Indigo Nights: A Sexy, Contemporary Romance (3 page)

“Just because I saw something glittery and new in the shop window doesn’t mean I’m going to hand over my credit card and take it home.”

I chuckled. “Oh honey, I don’t charge.” She’d totally owned checking me out and given me a put down at the same time.

I needed a different tactic. “Shall we rewind slightly? My name’s Dylan James.” I held out my hand.

She took a breath as if she were trying to gather her patience, but eventually held out her hand. “Beth Harrison.”

I pressed my palm against hers and savored the warm softness of her skin next to mine. So smooth. I’d happily lick every inch of her.

“So tell me about yourself. Are you going to London for business or pleasure?” I asked.

She sighed. “We’re in an airport together for an hour, then we’ll never see each other again. I’m not sure we need to get to know each other.”

“If you never talked to strangers, you’d never meet anyone new. You’re not interested in human connection?”

She narrowed her eyes, clearly considering my question. “I’m not interested in the kind of human connection you’re suggesting.”

The waitress appeared at our table. “Another virgin mojito, please, and I’ll have another soda water with a twist.” I didn’t glance away from Beth. “Do you want more cake?”

She shook her head.

“Actually, sir, I wanted to tell you that your flight has been cancelled. The weather will get worse before it gets better. We’re hoping it will be clear for the morning, and we’ve rescheduled for seven. We’ve secured a limited number of hotel rooms, and we’re giving our frequent flyers priority. I can check you in remotely if you like, before everything gets booked up.”

I glanced across at the waitress. She had an iPad in hand, ready to type in information, which presented an opportunity. I’d have the rest of my evening to persuade Beth to get naked, and the venue would be a comfortable hotel room rather than whatever place around here—probably the showers—I could find. “Sure. Check us in.”

Beth began to say something, but changed her mind. Did she live in Chicago? Was she considering going home?

I watched as Beth concentrated on the waitress as she tapped the screen of the tablet.

Beth’s lips formed a full pout as she focused on the iPad. Adorable. My eyes skated down her body.

“Mr. and Mrs. James, you’re booked into room 302 at the Hilton. Your key will be waiting for you at reception.”

I chuckled.

Beth flitted a look between the waitress and me, presumably waiting for me to correct the girl.
Yeah, that isn’t going to happen.
“I’m sorry. I’m not Mrs. James.” She waved her hand between us. “We’re not married. Or together. I think he meant check us in separately.” Beth’s eyes were wide with panic.

I grabbed my phone and dialed my assistant.

The waitress gulped in a breath. “I’m so sorry. I assumed . . . Can I get your name?”

“Marie, could you book me into the Hilton for the night, please? My flight has been cancelled.” Marie was resourceful; she’d find me a room if she had to come down to the front desk to organize it. And it wouldn’t be the shitty standard rooms that the airline would book. “Call me back when it’s done.”

“Beth Harrison.” Beth looked concerned. She probably thought I’d insist we bunk in together. It wasn’t the worst idea in the world. Frankly, two rooms were a waste.

“My screen froze. I’ll just be a minute.” The waitress headed off to fix her IT problems.

Beth pulled out a tablet of her own and began to tap away.

“Hey,” I said, smoothing my hand over hers. “Don’t sweat it. My assistant will find me a room. You take room 302.”

She moved her hand from under mine. “But it won’t just be our flight that will be cancelled. Everyone is going to be looking for a hotel room. God knows how long it will take for the waitress to unfreeze her tablet. If I wait, we’ll be left with just one room.”

I looked at her. “Trust me. Take the room.”

Her chest rose, then lowered as she took a breath and exhaled. “Okay.” She paused. “Hey, is this a ruse to get me to relax, and then you’ll give me some sob story about not having a room when your fake assistant calls you back?”

“Beth.” My tone was serious. “I don’t lie, and I don’t force women to share my bed. Trust me.” It’d been a while since I’d worked this hard. My money normally did the talking. To be fair, it had been a while since I’d thought anyone was worth working for.

My phone vibrated on the table in front of me. “Marie.”

My assistant told me my room number at the Hilton—a suite on the executive floor—and I thanked her and hung up.

“What did I tell you?” I winked at Beth.

“You got a room?” she asked. It hurt my ego a little that she clearly didn’t think I had the power to get a room at the Hilton. I could buy the fucking hotel if I needed to.

“So what’s so bad about the idea of sharing a bed with me?” I asked. I was interested in what exactly might be holding her back. We had just met and she could be in a relationship for all I knew, though I was pretty sure she wasn’t. I could spot an attached woman—ring or no ring—a mile off.

She laughed. “You mean other than the fact that we just met?”

I frowned. “Yeah. Give me three good reasons other than that.”

“We should get going, or we’ll miss the line for check-in at the hotel.” She began to put her things back into her bag.

“That’s what I thought. You can’t think of any.”

“I can think of plenty. First, you could be a serial killer—”

“I said other than the fact we just met.”

She stood up, her weight on one foot, pushing one of her delicious hips out and emphasizing her curves. “Okay.” She looked me straight in the eye. “One, I’m an alcoholic. Two, I’ve never had sober sex. And three, I’m scared shitless that when I finally do have sex again, I won’t enjoy it in the way I used to.”

Wow, that wasn’t what I’d been expecting, at all. Women didn’t try to discourage my flirtations through honesty; they didn’t tell me their deepest secrets. Who was this girl?

She picked up her bag and spun round, heading quickly to the exit.

I stuffed my belongings back into my carry-on and tried to catch her up. This was a girl worth following. Incredible.

Beth

I was used to telling people I was an alcoholic. Granted, not gorgeous strangers who made my skin buzz from a foot away, but still, it felt kind of euphoric to have told Mr. 8A. I hadn’t stayed to watch his reaction. No doubt his jaw would have been on the floor. I laughed to myself and fell back onto the bed in my hotel room.

Dylan James’ gruff exterior and curtness with the cabin crew had been a stark contrast to the way he’d spoken to me about wanting to make me come. I shivered. He’d wanted me and it had felt good, even if our exchange had been a little short-lived. Perhaps when I got back to London I
should
start dating again. It seemed that that part of me hadn’t shriveled up and died as I’d suspected it might have.

I jumped as the hotel’s phone buzzed. I reached across the bed for the receiver. “Hello?”

“What are you wearing?”

My stomach flip-flopped at Mr. 8A’s voice. He was persistent, even after what I’d told him.

“Are you dirty dialing me?” I pretended to be haughty.

“If I thought you’d play along, I might.” He laughed a deep, filthy chuckle and a desire to smooth my hands across his chest flickered through me. “But seriously. Why did you run off? Will you have dinner with me?”

I’d run off because I’d assumed my confession would put an end to his flirting and his change of heart wasn’t something I wanted to stay and endure. Apparently, I hadn’t scared him away. “Dinner?”

“Yes. Indulge me. It will help pass a few hours at least,” he said.

Indulge him? I’d really like to kiss him. Have him kiss me. I took a deep breath.

“I don’t dine with strangers,” I replied. Should I let myself get to know him? Dinner in a whiteout was hardly a date, after all. More like a pre-date. And it would help me pass the time. He was also the best-looking man ever born, who had still called me after I’d confessed the things about me that should have made him run.

“So make an exception.”

He said it as if it were simple. Like dinner with a man when I wasn’t drinking wasn’t a big deal.

“I don’t date,” I said.

“So make an exception.”

“I’m not going to sleep with you.”

He chuckled. “Maybe, maybe not, but I promise, you’ll have no pressure from me on that score. We both have to eat, after all. We can fuck later if that’s what you want to do.”

I wanted to slam the phone down on him. He was so arrogant, but his complete confidence drew me in instead of pushing me away, as if it could shield me from hurt rather than expose me to it. If he was so sure of everything, maybe I didn’t have to be. Like he said, it was just dinner. And dinner with someone I never had to see again. It could go really badly, and it wouldn’t matter. I tried to stop the grin forming at the corners of my mouth. “Just dinner?”

“For now.”

I took a deep breath. “Okay.” What did I have to lose . . . other than my mind, my senses, and my confidence?

“Good. Come up to my suite. Room 2035.” He hung up the phone.

I might have agreed to dinner, but I hadn’t agreed to dinner in his hotel room.

How totally presumptuous of him. I’m sure it was obvious I found him attractive, but that didn’t mean I was going to do anything about it. No, there was no way I was going up to his suite. A club sandwich and American Idol would do just fine.

I slid the receiver back on the stand, slumped onto the bed and picked up the remote.

I believed him when he said he wasn’t going to pressure me into having sex with him—his ego wouldn’t allow it. He was a man who didn’t lose control or make mistakes. My going to his suite was convenient, I guess. Private. Better than having to endure the waitresses flirting with him.

I wasn’t about to actually go up there.

But for the first time in years, I wanted to know more about a man. I could go up for a drink and stay ten minutes. Just dip my toe into the water and then leave, right?

I pulled out my makeup case from my carry-on, re-applied the red lipstick he’d noticed and made my way up to floor twenty.

My heart was thumping as I knocked on his door. Was I really about to do this?

Ten minutes.

That was it.

The door swung open and Dylan stood in front of me, his hair slightly more tousled than it had been back in the lounge. He no longer wore a tie or jacket, and the top few buttons on his shirt were undone. The gruff Mr. 8A had relaxed. He didn’t say anything, and I ran through possible greetings to fill the silence before he reached out and brushed his thumb over my cheekbone. My skin burned where he’d touched me. He took a step closer so our bodies were nearly touching and the door swung shut behind him, leaving us both in the corridor. “Hey,” he whispered as if he hadn’t noticed that we were now locked out.

I took a step back. Having him so close had rendered me speechless. I’d expected him to make a move, but I expected a little something before—a drink, dinner, flirting and maybe even conversation. But his hand went to my lower back and he pressed me against him. I gasped and steadied myself by reaching for his forearms. I spread my fingers across the thick muscles under his shirt. His body was hard and tight as I molded against him.

“Look at me. I can see everything you are through those beautiful eyes, and I want to see everything I do to you tonight reflected back at me.”

A pulse gained force between my thighs. “You didn’t hear me earlier—” Had he forgotten that I’d told him I’d not had sober sex? Ever? I couldn’t even remember a sober kiss since high school.

“I heard everything you said.” He tilted my chin up, forcing me to look at him. He bent down and pressed his full lips against mine. “That lipstick is driving me insane,” he growled and kissed me again, more forcefully this time. He pushed my lips open with his and my breath hitched at the sensation of his tongue skirting under my top lip. Jesus, each movement sent shock waves across my body and lit me up, as if I were Frankenstein’s monster being plugged in for the first time.