Chapter 29
Twenty-Nine
Eloise
Conor booked us a suite at the hotel, which means I have my own room, and he has his, and they’re on opposite sides of the living area. It was a nice gesture, but I’ll admit to being a little disappointed. I understand that he’s being respectful because we haven’t talked about us or where we’re going. That needs to change. We need to have a conversation so I can tell him where I’m at.
When I step out of my room, I hear ice cubes dropping into a glass. Conor is at the bar, concentrating on making his drink. I take the opportunity to watch him. He’s wearing blue slacks with a white shirt with the faintest light blue stripes running down lengthwise. The dress shirt is tucked into his waistband, secured with a black belt. I’m assume his matching jacket is hanging somewhere. God, he’s gorgeous with his chestnut hair styled away from his face, his strong jawline prominent, and his lean, muscular frame evident beneath his clothes.
He glances up and looks back down at his drink, but then his head pops back up. Without a word, he sets his glass down and walks toward me, his gaze running up and down my body several times.
“I’m sorry, I went a different route.” I clasp my hands in front of me and shift my stance, crossing my ankles.
“Don’t be. You clearly know your body best.” He hasn’t looked at my face yet.
When he took me to the boutique, I decided to buy the dress he picked out. It was a shorter dress that hit above my knee. But I ended up returning to the store and exchanging it for the one I’m wearing. It’s light blue with spaghetti straps and a ruched overlay that ends just past my kneecaps. There’s no slit, but with the clingy fabric, it reads classy and sexy I think.
“You’re killing me, Eloise.” He takes my joined hands, weaving his fingers through mine and resting my arms at my sides. “You’re by my side all night, you hear me?”
I smile. The lust in his eyes brings an ache between my thighs. “I’m your date.”
“Yeah, you are.” His voice is hoarse, so he clears his throat. “Do you want a drink before we go?” He drops my hands and steps back, turning toward the bar.
“Sure.” I follow him to the bar, admiring how his ass is snug in his slacks.
“Champagne, wine, or I’m making a vodka tonic if you prefer.”
“I’ll have a vodka tonic too.” I place my clutch on the bar top and watch him pour the drink, squeeze the lime, and plop it in the glass.
Neither of us says a word, but the energy between us feels as taut as a tightrope.
“Thank you for agreeing to be my date.” He hands me my drink, raising his for a cheers.
I clink my glass to his. “Thank you for asking.”
We both take a sip, then rest the glasses on the bar top.
“I have something to tell you, and I hope you’re not mad,” he says. “I wasn’t going to say anything, but it’s all I can think of, and I feel guilty for it.”
My stomach clenches. “Now you’re scaring me.”
He sips his drink. “When I was packing the truck, your tote turned upside down.”
I wave him off. “Oh, there’s nothing breakable in there. I’m sure it’s fine.” I touch his upper arm, but he’s still tense.
He concentrates on my hand on his bicep, then lifts his gaze to me. “A list fell out.”
My smile dies a swift death, plummeting with my stomach to the floor. “Oh.”
He nods. “Yeah.”
“Excuse me while I drown myself in my drink.” I pick up my vodka tonic, ready to down it and then consume the entire bar until I blackout and forget this moment.
Conor lays his hand over the top of my glass and pulls it away from me. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to snoop or anything.”
“Now you really have to show me your list.” My cheeks feel as if they’re on fire.
He chuckles. “Done. I’ll show it to you tonight. Although it’s not nearly as intriguing as this new list of yours.”
I push him in the shoulder and leave the bar, going to stare out the window at Lake Michigan. “I have no idea how I haven’t died of mortification in the past month.”
He comes up next to me, so close his shoulder brushes my bare one. “I have to know though, have you really never come from oral?”
A strangled cry rushes up my throat. “Do these windows open?” I press my hands onto the glass.
His knuckles run along my arm until his hand is in mine. “Come here.” He guides me over to the couch. “Sit down.”
“Do I have to?” I groan.
He sits facing me, his knees hitting mine. “Don’t be embarrassed.”
“You’d be cool if I read your sex bucket list? If you never came while a girl gave you a blow job?”
He tries to hide his laugh but loses the battle. “The fact that you haven’t come from oral sex isn’t something to be ashamed of. It’s not your fault. It’s the weak-ass partners you’ve been choosing.”
“Let me guess, you’re up for the challenge?” I arch an eyebrow.
“You have no idea how badly I want to rip that dress off you, pin you to the bed, and make you scream my name because of what I’m doing with my tongue.”
A rush of adrenaline bolts through my veins with the thought of him being rough with me, taking what he wants.
“And stop blushing because that’s only getting me more turned on.” He stands abruptly from the couch. “Fuck, finding that list is killing me.”
“Am I supposed to apologize for that?”
He swipes his drink off the bar and turns around. “Fuck no. But if you thought I was all over you to complete your other list, you have no idea how badly I want to lock these doors and help you put a checkmark next to each item on your sex list.”
“Well, I don’t think there’s a washing machine here, so…”
His eyes widen. “I didn’t see that one.” He takes another swig of his drink before dropping the empty glass onto the bar top.
“I have to have sex on a washing machine.”
“Fuck me.” He grabs a bottle of vodka.
I wiggle, using the armrest of the couch to help me get up with this tight dress on. “Why are you so frazzled?”
He side-eyes me while he pours himself another drink. “You know why.”
“I think we need to talk.” I take the bottle from his hand and set it on the bar. “I want you to know that I’m ready to move on, move forward.”
He shakes his head. “No, you’re not.”
“I’m sorry?” My head tilts.
“You’re not ready. It’s only been a month since you were supposed to be married.”
A knock sounds on the door, but we both stand in place, our eyes locked.
“So that’s it? You’re telling me I’m not ready, so that’s how it is? You’ve made the decision, and that’s that.” I yank my clutch off the bar top and walk past him to the door.
“It’s just the chemistry between us that’s making you think that,” he says to my back.
“Guess you know best.” I open the door to find Tweetie there. He’s dressed in a maroon suit that’s clearly been tailor-fit especially for him.
“Can I have a drink?” He moves to step inside, but I put my hand on his chest, pushing him back.
“We’re going to be late.”
Tweetie peers over my head at Conor. “Feels a little chilly in here.”
Whatever look Conor gives him from behind me, I don’t know, but Tweetie doesn’t push it and stands in the hallway with me, waiting for Conor to join us. Conor walks out still putting one arm into his suit jacket, allowing the door to shut behind him. The three of us walk toward the elevator, me leading the way to be as far from Conor as I can before I cause a scene and go off on him.
He thinks he gets to make the decision whether I’m ready or not? What bullshit.
I press the down button, and we step into the elevator a few seconds later when it arrives.
“Mommy and daddy, can you please stop fighting?” Tweetie stares us both down from the corner of the elevator.
I don’t say anything. Neither does Conor.
The elevator arrives at the lobby, and Tweetie gets out, beelining it over to the rest of our group, surely telling them all Conor and I seem to be in a fight.
“Can we talk?” Conor whispers as we step out of the elevator.
“You already made the decision. What’s to talk about?” I smack on a smile and walk up to the group, gushing over how gorgeous Jade and Kyleigh look.
Conor shakes hands with the other guys, but he’s quiet otherwise, and I feel his eyes on me.
Well, they can stay there because I’m not going to be with another man who wants to dictate my feelings and my decisions for me.