of sex, that I nearly miss the man standing against the wall a few feet down the hallway. The man nods a greeting to Vincent but doesn’t look at me. His clothing and demeanor make me think he must be part of the security team I saw downstairs. Strange that he’s hanging out up here, but if these are high-roller rooms then I guess it would make sense.
The second I step into the room, correction rooms, I know this is a world above where I’m staying. Vincent must be doing well for himself because this is clearly a pricey suite. And if the view out of the floor to ceiling windows is any hint, I’d say we’re on the top floor.
I only realize that my steps have slowed when my arm is tugged forward. Vincent’s still holding my hand. And we’re heading straight for the bedroom.
My heart rate picks up. This is it. This man is mine for the night. And I’m going to be his. I have no idea why this intimidating, sexy creature is interested in me, but I don’t care. I’m done second guessing myself.
The bedroom is just as grand as the rest of the space. The king-sized bed is centered in the room, looking out over the city. There’s an open bathroom door emitting the only light into the room, aside from the glow through the window.
“Sasha.”
My name, but still a command.
I turn to look up at Vincent just as he pulls me into his body. Our chests crash together and his free hand slides into my hair. His grip is immediate, and firm, and I groan against the pull. He tilts my head back and I shut my eyes, waiting for his lips to meet mine.
But they don’t.
I feel his lips against the shell of my ear. “Sasha.”
Still just my name, but no longer a demand. This time it’s a plea.
I arch into his grip. Pressing my breasts against his firm chest. He’s still holding my hand, almost painfully in his tightening grip. With my other hand, I reach up and touch his side. Even with his desire obvious, I feel unsure on just how to act, so my touch is tentative. Fingers pressing just hard enough to feel his firm body beneath the cotton.
Vincent growls, sinking his teeth into my neck. Not enough to hurt, not quite. But enough to claim. His act of ownership fans my spark of heat, igniting it into a confident flame. My fingers curl, transforming my soft touch into nails scraping through fabric.
Almost frantically, I tug his shirt free from his pants. And that’s all it takes. When my hands meet the bare skin of his stomach, he snaps.
Vincent uses his body to walk me backwards until I hit the edge of the mattress. He doesn’t stop his movement, crowding me until I fall back.
Switching his grip on my fingers he lets go of my hand for the first time since leaving the bar. The freedom is short lived. Vincent grabs my wrist, raising my hand over my head. Snagging my other wrist, he yanks it up to join the first as he climbs over me, straddling my waist.
I’m at his mercy, with my hands stretched over my head and my legs hanging off the bed.
In a move that speaks to sheer strength, using just his arms and core muscles, Vincent drags me up the bed until I’m laid out fully beneath him.
My squeak of surprise turns into a moan when one of his large hands closes over my breast. We haven’t even kissed yet. I don’t know if it’s some sort of Pretty Woman shit, or if he’s working up to it. But whatever it is, it’s working. I’m so goddamn turned on I might come just from the sight of him over me.
I want to touch him. Feel him. Lick him. But my hands are still being held down by one of his, immobilizing me.
The pressure on my chest disappears. I almost whine at the loss but his hand goes straight for the button on my pants. Flicking it open. His skilled fingers have my zipper down in a heartbeat. With one hand he’s only able to pull my pants partway down my hips. He won’t be able to get them off me without getting off the bed himself, but that doesn’t deter him. Still holding me down, still looming over me, Vincent’s hand slides down the front of my panties. I have a fleeting moment to be thankful that I shaved and put on a nice pair of underwear today. The thought disappears when his fingers find my core. I’m so wet. I’d be embarrassed, but when his fingers slip across my clit, I lose all ability to think. The contact has me clenching and moaning and squeezing my eyes shut.
“Fucking hell,” Vincent groans, his grip on my wrists tightening. “Look at me.”
My eyes pop open at his command. He’s only inches away. Watching me, my face, my expressions, so intently. His fingers continue to rub circles around my needy bundle of nerves. Every few passes he dips one inside of me. Never more than an inch. Just enough to tease. To make his fingers slick.
It’s torture. It’s too much. It’s not enough.
“Please.” I beg.