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“Where?” My heart shimmied to an excited beat. Wisdom and walls couldn’t withstand an invitation to dance. “What kind of music?”
“I’m not sure, exactly.” He shrugged a wide shoulder, and my gaze dipped, following the ripple of muscle. “A buddy of mine who’s local mentioned a club he likes, but he didn’t tell me the name. Give me your number. I’ll get the details, text them, and come pick you up.”
“No.” I shook away the haze he caused. The dulcet tones of his voice were nearly as tempting as the opportunity to dance with him.
Champion’s jaw tightened. He wasn’t accustomed to being turned down. “What can I say to change your mind?”
Apparently, my refusal didn’t decrease his interest. In fact, it did the opposite.
“Nothing. There’s nothing you can say. I just can’t. I’m here alone.” Nervous, I babbled. “I shouldn’t have said that. What I mean is, I didn’t take this vacation planning to meet someone. I came here to get my head together, not get it turned around by a man like you.”
“A man like me how?” He came closer and leaned in. His pine, leather, and mint scent washed more haziness over me.
“One who’s gorgeous,” I said without thinking. I was short of breath with his eyes on mine. “One who’s rich, famous, and without a care in the world. A man used to getting what he wants.”
My words were meant to discourage him. He couldn’t possibly know that my nipples were tingling. Could he? I crossed my arms over my chest, just in case.
“The fame isn’t real.” He pressed his lips into a displeased line. “And the money is a fucking trap.”
“How so?” I tilted my head.
“That kind of notoriety attracts women interested in that stuff.” His mouth twisted as if he’d chosen a piece of fruit that looked really good, but when he’d actually taken a bite, he’d discovered it was bitter. “They don’t give a shit about me. They just want photos and a chance to sleep with somebody famous. It gets old. That’s why I stopped doing the dating thing ages ago.”
I’d never thought about it that way. “Why ask me out?”
“You’re different. You said it yourself.”
He reached out and tucked a wayward lock of my hair behind my ear. My arms fell to my sides, my skin and other areas tingling from his caress.
“C’mon,” he said, his voice a lower, seductive rumble. “Go out with me. Say yes.”
“I can’t.” I curled my fingers into my palms. He was all the things I’d imagined him to be, but there was more, including unexpected tenderness to tempt me.
“Why not?” he asked.
“Because I know your type.” A partial truth. I glanced away.
I did know it, but I also didn’t. He wasn’t like any man I had met. Because of my crush? Because of his age? Because there was something inexplicable about him that felt familiar?
“What type is that?” He captured my chin and gently turned my head, ensuring he was my sole focus.
“Let’s just say that I’m around more than my share of athletes like you.” My hands formed balls at my sides.
“Because of your job?” he asked. “What do you do? You didn’t say.”
I ignored his question. No way was I telling him where I worked. Mercedes wasn’t the only reason I didn’t want him to make the connection.
“They come in. They throw their money and their gravitas around. They get what they want. Then they’re gone.”
“Sex being what they want,” he said, concluding correctly.
“Yes. Absolutely.” I nodded. “And if a hookup is what you’re looking for ...” I got an idea, and I went with it. What happened on Saint Croix, stayed on Saint Croix, right? “That would actually work for me. But don’t pretend to make it more than it would really be.”
“So, you’ll go out with me but only for sex.” His expression hardened.
My idea seemed to irritate him. I found that surprisingly refreshing.
“Potential sex,” I said, correcting him. “And only if I agree to go out with you. I’m not a foregone conclusion, Mr. Valentine.”
