Chapter Three
The crowded bar is a blur, even as I catch so many eyes on me.
On us.
Because Wickham, big man that he is, takes my hand as he leads me out of the bar.
The crisp night air fills my lungs and breathes much-needed logic into my brain.
The tiniest red flag springs up in the back of my mind. I don’t think he’s as nervous as I am about leaving with a stranger. He can’t possibly think I’m a threat to him.
But he could be a threat to me.
“Can I see your ID?” I ask him.
He removes a slim leather wallet from his back pocket and withdraws his license.
“Where are you taking me, Wickham?”
“My place.”
The bar’s door bursts open, and Violet squeezes between patrons. She hands me my little purse with my phone already tucked inside it.
“Violet, Wickham. Wickham, Violet,” I prompt and hold out my hand. “ID, please.”
He presents it to me so Violet can take a photo.
Wickham L. Barrett. An address I don’t recognize. It’s definitely outside the city, though.
“Satisfied?” he asks.
They nod at each other, and she gives me a look that conveys the universal, you good?
“Wickham was just finding a hotel for us,” I say by way of reply.
“My house is more comfortable,” he interjects.
“I’m not leaving the city.”
“She’s right,” Violet says. “It’d be a challenge to get a ride back, especially in the middle of the night.”
He grimaces and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Whatever makes you most comfortable.”
Violet squeezes me into a hug and whispers in my ear, “ Two orgasms, Grace .”
Before I can second guess my decision, I let him wrap his coat around my shoulders and take my hand.
Hmmm, suspenders. And perfectly tailored pants. And a white button-down.
Red flags miraculously become green ones.
The big bear of a man leads me down the street to a partially vacant garage. The attendant lifts the gate so we can walk into the first floor without having to dodge the blockade.
“Evening, Mr. Barrett,” the attendant says. Wickham grips my hand firmly and maneuvers me behind him.
“Michael. Anything of note?” he asks.
“No, sir.”
“Good.” Wickham holds his palm out and passes Michael a folded square of bills.
Michael doesn’t acknowledge me, and I can’t decide if that’s good or bad. Either Wick takes home enough women that I don’t merit a name, or he doesn’t want me talking to Michael.
Why wouldn’t he want me talking to the attendant?
A car beeps, and the lights flash about fifty feet away. My one night stand leads me to a sleek, muted silver car with four doors. A black horse on a yellow shield is set into the hood and adorns the side, but otherwise, I have no idea what kind of car it is.
Car seems to undersell it. It’s like calling a diamond ring a bauble. The sleek curves and aerodynamics make it feel like a roadster crossed with a smaller SUV.
It emphasizes how little I know about this man. He could’ve given a fake name in the app and had the ID ready to go. Hell, that might not even be his regular phone. It would explain why he was so free to hand them over.
With his fingers woven with mine, Wick swings me around and presses my back against the vehicle. He plants his palm on its roof, over my shoulder, and peers down at me.
“Don’t be nervous,” he insists.
“I’m not nervous.”
“No? You haven’t said two words since leaving your friend. What was her name? Violet? Do you want to call her?”
“It’s fine.”
A growl rumbles from his chest and, despite all good judgment, it piques the excitement simmering in my chest.
“Really, it is,” I reassure him. “I’ve realized I don’t know you. I don’t even know what kind of car this is or where you’re taking me.”
“It’s a Purosangue.”
“Sure, that sounds like a word.”
He chuckles, and it calms some of the anxiety brewing.
Wickham releases my hand to tip up my chin with his pointer finger.
Our eyes meet, and the gold flecks seem to multiply as he focuses wholly on me.
Wickham leans forward to murmur, “Don’t worry about the car. I walked on the lot and asked for the best they had, and this is what they delivered. It’s only a way to get from one place to the next.”
“Those also sound like words, yet none of them explain how a Ferrari is merely ‘a way to get from one place to the next.’ ”
His grin blooms.
Wickham fully smiling is something to behold. It’s pleased and eager, with an undercurrent of mischief that I can’t help but find exciting.
Sure, he’s a bit domineering, but I kind of like it. It’s perfect for a single night of fun—all the relaxation and release, none of the ongoing baggage that comes with controlling men.
Wick’s body presses against mine as he leans into the car. His mouth hovers only an inch away as he examines my lips with hooded eyes.
“Would you prefer to pick the hotel? I want you to feel safe,” he says.
Kiss me first.
Instead of that particular ask, I bite my lip to keep from begging for it and nod.
“Then pick your poison, gorgeous,” he replies. “Anywhere you want to go. Name it, and it’s yours.”
A dozen options flip through my mind, all of them places I’m already familiar and comfortable with, but then I recognize I’ve called this all wrong.
Investment banking. The expensive car. I should pick the nicest hotel in the city, because there is zero chance I’ll ever get to stay there again.
“The Botanical,” I tell him.
His eyebrows lift, and he drops centimeters lower until his lips brush over mine as he speaks. “Whatever you want, Grace. Other requests?”
“I’m a little hungry.”
“Food’s a good idea. Soak up some of the alcohol. I’ll take care of it. Anything else for my girl?”
He runs his bottom lip over mine, and I remain fixed and frozen in time.
My heart pounds, and time slows to a crawl while I wait for him to kiss me.
Quick breaths come out as pants in the endless pause that leaves fireworks bursting in my chest.
My fingers tingle, itching to touch him.
But it’s like my body refuses to move so I don’t screw it up and miss a chance.
Because but damn do I want him to kiss me.
He pecks a gentle kiss on the corner of my mouth. “No? Nothing else you’d like to ask for?” he teases.
Instead of giving in to his gentle prodding, I find my courage and raise my chin to initiate the kiss. I graze my lips over his before pressing firmly against him.
Wick gives a satisfied hum and leans fully into the kiss. The finger propping up my chin circles my ear to tuck my hair behind it and keep it out of my face. He cups my jaw and takes control.
Kissing Wickham Barrett is an experience. Firm pressure and adamant confidence overtake any hesitation. He tastes of the whiskey-and-lemon-soaked cherry, and I open my mouth to seek out more of him.
Our tongues tangle, and his long frame fully traps me against the car.
I run my hands around his waist and tuck my fingers into the belt low on his spine. His back muscles flex, and every speck of movement is amplified a thousand fold while he presses against me.
But he tears his face away from me.
“I need to get you somewhere private,” he mutters.
“I’m all for that.”
The hulking man pulls me away from the car so he can pry open the door. I don’t even see him remove keys or unlock it. He settles me into my seat and circles to the driver’s side. He even does this adorable skip to get to the other door quicker.
Once inside, he buckles my seat belt for me—which would be annoying in any other circumstance, but right now I like it.
Michael kept the gate open for us the entire time. When the engine revs to life, the attendant jogs into the public road to stop traffic.
Wickham types a few commands into his phone, hits the ignition, and peels out of the parking space. We blast through the exit and rocket into the night.
If I’m totally honest with myself, I should’ve known something was off when we arrived at The Botanical.
The valet immediately hopped out of the station and ran to the driver’s side door. He greeted Wick by name. There was an exchange similar to Michael’s, but at no time did he hand Wickham a ticket. A key fob was left in the vehicle.
Before I could overthink that interaction, Wick had already appeared at my door to help me exit and ushered me into the hotel.
My heels clack on the marble floors inlaid with extravagant gold patterns. Florals and broad-leafed plants envelop the space in a fairytale aura. Flowered vines hang from the ceiling.
We don’t stop at the front desk. We don’t pause to check the map to see where we’re going.
No. Instead, Wickham continues leading me, our fingers tightly braided together, through the luxury hotel’s common space.
He waves his phone over the elevator’s access panel, and up we fly to the twenty-first floor.
When the doors slide open, a marble foyer is revealed, containing only a round table with an enormous vase and flower arrangement. Double doors on the other side remain closed.
Wick waves his phone again, and suddenly, I’m in one of the most expensive rooms in the city with unquestionably the hottest guy I’ve ever gone home with.
Maybe the AI is onto something after all.
Wick barely pauses to give me a tour. As if he knows the rooms intimately, he continues leading me along by our joined hands into a formal dining room.
Grass-cloth with hand-painted irises bloom above board and batten. The table could comfortably seat at least eight people.
There, waiting for us, is a plethora of foods and drinks. The variety is baffling, from a steak with shaved truffle down to a simple cheeseburger.
The smell alone makes my stomach growl.
Wickham chuckles, pulls out a chair, and waves an open hand to have me sit. Once I’m seated, he helps scoot the chair in.
“Eat,” he insists. “I need to check on a few emails before the Tokyo afternoon. It’ll only be a few minutes, I promise.”
“Thank you, Wickham.”
“Oh, and gorgeous? No more alcohol. I don’t want to worry you aren’t thinking straight—and I want you to remember every second.”
I roll my eyes, but there’s no animosity to it.
A handsome, wealthy man who looks fucking fantastic in his pressed slacks is plying me with food and promising adult fun.
In any other circumstance, with any other guy, I don’t think I’d have made it to the room at all.
I don’t usually like risks I can’t account for.
Perhaps I should be reckless more often.