McKay flashes his dimple and I almost chuckle. He likes her too, and this proves it. He doesn’t flash his dimple for just anyone. “I believe I would,” he says, accepting her offer.
She picks up the third glass and raises it. “To new friends.”
“May the new wear off and the old settle in,” I say.
She looks at me with a cocked head. “OK, then.” McKay gently clinks his glass against hers and when she clinks back, I can tell she’s slightly overwhelmed with the prospect of two men in front of her. So she stops the forward momentum to gather herself and ask a question. “Are you two staying at the hotel?”
“We are,” McKay says. “But not for the reasons you’re asking about.”
She chuckles. “Is that so.”
“I own this place,” I say. Might as well get it out there.
“Oh.” Her eyes widen. And now I can see them very clearly—green, or blue, or amber, or all three. They are fucking spectacular and I don’t care if I stare into them for the rest of my life, I will never get over how mesmerizing they are. And how they capture me without even trying.
This is the moment, I think. If this turns into anything more than a dirty one-night stand, this is the moment I fall for her.
She sees it too. She’s probably used to it as well. She’s been living her whole life with those eyes. So she turns away, unsure if she wants to encourage my new fantasy or not, and instead focuses on McKay. “Do you own this place as well?”
McKay smirks at me, then redirects to Miss Violet. “What’s his is mine.”
“Really.” She takes a sip of her whiskey and eyes me. “How’s that work?”
“What’s mine is his, that’s all.”
“So you’re what, friends? Lovers?”
“Both,” McKay says.
“And you’re looking for…” She lets that sentence hang.
“You,” I say. “We’re looking for you.”
“Don’t you know the rules in your own club, Mr. Boucher? I’m supposed to make that offer.”
“Oh, I think we’re beyond that now,” I reply. “You came over, were introduced, and now… we make up the rules as we go.”
“So it’s a game?” She grins at McKay.
“Doesn’t have to be,” he says. “Could just be a really good time with no strings.”
“Hmm.” She takes another sip of whiskey, like she’s considering her options.
But we all know she’s not. She wouldn’t be here if she was.
She downs her drink, stands up—which prompts McKay and I to stand as well. Those Southern manners are fucking hard to break—and then she offers each of us a hand. “Then do with me what you will.”
McKay and I want to grin at each other like college boys. And it is a powerful want. But we hold it together with a smile and nod. Then we each press our fingers into the small of her back and lead her out of the club and into the elevator.
I watch McKay, and McKay watches her, as I slide the silver keycard across the reader and the penthouse floor lights up.
McKay is looking at her legs. They are long and shapely. Despite the ruffle, her skirt is conservative, hitting just below the knee. She cocks a hip to draw my attention up, and then she smiles at me just as the elevator doors open to the penthouse.
McKay and I step aside, allowing her to go first. She walks slow in her high heels, eyes forward as she takes in the view on the other side of the floor-to-ceiling windows. It’s the Mississippi, but there’s a lot going on and the lights draw your attention down.
“Should we have a drink?” I say just as the elevator doors close.
Miss Violet turns. “Do you need one?”
“No.” I shake my head.
“How about you?” She directs her gaze to McKay.
“I’m good.”
Miss Violet smiles. “Then maybe we should skip the formalities.”
McKay steps forward first, but I move with him. Part of the fun of a night like this is the watching. And I like to watch McKay. He places his hands on her hips and she tips her head up, meeting his gaze. Her lips part and her tongue darts out. Just a little peek of it before she bites her lip.
McKay brings his forefinger up to her lip and caresses it. Studying her.
I would kill to know what’s going on inside his head right now. But he doesn’t give up any clues. His gaze is intent on her. And he holds that gaze for several seconds, long enough to make her start to feel uncomfortable. Then McKay leans down, but not far enough to kiss her. No. He makes her meet him halfway. She goes up on her tiptoes and I watch the long, lean muscles in her calves change shape as she does this.
Then their lips touch. There is no hunger there, instead there is a pause. Neither of them willing to move forward or withdraw. Miss Violet must like a little challenge. She wants McKay to take control and McKay is telling her he won’t.