Although, that could just be the wine talking. The group continues to chatter and laugh, and I take a deep breath and walk over to him at the bar. “Is this seat taken?”
I ask.
His eyes come to me, and a trace of a smile crosses his lips. “Be my guest.”
I sit down on the stool beside him at the bar, and the waiter approaches me. “What will it be?”
“I’ll have another glass of champagne, please.”
“Sure.” His eyes flick to Tristan. “Another scotch?”
“Please.” Tristan stares straight ahead, with his hands clasped in front of him. “Took your time, Anderson,” he says.
“What does that mean?”
He glances at his fancy watch. “It’s ten p.m.”
“Well, if it’s too late to talk, I’ll leave,” I tease. I go to stand.
“Sit. Down.” He smirks. “You’re lucky it’s a quiet night.”
The bartender puts the champagne down in front of me, and I pick it up as I try to hide my smile. “Who’s lucky?”
He chuckles and taps his glass on mine. “To Épernay.”
“To Épernay,” I whisper. Our eyes lock, and I sip my champagne. It’s cold and bubbly and starts a fire inside of me.
With his eyes fixed firmly on mine, he licks the scotch from his lips. “You should probably stop looking at me like that.”
Electricity buzzes between us as everyone else in the room disappears.
“Like what?”
“Like you want to fucking eat me.”
My stomach flutters. “That’s very presumptuous, Mr. Miles.”
“Call me Tristan.”
I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from smiling. I like this game. “I’ll call you whatever I like,” I mouth.
He inhales sharply and rearranges his crotch.
Watching him touch his dick does something to my insides, and my sex begins to throb.
“What makes you think that I want to eat you?” I whisper.
His eyes drop to my lips. “Because I want to eat you, and it’s manners to reciprocate.”
I giggle at his audacity. “I don’t have very good manners, I’m afraid.”
In slow motion, he picks up his chunky crystal glass and smiles as he puts it to his lips. “So . . . this martyr thing works for you?”
“How am I a martyr?”
“Well.” He shrugs casually. “You keep telling me that you’re not attracted to me, and yet . . .”
“And yet what?” I whisper.