Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 63311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Shit. What happened to my cool?
Butterflies whirled in my chest as awareness zipped through my veins. I couldn’t tell if it was his touch, his cunning expression, or a combination of the two, but in that instant, I sensed I’d met someone special. It was in the slide of his palm, the firm squeeze of his fingers, and the wily tilt of his full lips. I had the sudden feeling of being pulled in by a magnet…or a spider web.
The lure to lean into the zip of electricity was strong. It was slightly dangerous and very intoxicating.
I played with the edge of the cocktail napkin under my martini glass and tried to think of where to steer the conversation. I didn’t care what Graham did for a living, and I definitely wasn’t interested in discussing my upcoming gig as a budding assistant to an assistant, so I went with the safe option and asked a gazillion questions about England.
Was it easy to navigate? Were the people nice? Silly stuff I could learn on my own. But this was good. Graham could do the talking while I got my libido under control.
Did I mention this man was fucking hot?
And nice too. He didn’t seem to mind playing tour guide from a barstool. I learned that London itself was the smallest city in England and was also called the Square Mile, but that Greater London was home to over eight million people. Graham drew a mini diagram of the financial district and the Thames on my cocktail napkin, and assured me I’d have no problems getting around on the Tube. I got lost easily so that probably wasn’t true, but I nodded and asked more questions to keep him talking.
Graham’s melodic voice got deeper and raspier as he spoke about topics he seemed to enjoy—like football, rugby, museums, and theater. I didn’t have the heart to tell him I didn’t know anything about sports, and that I wouldn’t be able to afford a theater ticket till I had a few paychecks under my belt, but I loved art. He insisted I should go to the British Museum and chatted about important pieces there, like the Rosetta Stone.
I concentrated on the low rumble of his words as I snacked on bar nuts and sipped water, wisely pushing my third martini aside. I had no intention of flying with a hangover tomorrow. And honestly, I didn’t want to dull my senses and miss anything, even a weather update from this man.
“You never know what to expect in April. It was colder than a witch’s tit last week, and of course, it rained.”
I waited for the hard-to-pass-up quip about my name. Raine should always be ready for rain. Ha, ha, ha. Gee, I’d never heard that one before. But no…his lips curled in a lopsided half smile as he fished his credit card from his wallet and signaled to the bartender.
Oh. This was over.
I mean, okay, that was fine. Graham was too old for me, too sophisticated, too worldly, too…hot. Then again, I had one night left in the States and this was fucking Vegas. I had the ultimate one-night hall pass to do practically anything I wanted.
I thanked him when he paid the tab and followed him outside, shivering at the drop in temperature. I rubbed my arms and wracked my brain for a witty remark, but all I could come up with was the world’s worst pick-up line.
“So…really. What was a guy like you doing in a shit hole like that for real?” I gestured to the nondescript building and the flashing sign bathing us in ugly rainbow neon. “We’ve established that I’m an idiot who should have done a bit more research, but you—there’s gotta be more to your story. There’s no way you come here regularly for a drink.”
Graham read a message on his cell and glanced up. “I was there for the same reason you were, even if you’d hoped for more auspicious surroundings.”
“I—huh?”
“A quick fuck off the beaten path. No muss, no fuss,” he clarified with a laugh.
“Oh.”
“Don’t look so scandalized,” he chided, slipping his phone into his pocket.
“I’m not. I just didn’t…think you’d be so honest?” My voice cracked and broke my reply into a question mark.
He shrugged. “Bull Rider is notoriously reliable for scratching a certain itch.”
“Got it. Well, you’re going to miss your chance if you leave now. There’re willing creepers at the bar still.”
“I’m going to pass tonight.”
“Ouch. Now I feel bad. I had no idea I was being a cockblock.”
“Don’t be silly. I have no regrets, and I quite enjoyed our conversation.” Graham smiled warmly. “Best of luck to you in London.”
“Thanks. I—wait.”
“Yes?”
“Does that mean you’re not interested in—” I snapped my mouth shut as heat instantly flooded my cheeks. Oh. My. God. “Never mind. I…it was nice to meet you.”