Mr One-Night Stand

‘Perhaps I can convince you over another drink?’ He leant back against the bar-edge. ‘What can I get you?’

What could he get her?

She wanted to laugh as the word you rode on the tip of her tongue but instead she looked to Darren, ‘I’m already being taken care of.’

He followed her gaze. ‘Is that another vodka martini?’

‘It is.’ She smiled, her fingers toying with the empty stick still floating in her glass. ‘I think I’ve found a new favourite drink.’

His eyes travelled from her to the stick. ‘It’s quickly becoming one of mine too.’

She could take a guess at why. She would have said as much if he hadn’t spoken first.

‘So, what brings you here?’ He angled himself towards her, his forearm resting on the bar-top, his fingers coming to hover just above her knee. ‘Beautiful woman, no companion—it just doesn’t fit.’

Beautiful? She loved how that sounded coming from him, loved how close his fingertips were reaching. If she just uncrossed her legs they would brush against her, those long, capable fingers that were sure to possess such skill...

‘Business or pleasure?’ he probed.

Her eyes shot back to his, her thighs clenching anew. The way he said it—pleasure—it rolled off his tongue like a physical caress.

‘I was meeting someone...’ She was barely aware of the words coming out of her mouth.

‘Was?’

‘They cancelled.’ She lifted her empty stick and nibbled at its end, needing to do something—anything to keep herself busy. ‘What about you?’

He eyed the stick, a pulse working steadily in his jaw as he took up his drink once more. ‘Business.’

She could hear it then, in that one simple word, an edge to his voice. A barely contained need that matched her own.

Her attack on the stick ceased, and her breath was shallow as she struggled to say, ‘Are you finished for the evening?’

‘Never even started,’ he said, that same husky edge to his voice teasing beneath her panties. ‘Lucky for me, they cancelled too.’

‘Lucky?’

He nodded, his lips quirking over his drink as he took a sip.

‘And why’s that?’ she said, dropping the stick to caress away the strain building in her throat.

‘Isn’t it obvious?’

‘Maybe—but I’d like to hear you say it.’

He placed his drink on the bar, his eyes coming back to her, ever closer. ‘Do you always get your way?’

‘Most of the time.’

‘Why is it I can believe that?’

He reached up to brush her hair behind her ear, his delicate touch sending an excited ripple through her, and then he trailed it down, the ripples multiplying exponentially.

‘What makes you say that?’ she asked, barely audible.

He studied her, his eyes dropping to her lips, their depths flashing darkly as she swept her tongue out to ease their sudden dryness.

‘I get the impression you can be quite persuasive.’