Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 103661 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103661 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
"I know server friendly. It's more."
"Perhaps. I don't care one way or another."
"No. You aren't going to invite her to join us in a threesome?"
Ian chuckles. "Am I that bad at reading the room?"
It's a good point. I am clearly not at threesome point. "Maybe your desire is overtaking you."
He turns his body toward mine. "Is it?"
"Maybe."
"Maybe that's your desire."
"I want to have a threesome?"
He shakes his head. "No. You're not the type."
"How do you know that?"
"Am I wrong?"
No, but how does he know that? "You must say it for some reason."
"The way you look at me. Like I'm the only thing you've ever wanted."
Fuck. Is it that obvious? I clear my throat. "And you?"
"I'm not interested in a ménage à trois."
"Oh." I'm not all that articulate today.
It's him. Or maybe it's the high altitude. The thirty-seventh floor must be a high altitude.
It's so beautiful today. The very start of sunset. The pale blue sky. The hint of orange on the horizon.
"Oh?" he asks.
I turn toward him. Force myself to look into his dark eyes. I want to stare at them forever. And I'm terrified of losing myself in them. "Isn't that supposed to be every guy's fantasy?"
"Maybe. But it's not mine."
"Do you have one?"
His eyes meet mine. "More than one."
"Anything… specific?"
"Yes." He says it with confidence. Like he knows I'm going to ask for details. Like he's sure I want to know every one of his dirty desires.
I guess my poker face is terrible.
Or maybe I can let go of the poker face. Sure, Ian Hunt is a man with enough power to destroy me, with intentions I don't understand—
But we agree on one thing.
I want him and he wants me.
The waitress saves me from an embarrassing question. She drops off our drinks.
Two gin and tonics. Plus a carafe of water and glasses.
She sets everything on the table. "A few minutes to order?"
He nods thank you.
She smiles and disappears. A good server. Invisible.
He picks up his drink. "Would you prefer something else?"
"No. It's just… strange for you to order for me." And stranger, that I'm more relieved than annoyed.
"I'll drink it if you don't."
Not really an answer. I guess I didn't ask a question. I do want it. And I like that he knows that. Even if he's being so pushy about it.
I take a small sip. Mmm. Just as perfect as the last. In a different way. Sweeter. More herbaceous. Still incredibly refreshing. "What about food?"
"I don't know what food you like yet."
"But you know my drink preference?"
"Don't I?" His voice drips with that same steady confidence.
Does anything ruffle this guy? "And when you do know what food I like?"
"I won't order for you if it upsets you." He takes a long sip. "But I'd like to take care of your needs, Eve. All of them."
I sidestep the dirty implication. "You want to decide for me?"
"No. I want to know what you want before you do. So you have one less thing to consider."
It sounds reasonable like that. And… sexy, actually. Someone looking out for my needs first? Knowing what I want before I do and giving it to me?
That sounds like heaven.
For a while, at least.
"Okay. If you prove yourself, you can order for me," I say.
"If I prove myself?"
I nod yes. "I'll tell you a few dishes I like. You order something for me here. If I like it, I'll give you another shot."
"What if you don't like it?"
"We'll do best of three."
He laughs. "You're going easy on me."
"I'm picky."
"Are you?"
I shake my head. It's hard to be picky when broke.
"So this should be easy?"
"No, I need to love whatever you suggest. It needs to be the best thing I've ever had."
"High standards."
I nod.
"I appreciate that." He picks up the menu. "What do you like?" Intention slips into his voice. Just enough to hint at later.
That is what he wants. To anticipate my desires and give them to me.
"I like this." I hold up my drink. "But I guess you already know that."
"What about it?"
"The lime. The herbs. The balance. It's light and strong at the same time."
"You prefer subtle flavors?"
"I don't know. What makes something subtle? I like basil. And I like sriracha."
"Favorite cuisine?"
"Indian."
"Really?" He raises a brow.
"Why is that surprising?"
"It's better in London."
"How do you know? Have you tried every place in New York?" I ask.
"How can you doubt me if you've never been to London?"
"How do you know I've never been to London?"
"Educated guess." He takes another sip. Turns his attention to the menu. "What do you like about Indian food?"
"It's cheap. And veggie friendly. My sister is a vegetarian."
"What about the flavor?"
"The spices. And chai. I love chai. But my favorite dish is harder to find. Jalfrezi."
"It is hard to find here."
"Oh?"
He nods. "Popular in London. But not in the States."
"Oh." It's my new favorite word. How else can I respond to him? He's just… oh.