Vegas With Dad's Best Friend

“If you do need something, just give me a call,” Jonah says. “Here, I'll give you my number. Where is your cell phone? I'll type it in myself.”

I dig into my purse and pull it out, watching with bated breath as he inputs his number into my contacts. Can this really be happening? Am I actually getting Jonas Fairchild’s number?

No, I must be dreaming. I’m probably in a long-term coma and the whole last six months building up to this trip hasn’t been real. And now I’m finally dying and getting accepted into heaven. That must be it.

“Here,” he says, handing it back with a grin. “Just in case you need me.”

And I can’t think of a single situation, ever, in which I might not feel like I need Jonas, now that I’ve been here with that smile of his again.

Chapter Nine

Jonas

I leave Savannah outside the restaurant with her sincere promise that she’s now not far from her hotel and can even see it from the street, and won’t be getting lost again. At least she seems to be a little more confident now, her earlier fears drifting away a little. I can take a little credit for that, I think, and it warms me.

I head home, walking back to the hotel where I keep my suite. The whole way back, there is only one thing I can think about. Savannah. It's like she's everywhere in my mind, taking over.

When I get back, no one greets me. No one would. I live alone, and I always have. I've gotten so used to it, I don't think that I could have it any other way.

But then again, maybe it would be nice. Maybe it would be nice to come back home after a long day at the office and find her sitting there. Savannah. Waiting for me on the couch, or better yet, in my bed.

I move toward my bedroom, taking off my suit jacket and tie as I go, discarding them over the back of a chair by my bed. Yes, right here in my bed, ready for me. I picture her wearing some kind of lacy negligee, her body begging for mine. I would greet her not with words but with my lips, pressed against hers until both of us begged for air.

Then, and only then, would my hands move to her body. I would shrug the robe down over her shoulders to get access to more of her skin, stroking over that soft smoothness and kissing along her jawline and neck. I would bury my face in her chest, pushing down the straps of her bra until I could pull it off, away from her beautiful globes. I imagine the scent of her – it would be intoxicating.

I would be lost in lust, unable to hold myself back from rutting against her, pushing her back against the sheets. She would spread herself open for me, allowing me to lose myself inside her, to give her the most sensual pleasure, and forget about anything else in the world…

I give myself a shake, blinking. Damn. What’s going on with me right now? Why am I thinking like this?

Women don’t affect me this way at all. I don’t indulge in fantasies. I don’t leave work meetings to entertain them instead. I don’t take time out of my day to accompany them around the city and make sure they’re safe.

Sure, if I saw anyone being harassed like that, I would step in and stop it. I’m not a bad guy. But I wouldn’t go out of my way like this.

When I saw who it was, when my eyes and brain connected to tell me it was Savannah, I saw red. I wouldn’t have had any problem fighting all three of those punks if they hadn’t backed down. I would have laid them out in the street for her, no questions asked.

Which begs the question. What kind of witchcraft does she have me under, if I’m finding it this hard to resist her?

I sit down on the edge of my bed, wondering why I've left the ball in her court. It seemed like the gentlemanly thing to do, but now I'm regretting it entirely. Instead of giving her my number, I should have taken her number and put it in my phone. Maybe her hotel room number, even. That would have been better.

In fact, I didn't even get to which hotel she's staying at. She could see it from the restaurant - well, that might give me a slight hint, but it doesn't narrow it down by much. There are a few properties in view on the opposite side of the street, plus the ones on either side of the restaurant too.

I suppose I could call each of them, figure out which one she's staying at. I know her name, after all. I could just ask them.