Chapter 3
3
Sloane
He orders a Scotch.
This seems fitting.
A boy drinks Coors. A man drinks Scotch.
Men who hold their own. Men who sing love songs. Men who don’t say bone town . God, I hope he’s not a bone-towner.
“And what would you like?”
I shrug happily. “I’m a woman of simple taste. A champagne-or-bust kind of gal.”
He turns back to the bartender, orders, and then returns to me. “You do look like a champagne woman.”
Woman. Not gal. Not girl. I love that he upgraded gal to woman.
“Why is that?”
“A good glass of champagne delights all your senses. It tickles your nose, and it goes to your head, and it makes you just the right kind of buzzed.”
The way he says buzzed , as if he’s telling me it turns him on, sends a thrill through me. A dart of lust. “Is that so?”
“It says you know how to celebrate, and you know how to make every day a celebration.”
I laugh. “Wow. Are you a sommelier or a bartender with your drink insight?”
He shakes his head. “I’m just a vet.”
I gesture to the setting. “What a surprise to bump into a vet at an event to raise money for animal rescues.”
He lifts his brow. “Exactly. Such a small world.” He casts a quick look around. “We could probably throw a bone out here and hit ten or twenty vets.”
“Do you want to try?”
“Do you have any bones in your pocket?”
I pat the sides of my dress where pockets would be. “Alas, I’m fresh out of Milk-Bones.”
“Next time, then.”
The bartender hands us our drinks, and he thanks the man then lifts his glass. “To Milk-Bones next time.”
I laugh. “Yes, let’s drink to Milk-Bone tossing.”
He clinks his glass to mine. “Actually, I’d much rather drink to unexpected encounters.”
Hope takes flight inside me, as I delight at that toast, those words. “So far, they’re the best kind.”
A smile spreads, nice and slow on his gorgeous face, and he nods as if to say well said, well-played .
I take a drink, enjoying the fizzy taste and the way the drink does indeed go to my head. “So, I’d have thought you were a ringer. Are you really a vet, or were you hired for those pipes?”
He holds up a hand like he’s taking an oath. “I swear. I just sing for fun. Besides,” he says, gesturing to the stage where a group of five have corralled together to take their turn belting out “Sweet Child O’ Mine,” “if I were a hired gun, I’d do more than one number. As you can see, I got in line, I took my turn, and now the next group is onstage.”
I poke his shoulder. “I don’t know if you know this, but you sure can sing.”
He offers a smile that says he appreciates the compliment. “It’s my party trick.”
I run my fingers down his arm. “That’s quite a party trick. And I thought peeling a banana with my toes was good.”
He makes a sound like a cartoon character whacked by a frying pan. “Wait.” He goes ramrod straight then slams his hand against his forehead. “You can do that ?”
I’m wearing black open-toed heels, so I lift one and wiggle a toe. “Oh, yes, I can. I learned how to do it on YouTube.”
He raises a hand and pretends to call a waiter. “One dozen bananas, stat.”
I lean forward, whispering, “Someday I’ll show you.”
He strokes my arm. “Someday soon.”
We can’t seem to stop touching each other. We can’t stop flirting. The air between us crackles and hums as we chat and drink.
I finish my champagne and decide to go bolder, to tell him what I see in him. I wet my lips, meet his gaze. “By the way, you look like a Scotch man.”
Intrigued, he lifts a brow and sets down his glass. “And what does a Scotch man look like?”
Softly, I run my finger down the silk of his tie. He lets out a slight rumble as I touch the material, and it is the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard. Like even this small touch from me does him in. “A Scotch man is confident. He’s a man’s man, but he’s a gentleman too. He holds your coat and he holds the door. And he always makes sure a lady is happy.”
I hold my breath. Did I go too far? Am I this bold? I’m not entirely sure what I’m going for. I don’t think I’m asking him to sleep with me tonight. But I’m also throwing caution to the wind. I’m letting him know I don’t simply want to flirt at the bar.
His eyes darken, blazing with flickers of desire. He raises his right arm and curls his hand over my wrist on his tie. The connection is electric. My skin sizzles where he touches me. He squeezes tighter, like he can feel the charge between us too. “But a gentleman has good manners, and wherever are mine?”
He lets go of my hand and extends his to shake. “I’m Malone Goodman.”
“I’m Sloane Elizabeth. Two first names, but one’s my last name.”
He smiles like that’s the best thing I could have said. “You couldn’t have any other name. A woman like you has to have two feminine names. Now, Sloane Elizabeth, let me tell you what I’m thinking.”
“I’m dying to know.” I inch closer to him, the space between us compressing. I’m nothing but electrons and atoms, bouncing and buzzing.
“I’d like to get to know you more. I’d like this night not to end. I thought you were stunning the second I saw you walk across the ballroom. I see that you’re clever and even more enchanting the more we connect.” He runs his fingers down my throat, touching me so sensually, so tenderly that I nearly wobble. “You seem to have bewitched me.”
“I have?”
“And I’m wondering if it would make you happy if we were to get out of here?”
My heart flies high, spreading wings. “Very, very happy.”