Page 27 of It Hurts Me

“Thought I could take you out to dinner.”

No woman had ever said that to me, and it was really sexy. “I have to reject the offer, sweetheart.”

Her stare remained steady, but I could see a hint of disappointment.

“Because I’m the one taking you to dinner.”

She parked her car at my villa, and we went together.

I assumed that meant she intended to stay over, but I would never assume that until her dress was on my bedroom floor. Until her heels dug into my ass because we were in too much of a hurry to take them off.

I drove us in my blacked-out Range Rover, the vehicle I preferred to take because it was a special build, the windows and the body bulletproof. She was beside me, her legs crossed in her little black dress, the material up dangerously high.

I tested out the waters and moved my hand to her thigh, feeling the soft skin of those beautiful legs. My eyes stayed on the road with my hand on the wheel, so I didn’t see her reaction if she had one.

She didn’t push my hand away. Instead, she hooked her arm around my forearm, her small hand resting partially on top of mine, her skin cold to the touch against the heat of my skin.

We drove the rest of the way in silence, the radio off.

She wasn’t a talker like most women. She didn’t run her mouth a million miles a minute. Whenever she spoke, it was deliberate and purposeful. Silence was a sign of confidence, so if she could withstand the tension that built between us, that meant her spine was metal rather than jelly.

I parked the Range Rover then placed my hand against her lower back as I guided her to the entrance. Even in her sky-high heels, she was still a foot shorter than me. My hand rested right above the top of her perky ass, and I wanted to slide it down farther.

I pulled out her chair when we made it to our table then sat across from her.

She was a bombshell in that little black dress, thin straps over her shoulders, her tits stretching the fabric the way my arms nearly ripped through my shirt. She’d taped down her nipples instead of wearing a bra, but she was cold, so her nipples were slightly visible as they pebbled.

I’d offer her my jacket if I had one.

But I was glad I didn’t.

I ordered two scotches the second the waitress walked up, then we were left alone again.

“I appreciate scotch, but I don’t drink it the way you do.”

“You’ll get there.”

A little smile moved on to her full lips. “I’d be hammered all day if I drank that much.”

I couldn’t remember the last time I had a buzz. Scotch was like water to me now.

The waitress returned with the two glasses.

“She’ll also have a water.”

The waitress nodded and walked away.

“I’ll drink yours if you don’t want it.”

“And you’ll be able to drive out of here?” she asked incredulously.

“I can do more than drive, sweetheart.”

Her smile slowly disappeared, and so did her gaze.

I was desperate to know what had happened between her and her husband, but I would never ask. I didn’t like to pull information out of people, only receive it freely…unless they were stupid enough to cross me.

The fact that she’d asked me to dinner told me some of the story—that she was either ready to give the open marriage a try or she was ready to move on. Maybe she would tell me by the end of the night.