Page 49

“It’s in Manhattan.”
“Oh, gee, thanks. That’s a big help.”
He laughed, leaning close enough that I could feel the warmth of his breath on my cheek. It made me shiver. “I am very helpful.”
My pulse galloped as his lips hovered just short of mine. I wanted to close the distance, to press myself against him, but if I did that, I had a feeling things would quickly get out of hand. I sat back in my seat, determined to behave myself. Before I knew it, we were pulling up in front of a massive high-rise on a busy street.
Trent shoved the door open, climbed out, and offered me a hand. I glanced up as I stepped out, my brow arching. “La Fleur?” I said, recognizing the midtown hotel famed for its gorgeous rooftop club. I’d walked past it often but never imagined going inside. “This place is impossible to get into.”
“For some,” Trent said, fixing the button on his suit jacket. “Luckily, Aiden knows the owner.” He took my hand, threading our fingers together as he led me up to the entrance for the club, and I thought my heart was going to beat out of my chest.
He nodded to the massive security guard. The man stepped aside, waving Trent past a long, winding line of people outside the building. We rode a private elevator up to the rooftop. It was a luxurious space, bathed in greenery and fresh flowers, with plush seating and floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a breathtaking three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view of the city, including the Empire State Building. The roof looked to be retractable, but seeing as it was getting colder in the evenings, it had been left closed.
“They’ve got a great cocktail menu,” Trent said. “It’s been vetted by Cora.”
Ah, yes, Aiden’s fiancée.
“Can I get you a drink?” Trent asked.
I tugged him toward the bar. “How about I getyoua drink?”
Trent raised an eyebrow, his stare dark and teasing. “Okay then.”
“Are you going to tell me what you like or are you going to let me pick your poison?” I asked, walking up to the bartender.
He smirked, eyes sparkling with amusement. “Why don’t you tell me what kind of drinkyouthink I like?”
“Is there one on the menu that strikes your fancy?”
His eyes traveled to the board and back. “There is.”
“Sex on the beach?” I asked.
He chuckled, low and throaty, reaching out to tuck one of my curls away from my face. That touch sent an electric thrill right from the top of my head down to my toes. “Do I really strike you as a sex on the beach guy?”
I shrugged. “I think you could be convinced.”
“I like my drinks less…colorful.” His hand moved from my hair to my bare arm, leaving a trail of goose bumps in its wake. I leaned into the touch, liking the way his knuckles ghosted my hip.
“Let me guess…you’re going to go for something boring. Like rum and Coke?”
“First of all, I’m not boring. But second, I’m not into rum. Maybe I’m a blackberry vodka kind of guy. Have you considered that?”
“You’re definitely not a vodka guy. You probably drank too much of it one night in college and then never touched it again.”
He narrowed his eyes playfully, leaning toward me. “Which of the guys have you been talking to?”
My breath caught in my throat. “Maybe you’re just easy to read, Mr. Saunders.”
“I’ll take a Dark ‘n’ Stormy.”
“Of course you will,” I said, placing the order for that and a Whiskey Sour. Once we had our drinks, we sat down on one of the plush sofas, angled so close our knees bumped. I knocked into him teasingly, making his drink shake.
He sipped it. “Watch yourself, Hellcat.”
“Or what?” I said, blinking up at him innocently.
“You don’t want to know,” he said, his voice almost a growl.