Ask Him (Mess with Me 1.50)

4

I’ve always been a sucker for a dare.

Sucker is a good word for it, I think as I look down at my outfit for the hundredth time since I snuck out of my hotel. What seemed like a good idea an hour ago suddenly seems like playing with fire. Especially if any paparazzi catch sight of me like this. Just the thought has me pulling my baseball cap lower to shade my face.

The ripped jeans and cotton T-shirt I’m wearing are innocent enough but now I’m wondering if Philippe didn’t have an ulterior motive for this dare. A picture of me as a Fashion Don’t landing on the cover of a magazine is exactly the kind of thing my brother would think was hilarious.

Although winning our little wager would be worth it. Technically I’ve already won since a harried mother who almost ran me over with her baby’s pram asked me for my number just a few minutes ago.

“What can I get for you?”

I look up. A perky barista is waiting expectantly to take my order so I point to what’s written on the small chalkboard next to the register. Truthfully, I don’t even care what it is. Nothing sold in American coffee shops tastes like what I’m used to back home anyway. This is just an excuse to be out amongst people.

On the way out of the coffee shop, I take a tentative sip of what smells like pure sugar. Suddenly something slams into my stomach and I have to juggle to keep the hot coffee from flying out of my hands.

“Ouch!”

A mass of brown hair slaps me in the face before it settles around a heart-shaped face dominated by a pair of big, amber eyes. Those eyes blink at me several times before it registers that she’s leaning unsteadily against me.

“In a hurry?”

At the sound of my voice, she takes a slight step back. Her cheeks flush slightly before her eyes scroll leisurely up and down my body. Somehow her gaze is as provocative as a physical touch would have been. By the time she gets back to my face, my heart is tripping over itself and my mouth is dry as dust. What the hell?

“Yes, I am. I’m very busy and … have lots of important things I need to do this morning.”

Her insistence is even more adorable because she flushes bright red as she says it. She’s obviously not a very good liar. Which is refreshing.

“Is that right?” I raise my eyebrows playfully, enjoying the chance to tease her a little. Hey, she just stared at my dick. I don’t think a little teasing is out of bounds.

“Yes, really.” She huffs a little, tugging on the bottom of her skirt as if

making sure it hasn’t ridden up. Petite but curvy, she looks like she’s about to rip through the buttons on her blouse if she breathes too deeply. I wonder if she’s outgrown her clothes or borrowed them from someone else. Either way, they don’t do her justice.

“Oh no,” she gasps, her eyes fixed on the front of my shirt. “Did I do that?”

I glance down to see the remains of my latte all over my T-shirt. Normally a brown stain like this would be the death knell for a piece of fabric but it hits me suddenly the other benefit of wearing these ugly clothes. If the cleaners can’t get the stain out, I’ll just throw it away and buy another T-shirt. The thought makes me smile.

Her brow crinkles in confusion before she rummages in the huge bag hanging off her arm and produces two napkins. “I am so sorry. But you don’t seem too upset about it.”

“I’m not. The coffee was shit anyway. I’m still not sure how people drink that stuff. Give me a good strong espresso any day instead of that sugar water.”

Her answering smile is so bright that I have the urge to shade my eyes. Looking at her is like staring into the sun. I want to but it’s just too much for my eyes to take in. The thought is perplexing. She’s beautiful, yes, but I see beautiful women all the time. Occupational hazard.

But those women aren’t talking with you for no reason.

The women in my world always want something, to be cast in one of my runway shows or to be on my arm at a movie premiere. This one doesn’t care about any of that. She’s smiling for no reason at all.

She turns to leave but there’s a trash can right behind her. I put a hand on her shoulder to keep her from bumping into it and she glares at me. I snatch my hand back.

“Just trying to keep you from running into something else.”

Her eyes narrow but then she glances behind her. “Oh. Thank you.”

She waves and then keeps walking. I turn to watch her go, suppressing a low growl when I see her curvy ass twitching in that tight little skirt.

“Madre di Dio.”

The doorman doesn’t even blink when I pass by but the other people in the lobby of the prestigious Fitz-Harrington hotel stare openly. I tip my baseball cap at them jauntily, enjoying their shock.