Chapter 1 #2
Turning in his arms, I’m ready to thank him for saving me from the torturous conversation and having to break Jordan’s heart on my own, but the words get caught in my throat.
Eyes the color of the cerulean sea stare ahead, locked on something, or someone, before they blink down at me.
They have to be the prettiest color I’ve ever seen.
This man is not from around here, and while he looks familiar—more familiar than Jordan—I can’t remember where we could have met.
I’m about eighty (maybe seventy-five) percent sure I’ve seen him before, though.
He’s handsome and towers over me, having to be at least six feet with broad shoulders and thick arms hugged by a dark gray Henley shirt.
Light brown hair that is the perfect length to run my hand through, but not too long.
His hand still lingers on my waist, and his thumb lazily moves against the exposed skin above my waistband.
The touch ignites a spark inside me. “T-thanks…for saving me. Bad time for my friends to go have a smoke break, huh?”
His eyes narrow slightly before a soft chuckle rises in his throat. He looks ahead one final time before he smiles back at me. “I don’t know. You seem like the type of girl who can handle her own if needed.”
“Then what are you doing here?”
“Oh, you looked miserable, and I was miserable listening to my friends bitch about work…So, I decided, why not make us both less miserable? Besides, that poor bastard clearly wasn’t getting the message.”
You think?
“You’re not from around here, are you?” I ask.
A toothy grin spreads across his face. “How can you tell?”
“You don’t exactly look like a college student, but you also don’t give Alexandria vibes. So, I know you’re not from here.”
He shakes his head. “No, I’m here for work.”
“So, is this your shtick?” I ask. My hand comes to rest over his arm, still on the bar. “Go to a local bar wherever you’re in town for work, find the most miserable-looking girl, and say, ‘Her! She’s the one.’”
“Actually, you’d be the first. I don’t usually pick up women in bars.”
That seems hard to believe. This man is the definition of tall, dark, and handsome, and he doesn’t pick women up in bars? Every eye in here has turned his way at least twice since we started talking—men and women alike.
“Yet, here you are, doing just that.”
“Is that what I’m doing?” he asks with a smirk that stirs the butterflies in my stomach.
However, it must be a different breed of butterfly because their presence doesn’t make me nervous.
He doesn’t make me nervous. He makes me feel…
safe. Comfortable. Sexy. Confident. So many words run through my mind, each one true.
“You tell me.” I haven’t felt this bold when talking to a guy in years. What is happening? “I’m Savvy,” I say, extending my hand in the small space between us.
“John.” He takes my hand and presses it to the back of his lips before his eyes glance over my left shoulder. “Your friends are back.”
When I do the same, I see Cassandra lead Kingsley through the door, her eyes frantically sweeping across the room until finally landing on me. Us. Her eyes widen, and her mouth drops. She forces Kingsley to look in my direction before I shoot them a wink, turning back to John. “So it would seem.”
John glances over his shoulder where his own friends are too busy heckling the guy sitting at the far end of the table to notice he’s gone—well, except for one of them.
The stone face of the man at this end of the table unmistakably stares straight at us, watching with a level of uncertainty.
He’s darker than John, but I can’t tell whether the deep gold color of his skin is natural or a spray tan.
The bronzed tone almost looks too perfect to be natural.
Grey eyes flicker from John to me, and the chill that accompanies it reminds me of Cathy, the assistant coach of the Wildcats. Cold, calculating, overly observant.
“Don’t mind him.” John chuckles, turning away from his friend. “He’s just mad because I left him to deal with those fools.”
I play with the opening of his Henley before my hand trails up around his neck, and his hands find my waist again. I’d be lying if I said there isn’t a spark of something new when he pulls me flush against him.
He leans down to my right ear and whispers, “You want to get out of here?”
I’m not sure Cassandra meant this when she said I needed to get Conner out of my system, but who am I to deny myself a night of pleasure with a guy as good-looking as this one?
“Lead the way,” I say.
John slaps a hundred-dollar bill on the bar and places my untouched beer on top of it. He takes my hand to lead me past the table my friends have been watching from and out the door.
He’s staying at the Crimson Valley Resort?
What in the hell does this guy do? “The Resort,” as locals like to call it, is one of the most luxurious places within at least a hundred miles, sitting equidistant between the Valley and Alexandria.
This is for people who can afford multiple hundred dollars a night, or people who want to pretend they can.
The Resort is where you’d find someone like me working behind the front desk to make a little extra money.
It isn’t The Plaza in New York, but it seems close.
I’m surprised by how easily the conversation with John has flowed since we left the bar.
We’ve managed to discuss our likes and dislikes, the number of siblings we have, why I was at Ash & Thorn in the first place, and whether we like pineapple on pizza—the only correct answer here is yes, no matter what he says—but the one thing we’ve seemed to avoid mentioning is work.
Not that I minded. It’s nice, considering the next four months my life will revolve around school and the ’Cats.
“Your job puts you up in the Resort? Are you the CEO?” I ask when John offers his hand to help me step out of the SUV. His only response is a laugh, and I can’t hold back my own smile. “Is this one of those if you tell me you’d have to kill me things?”
“Sure.” He laughs again. “Let’s go with that.” John thanks the valet, handing him the keys and a twenty, and rests his hand on my lower back to guide me through the revolving door.
I cannot believe I’m doing this right now. I’ve never done something like this. What in the hell am I doing? This isn’t me…Then again, wasn’t that the point? To do something out of the norm and forget about the shitstorm I’ve created?
John leads me through the expansive lobby to the left back corner labeled “South Tower,” and before he can hit the elevator call button, the doors slide open.
A man not much shorter than John stands on the other side, wearing a suit and tie.
Interesting choice of apparel for…I glance at my watch and realize it’s almost midnight.
Where in hell is he going at midnight dressed like that?
I probably wouldn’t have thought anything of it, nor paid him any attention, except for the look in his eye and the nod he gives the man beside me, like they know each other.
“Brooks,” the man says. Brooks? I thought his name was John? You know what…None of my business.
“Theo.” That’s all the exchange consists of before the man named Theo steps off the elevator, and John pulls me inside, letting the doors close.
“Friend of yours?” I ask.
“Yes and no,” John answers with a shrug. “Think more of a close acquaintance on the corporate side of things.” The answer only serves to bring more questions to mind, but I tell myself they don’t matter because after tonight, I’m never going to see this man—or Theo—again.
John stands on the opposite side of the elevator, hands gripping the handrail behind him, his eyes cast on the floor.
I can practically see the swirling thought cloud hovering above his head.
There’s a war inside him, and I can’t help but wonder if he’s having second thoughts…
or maybe I’m just projecting my own insecurities, my own worries, onto him.
One final ding signals our arrival on the twentieth floor.
His gaze trails from the floor up the length of my body.
Warmth radiates from his darkened stare, and any sense of hesitation I’d been feeling moments ago dissipates.
Without warning, John steps forward, claiming my mouth with his own.
The railing digs into my back, the metal cool against my burning skin as my jacket bunches.
The kiss is all-consuming. I feel him everywhere, despite one hand being firmly planted on my waist and the other on the wall behind me.
It’s not enough, I need more. I need him, all of him.
John groans when I pull his bottom lip between my teeth, eyes on fire when they meet mine, as his hand slams against the door when it begins to close.
His other hand moves from my waist, threading his fingers through mine to drag me down the hallway.
I can barely keep up with his long strides before coming to an abrupt stop in front of his room.
He waves the keycard over the little black rectangular box fixed on the door, but a red light blinks alongside a derogatory beep.
With an amused huff, I fall back against the wall, watching him continue to wave the card.
Each attempt is met with a red light. He curses under his breath, and I reach for the card.
My hand envelops his much larger one, slowly guiding it over the lock.
letting it rest there instead of waving it frantically like he’d been doing, and a second later, it blinks green, followed by the sound of the lock opening.