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I study him a long moment. “I know it’s been a second for you and you’ve just entered into your first dry spell, but I’m not a consolation prize.”
“Hardly. But I wouldn’t go home. Not if I was dressed up.”
“You’re pretending to turn a new leaf. You’re pretending you’re mature and responsible.”
“Yes,” he says, shifting to look at me, “but there’s that and there’s being so out of character. Besides, what better way to show a new me than taking my newly appointed girl out on the town?”
I shouldn’t do it. I know that. But he has a point. One that makes sense. One that’s actually smart. And, I’m dressed up.
“Okay, but I pick.”
“Deal.”
The little club we go to is in the labyrinth-like streets of the village, the curved Commerce Street, right off the tangle where Manhattan’s grid stops, and the place is down an unassuming flight of steps.
“Are you taking me to some kind of dungeon?”
The humor in his voice makes me smile as I push open the door. “Don’t get your hopes up.”
“Me? Never.”
Ryder’s looking about with a gleam in his eye and no doubt he’s enjoying all the eye candy. And inside I’m struggling to hold myself together, to nail myself to solid ground because, holy damn, Ryder kissed me.
The thought won’t go away.
And the senses memory?
It zooms and flirts and swoops inside me. I can still feel his mouth on mine. The erotic slide of his tongue. The heat and wetness and the masterful concerto he can create with a kiss.
I can still feel his hands on me as he took my lips with his.
And he only did it to further his agenda, which is what I’m here for.
He leads us through the elegant young things, and the elegant older things, too. People are dressed up, and there to be seen, but also just do their thing.
This place is a little jazzy, a little quirky, and lacking in sleaze. I like it, but more importantly, I figured it would be somewhere that would fit Ryder 2.0.
We slide into a little booth and I can’t help but notice his leg, long, firm, warm, is pressed against mine.
“What is this place?”
“A little bar. Not the kind you go to, but it’s got that vibe without the sleaze.”
Ryder raises a brow. “Interesting choice of words there, Perry.”
“I just meant it’s more…grown up.”
“Yeah. I got that.” The lights go up on a stage and there’s a smattering of applause as a tuxedoed band takes the stage, and a woman with amber hair and a figure hugging dress starts to sing in a low voice.
Ryder’s gaze is pinned to her. And that’s not jealousy I feel. Not at all. Of course, he’d watch the most mesmerizing woman in the room. Her figure won’t quit and she has oodles of talent. The sultry sexiness of love mourned in her song winds around the room and I study the cocktail menu. It’s a dark place, with well placed low orangey lights. Even the stage is lit in such a way it doesn’t disturb the vibe of the place.
“The violet martini,” he says.
I look up and he’s watching me and no one else.
And it’s hard to breathe.
There’s a light in his gaze that ignites me. I’m sure it’s something he doesn’t think about, just uses. But it’s like he can see right down into me, down into my secret self, where I’m beautiful. Because that’s how he looks at me. Like I’m that. Like he likes what he sees. Like he wants it.
