So much for taking the rest of the night off. But if he had to go on the job again . . .
This Victoria was a stunning woman, with her blond hair up in a prim and proper bun that couldn’t detract from the sensuality of her porcelain skin and those enormous brown eyes. Doe eyes a more romantic man might call them.
Which was why Kip shied away from that description as soon as it popped into his head.
Victoria was also jumpy as hell. As he intentionally pressed his knee into the soft muscle of her inner thigh, her drink jostled in her hand, nearly splashing them both.
That’s when he noticed she was drinking whisky. He raised a brow as he scooted her cocktail napkin closer to her hand so she could set her drink down.
He didn’t subscribe to the belief that one’s drink choice was a reflection of the person—his own affinity for Blue Hawaiians was proof enough of a cocktail’s inability to diagnose personality—but straight whisky . . .
Damn if he wasn’t already impressed.
When she kept her fingertips near her drink, Kip set his own down and placed his hand a mere breath away from hers, the possibility of touch at any moment a latent promise.
And she definitely noticed. Her pulse was a rapid flutter beneath her jaw and, at its current speed, would feel like butterfly wings against his lips.
He noticed how her pupils expanded when she gazed up at him over the rim of her glass. And the way she couldn’t keep her eyes off his body. And the way she consistently shifted in her seat as though she were swollen and achy between her legs.
She wanted him.
She could have him, of course. Anyone could for the right price.
“So, Victoria.” He grinned at her and focused on her lips, a move that made her straighten in her seat. “What brings you to The Bar—business or pleasure?”
She blinked several times, and just as Kip was planning to repeat himself, she said, “For me, business is pleasure.” She seemed to immediately regret the statement, as she blushed the prettiest shade of pink he’d ever seen. His gaze traveled down her neck and then to her chest as he watched that blush disappear beneath the vee of her shirt. How far down did it go?
Despite the fact that he had thoroughly worn himself out a couple of hours ago with his last client, his dick twitched. “Hmm.” He nudged his fingers forward until the tip of his middle finger brushed the tip of hers. “Business is pleasure for me as well.”
That blush deepened, but then she surprised him when her eyes narrowed and she tipped her head back and laughed. Not a delicate, tinkling laugh like some women; oh, no, not for Victoria. Her laugh was deep and husky—as potent as her drink.
He drew his brows together. This was . . . not the usual reaction he got when he seduced a woman.
“You’ve got to be doing that on purpose,” she said when she looked at him again.
Kip tilted his head. “Doing what?”
She gestured to all of him with a flit of her fingers. “This.”
The fact that he had been doing everything he’d done from the moment he left his seat until now on purpose did not keep him from feeling offended. And not a little embarrassed—something he never felt around women. “I’m always purposeful around a beautiful woman.”
He could tell she was still amused, but she sobered and looked at the bar, rolling her shoulders.
Because he’d trained himself to pick up on a woman’s every mood, he recognized that she was uncomfortable being complimented, which probably meant that it had been a good long while since someone had told this woman she was beautiful. And she was more than beautiful. Stunning. Unique. No, he definitely didn’t believe in “types,” but she seemed to check every single one of his boxes. Something panged behind his sternum, and he reached for his drink, disconcerted.
As he took a sip, Victoria said, “Well, you don’t have to be quite so purposeful around me.” Her gaze skittered away from his, and she drew an invisible circle on the bar. “I find I like authenticity best.”
Noted. Astonishingly, he wanted her to like him, which was a new situation for him, and one he didn’t find particularly comfortable—not to mention, it wasn’t necessary for his line of work. Maybe it was because she’d called him on his act. Maybe it was her delicate blend of vulnerability mixed with hints of a woman who would chew you up and spit you out if you crossed her.
Whatever it was, if he was going to get her as a client, he was going to have to be present and try. No autopilot for Victoria who liked authenticity—God help him. And yet, he had to fight his knee-jerk response to say something smarmy, like You’ll find me authentic. He swallowed. “All right.”
“So”—she licked her lips, and those gorgeous eyes met his—“What kind of business do you do that’s so pleasurable?”
Kip pressed his lips together. Authenticity, in this case, was going to get him nowhere. Time to employ a trick he’d learned worked on every woman in existence: turn the topic back to her. And a little touch never hurt either. He pressed his knee into her inner thigh again, and, like magic, her legs parted a bit, nearly distracting him. “What’s your pleasurable business?”
She tilted her head, and her gaze grew increasingly piercing until Kip had to squelch the urge to shift in his seat. Her delicate throat worked beneath a swallow. “On second thought, there’s probably no need to get personal.”
Kip blinked twice in rapid succession. What? His brain worked overtime. She wanted authentic but impersonal. How in the world was he supposed to do that?
What a challenge!
He nearly groaned. He shouldn’t like this. He shouldn’t like this at all. In fact, he should thank her for the drink, get up, and go home. Right now. He should do that right—
Her fingers brushed against his, jerking him from his thoughts.
She straightened. “Do you want to get out of here?”
Kip inhaled quickly through his nose. “Get out of here?” he repeated, as though he’d forgotten the meaning behind those words.
“Get a hotel room. For the night.”
Her fingers were hot against his, but they trembled a bit, and that’s when he knew he hadn’t misheard or misinterpreted her.
Holy hell. Whatever he’d done had worked. An unaccustomed tightness that felt like excitement filled his gut. Victoria, who had been nervous seconds ago and who was now propositioning him, was full of surprises. He couldn’t wait to see what more he’d unearth with her beneath him. Would she be a vixen? Passionate? Or one of those tender lovers—the ones that made him nervous? Only one way to find out. He shifted his fingers slightly until they were intertwined with hers. Best to just get this part out of the way, and yet, he found himself hesitating. The word sure was perched on his lips, though he hadn’t slept with any woman without being paid for it in four years.
That simple sure terrified him. He leaned forward, and, with his lips only a few inches from hers, said, “My rate for a night is a thousand dollars.” He stroked the inside of her wrist with his thumb. “But I’d be happy to give you an hour for much less than my usual rate.”
You’d what? He gritted his teeth. What the hell had he just said?
Victoria sucked in a breath.
Say yes. Please, fuck, let her say yes.
• • •
My rate . . .
Those words echoed on repeat in Victoria’s head as she stared into this stranger’s unimaginably beautiful eyes. With each repetition, they grew louder until they were a roar.
Victoria, you’ve fucked up this time.
The truth became undeniable. She’d propositioned a prostitute.
Of course, she’d propositioned a prostitute.
She snatched her hand away from his, and he let her go without the slightest resistance. Irrational disappointment crashed down around her.
She lurched to her feet. Not-So-Dream Man’s gaze as he looked up at her burned her anew. She snatched her laptop bag and jerked it onto her shoulder. She’d finally decided to take the plunge and ask for a night of sex, and this happened. “I don’t have to pay for it.” Oh, God, do I have to pay for it? Was she that hopeless?
He sighed, and the sound contained something that made her pause instead of storm out right away like she’d been planning. “You certainly don’t,” he said. His gaze roamed her body again, and his eyes flashed. He rubbed his pointer finger across his bottom lip. “You certainly don’t.”
And despite knowing now that his words weren’t genuine, her body surged with heat once more. Why would he be regretful . . . other than possibly losing his going rate for an entire night?
A grand. Naturally, he would be regretful over losing that amount. His regret was no more trustworthy than his compliment.
She groaned and clenched her fingers in the strap of her bag. What a nightmare. She’d really liked this guy, even when he’d been trying too hard. And that body—
Well. When your body was your office, you had to keep it up, didn’t you? She tossed some bills on the bar.
“Victoria—”
She couldn’t even meet his eyes. Her cheeks flushed, and her body was already lamenting the fact that she was going to go without sex. Again. And tonight, no vibrator would help matters.
“Victoria,” he said again.
She closed her eyes for a moment, pinched the bridge of her nose, and then forced herself to look at him.
His hand was extended toward her, and in his palm sat her phone.
Her phone! She snatched it and saw the blinking light that meant she had a new e-mail. She hadn’t thought it possible, but this was strong enough to distract her from her current humiliation.
Can’t-Believe-She-Thought-He-Was-Dream Man was saying something, but Victoria didn’t expend any energy trying to translate it through the dull roar in her head. She waved a hand at him—more a not now than a see you later—and left The Bar without another word.
She was breathing quickly as she walked toward her car, and when she closed herself inside, her heartbeat accelerated to the point she was lightheaded. This could be it: the moment her life changed.
She unlocked her phone, and a noise slipped past her lips when she saw the e-mail was, in fact, from The Ricchezza domain.
Dear Ms. Hastings,
We thank you for your excellent proposal . . .
She was unable to keep herself from skimming down to the bottom of the e-mail where she saw not the name of Mr. Davis after Sincerely, but the name of his assistant.
She frowned. With her throat suddenly dry, she scrolled back up to where she’d left off and read the e-mail thoroughly.
“Okay,” she said to the silent interior of her car. “It’s not a no.”
But it’s not a yes, either.
With a sudden calm—the kind she always felt when she went to work—Victoria placed her phone in her laptop bag.
The Ricchezza had gotten another promising proposal. They were going to pursue both options until they could make a more informed decision.
Another promising proposal? She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. “Masterson.” Had to be.
Damn it, Masterson had gotten to them, too. Of course she had. She was the best.
Victoria lifted her chin. “But I’m the best, too.”
And this was all she’d ever wanted. Time to go to war.