Deceive (Book 1 in the Deceive series) (2 page)

“That’s an awfully bold statement to say to a stranger,” I say. “What makes you so sure of yourself?”

He doesn’t answer at first and the silence, or maybe it’s the way he’s studying me, makes me nervous. I don’t know his game and that’s terrifying. He looks me over with respectful contemplation, like my body will give him the answer he’s searching for while lacking the vulgarity I’d expect from a man in a bar.

Finally, he says, “It’s in your eyes.” He tilts his head as though that will give him a better view. “They aren’t dark enough to hide the mistrust and self-reliance I see in them.”

It’s as if I am suddenly stripped naked in front of this man. Heat rises in my cheeks and I want to push myself out of this chair and run right out of the hotel. But I am locked in place, my legs betraying me, unable to stand, let alone run away. So instead, I take a steady breath and say with unmistakable sarcasm, “That’s quite the flattering combo. Not the most attractive traits. Why bother wasting your time here with me?”

He doesn’t flinch despite my tone and, damn it, I find that even sexier than if he’d just smiled at me.

“Because I also see unreleased passion,” he says candidly.

I look away, staring at nothing in particular but extremely uncomfortable that this man seems to get me, better than the few close friends I keep.

“I’m Damon.”

My eyes flash back to his, finally having a name to put with the incredibly handsome face waiting for me to reciprocate. I accept his out stretched hand and I am once again entranced at the beauty and strength of his fingers and wonder what it would be like to have them touching the private areas of my body.

“Scarlett,” I lie. It’s the name I used when I’d checked in.

“Hmm,” he says, his hand still wrapped around mine, as though he can’t let go until he decides if the name fits my face. He smiles and the way he repeats those two simple syllables, so slowly, I feel as though I own the name.

I retract my hand and bring it to my glass. “So, tell me Damon, are you here for business or pleasure?”

He laughs softly and takes the first drink of his martini since he sat down. “Seems lately, I am nothing but business.”

“That’s a shame,” I say.

“I agree.”

“So, it’s not the norm to buy strange women drinks in a hotel bar?” If my
real
self could hear the words coming out of my mouth just now, she would be appalled. It’s a good thing she’s not here. Tonight, I’m letting Scarlet, who’s now going on three glasses of wine, do the talking.

“Would you believe me if I said this was a first?”

I cock my head to the side and hold his gaze. “Does it matter if I believe you or not?”

He chuckles lightly with a shake of his head. “I suppose maybe not to you.”

I glance back at the lobby which is now empty. “What about that woman you were speaking with? You seem to know her quite well. Is she…a colleague?”

“You were watching me.” He seems pleased by this fact.

“It’s pretty hard
not
to notice you,” I say brazenly. This makes him smile.

As he leans back in his chair, his gray suit jacket falls to the side, giving me just enough of an idea of how taut his chest muscles are beneath his white button down shirt.

“Yes, you can say she’s a colleague. Among other things.”

I blush at his implication and look away to hide this strange scorching sensation burning through me, which feels uncomfortably similar to envy. I think it’s time I call it a night.

Damon leans forward and his breath warms my neck as he says, “I’m not sleeping with her if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“Why would I be wondering?” I scoff. But just like that, I’m relieved.

He chuckles again and says, “My character judgment must be off this evening.”

My eyes shoot to his. “Character judgment? Are you implying that I’m the type of woman who cares about who a man is sleeping with? A man whom I just met by the way.” My voice hardens into a brash hiss. “Or do I come across as a woman who is easy to get in between the sheets? Is that your judgment of my character?”

I hide my shaking fingers in my lap. His expression, which only a moment ago was mysterious and playful, is now filled with remorse.

“Scarlett,” he says. Taking a deep breath, he runs a hand through his hair, glancing around the bar before turning his eyes back to me. “I am truly sorry if I gave you any of those impressions. Believe me when I say I have no preconceived notions about you other than you are beautiful and charismatic and I haven’t enjoyed a conversation like ours—up until a moment ago—in I don’t know how long. So, forgive me if I gave you any other impression.”

I nibble on my bottom lip and then sigh, foolishness oozing over me for letting my control freak tendencies rear their ugly head. We were just having a good time. The best time I’ve allowed myself to have in so long. I am all work. No play. It’s the only way I’ve been able to get ahead in a male driven world. But here I am with this incredible charismatic man beside me. Who doesn’t know me. Tonight, I don’t have to be me. Or at least—not all of me. I can let go of the focus-driven, always in control, sharp-edged woman I am and give in to the part of me who just wants to be wanted.

I smile apologetically. “No one has called me beautiful in a long time.”

“I find that hard to believe.” His smile is back, although this time it returns with a shy twist of his lips. “I wasn’t completely honest with you a moment ago. I told you I wasn’t sleeping with her because if the roles had been reversed and I saw you talking to another man…I would want to know.”

My head drops at his confession because he and I are alike in that respect. Who is this stranger? And how did he just manage to crawl under my skin? My hair falls in front of my face and his long finger sweeps gently across my cheek, tucking a strand behind my ear. A shiver rolls through me, leaving me no doubt that I want all of him against all of me.

My eyes follow his fingers as they slide down my long chocolate locks, which end just below my breast. He’s being careful not to touch me, fearful that he will scare me off. I tilt my chest forward just enough so that the tip of my nipple grazes his knuckle. I am wet with desire at the flutter of his hand and am teetering on the edge. I have to fuck him. His fingers freeze as his eyes drift up to mine. I make no misgivings about my intentions when I slide my hand from my lap to his.

I know nothing about this man except his name. And only his first, assuming he told me the truth. Chances are good I will never see him again a

fter tonight. He is here for business and, technically, so am I. What’s the point in telling him I live here in Seattle when he probably doesn’t? Sharing real details of our lives will make separating from each other all the more difficult. I don’t need to know who he is to appreciate what he’s doing to my body at this very moment or to recognize the urges I haven’t experienced in months pulsing through me. I need this. I need
him
. I need to give full reign to the side of me that is full of passion and lust and completely vulnerable to a man.

He’s holding his breath as his eyes follow my hand trailing up his leg. His fingers still grip my hair at my breast and I want him to grab a fistful and tug.

Unexpectedly, his fingers wrap tightly around my wrist. My eyes jerk to his, a fleeting sense of humiliation reddening my cheeks at his grim stare.

“I can’t do this here,” he says regretfully under his breath.

He adjusts uncomfortably in his seat as I pull my hand from his and return it to my lap. He swallows a mouthful of his martini and I follow his gaze to the bartender who’s watching us with keen interest. I’m a fool. How could I allow myself to be so brazen in public?
Here.
What if someone remembers me? Turning my head, I spot the girl at the front desk. She’s speaking to a customer through the façade of a smile, but the glare in her eyes in unmistakably directed at me.

I inhale a deep breath and the words I never thought would leave my mouth, slide effortlessly across my lips. “Take me to your room.”

He sets down his empty glass and studies my face for any uncertainty. He won’t find any.

“I’m sure,” I murmur in response to his unspoken question.

An alluring grin slowly consumes his mouth. “Meet me at the elevator. I’ll be there in five.”

I nod and push back my chair, not caring that I leave my book on the table. I cross the marble floor to the ornate elevator doors towards the back and out of sight. I steal the moment of solitude to look at my reflection in the floor to ceiling mirror, running my fingers through my hair to undo any tangles. I apply a shear gloss on my naturally pink lips, leaving the aroma of strawberries on my mouth. I quickly turn away from my reflection because I know the more I look, the more I’ll criticize and I am already nervous enough as it is. I haven’t been with a man since Brandon left. I haven’t even been able to look at another man. That’s what having your heart smashed into a million pieces will do to a person.

It’s been eleven months. And sixteen days.

Footsteps draw closer and within moments Damon appears around the corner. His nervous smile matches my own.

Yes, this man can be the one to make me forget. At least for tonight.

When the elevator closes, he flashes his key card and pushes the number 40 on the control panel. A deep, ragged breath expels from my lungs and I instinctively huddle in the corner. As he turns towards me, doubt creases his forehead and he’s worried I’m about to flee.

“You’re on the top floor.”

The elevator begins to climb through what has suddenly become very thin air. My breathing shallows and I stare sickenly at the illuminated numbers growing ever higher as we pass floor after floor.

“Heights,” I breathe. My room is on the second floor.

“Then I take it you haven’t explored the top level,” he says with a knowing grin. “No dining looking out over the Sound? That would be a shame to miss.”

“I’ve been to the restaurant,” I say. “But I stay clear of the windows.”

“Ahhh,” he says, stepping toward the open door. “Then you’ll love my room.”

His room is none other than the penthouse suite with floor to ceiling windows stretching across the entire back wall.

We enter into a grand foyer, which is bigger than the living room and kitchen of my apartment combined. The intricately designed marble flooring matches the hotel lobby, as does the large gold framed mirror by the ground floor elevators. A round, beautifully carved table is positioned in the middle of the foyer and sitting atop it is the largest bouquet of creamy white flowers I have ever seen. I can’t even see into the rest of the suite until I step to the side of the giant arrangement.

Fortunately, the night is black and I can’t see the view from where I stand. I hate that I have a fear of heights. It cripples me and shows weakness. For all the years I have spent in hotels and high-rise buildings, I thought I would eventually get used to it, but I never have. Normally, I tough it out. Nothing like a few glasses of wine to take care of that.

This is not the first penthouse I have seen, but it is the first one this grand. From the foyer, we enter an astounding room decorated in the rich tapestry of bronze and gold with lush cream-colored upholstered furnishings that probably cost more than my entire apartment. Adjacent to this room is a dining area showcasing an extravagant chandelier, it’s finely cut pieces of glass sparkling like a million diamonds in the glow of the gas fireplace that connects the dining room to the living room.

Damon takes off his suit jacket and loosens his tie as he steps behind an impressive bar that mirrors the one downstairs except for its size. And it’s stocked with just as much liquor, but without the asshole bartender on duty.

“Seems as though you’ve done well for yourself,” I say, following him to the bar. “Or you have a very generous boss.”

He chuckles lightly. “I have Pinot—unless you’d like something stronger.”

“Pinot is fine.”

His eyes are weighted on me as I study the room. Thankfully, the bar is on the opposite side of the suite from the petrifying windows, so I feel safe walking towards him and accepting the glass.

“Why bother coming downstairs when you have all this?”

He shrugs, pouring himself a matching glass. “Gets lonely drinking alone.”

I can relate to that.

I take a drink eagerly. Maybe a longer one than I should.

“What do you think?” he asks.

I pull the glass away from my mouth and lick the warm liquid from my lips. I take inventory of the room again, in all its elegance and beauty, and say honestly, “It’s absolutely breathtaking, but it’s very
upper west side
when I’m more of a
SoHo
kinda gal.”

He tilts his head back and laughs and the sound echoes through the massive room. “Thank you for your candid assessment of the décor. But I was asking about the wine.”

I smile sheepishly. “The wine is superb.”

“I think so, too,” he says taking another drink. I match him and this time, when I remove the glass from my lips, a small dribble falls from my mouth. He catches it with his thumb, his skin lingering on mine just long enough for the electric sensation to shoot through my body.

He licks the wine from his finger and says, “I’ve been wanting to do that all night.”

I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until this very moment. “What, exactly have you been wanting?”

“To find an excuse to touch your perfect mouth.

I swallow hard. My cheeks flush from the alcohol, or maybe from the way he’s looking at me.

“You don’t need an excuse.”

Damon takes a step closer and I know he’s going to reach out for me. That thought makes me tremble. His fingers slide along the side of mine as he takes my wine glass from my hands. He places it gently on the bar, setting his own down beside it.

My breath quickens as he closes the space between us with one final step. Carefully, his hand glides up my arm and my lashes fall instinctively as his fingers release an electric current that flows the length of my body. He palms my chin as his long fingers grip behind my neck. I tilt my head into him just as his other hand cups my jaw and he holds me in place, his mouth so close to mine.