“Please. I'm dying to have a conversation with an interesting person.”
He can't mean me. No one thinks of me as an interesting person. Pretty, charming, agreeable, sure. Fun even. But interesting?
“Ryan wouldn't like that,” I say.
“Ryan doesn't like anything except getting more billable hours.”
“Yeah, but he's a little…”
“Boring?”
“Jealous,” I say.
“It can be our secret.” He smiles. God, that is a million dollar smile. I shouldn't go. At the very least, I should let Ryan know. But he does get jealous and he does overreact…
“Okay,” I nod, and I press the call button. Luke's hand brushes against my back as we step into the elevator. Jesus. I hope he keeps touching me.
Chapter 4
We sit at a corner table at a cozy hotel lounge. It's a nice place, gold and orange from the decorations and the sunset bleeding through the windows.
A waiter drops off our drinks. Tequila on the rocks for me. A lime green margarita for Luke.
“Don't look at me like that,” he says. “It's a skinny margarita.”
“Uh-huh.”
“What were you doing at the office?” Luke asks.
“I needed to see Ryan.”
“For a quickie?”
I laugh, nearly choking on my drink. “You got me. I do it all the time. I wait until you leave. Then, I creep into Ryan's office, strip to my bra and panties, and climb on his lap.”
“Does that get him to stop working?”
“It probably wouldn't, would it?” I ask.
Luke shakes his head. “Probably not.”
I watch as he wraps his lips around the straw. His lips are gorgeous, not too thick or thin, and soft. They look soft at least. And they're probably sweet from this drink. A little sticky from the agave. A little salty from the rim. What would it feel like to have those lips on mine?
Jesus, what's wrong with me? So, he's handsome and charming? I've kissed plenty of handsome and charming guys. None of them looked out for me the way Ryan does. None of them would have been worth betraying Ryan for.
“Why do you need to see Ryan?”
“How is that any of your business?”
He swirls his red straw around his drink, knocking the ice into the sides. He looks away, as if he's thinking about something, then he looks back at me, his gaze strong and steady. My heart beats faster. He shouldn't be looking at me like that.
“I'm going to guess,” he says. “You're pregnant.”
“No. Thank God.”
“You don't have to sugarcoat it.” He laughs. Did I sound that harsh?
“I don't mean that I hate children.”