Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95606 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95606 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
“Oh, I couldn’t,” Hamish blustered.
Sig tuned out.
Chloe. Chloe Clifford.
Perfect fit. Sort of whimsical, but classy as hell.
Her hand was still on his arm. The man had called her “miss,” but Sig still checked for a ring, because something inside of him needed to be doubly sure. The appropriate finger was bare. Not her wrist, though. It had a string of diamonds around it—and he had a feeling they were equally real as the heart going end over end like a boomerang in his rib cage.
Wake up.
This is important.
She’d asked him to play along. For some reason, this woman had decided to save him and he was standing there like a lobotomized ape. “Uh, yeah.” He cleared his throat hard, hitting Hamish with a look of chagrin. “Sorry, I forgot to mention I was Chloe’s guest.”
“My guest,” she echoed, patting his arm. “Yes. An esteemed one.”
“Ah, no need to flatter me, Chlo.”
Her eyes sparkled a little brighter. With humor. “Oh, that old pet name. No one has called me that since—”
Sig snapped his fingers. “That long weekend we spent on the Sound.”
Chloe sighed dreamily. “You were just learning to sail.”
“And you ate way too many oysters.”
Their fake laughter was nearly identical.
Hamish had turned green. “Well.” He folded his hands very precisely on the front desk. “You certainly know your way to the lounge. Please excuse me if I didn’t treat your esteemed guest as I should have.”
“You’re excused, Hamish,” Sig said, winking at the other man.
Murder flashed briefly in Hamish’s eyes, but he hid it quickly. “Have an exceptional evening.”
“We shall, but only thanks to you, dear man,” Chloe said effusively, linking her arm through Sig’s and guiding him across the immaculate lobby, Sig leaving boot prints in the gray carpeting, his pulse hammering in his ears. Was he going somewhere he would be alone with this person? Was she always so trusting of strangers? “Well, I, for one, think that performance calls for a bottle of stolen champagne,” she whispered near his shoulder. “Don’t you? We can toast to our fake memories of the Sound while we wait for your phone to charge.”
“Make it a bottle of beer and I’m in.”
She squinted thoughtfully. “I don’t know where they keep the beer. I’ve only ever stolen champagne.”
“I’ll suffer through it, I guess.” She was leading him into a room full of couches and a full bar, soft music playing. A pool table lit by a chandelier. Holy high rollers. “What made you help me out like that, Chlo?”
“Well.” He already loved the way Chloe squared her shoulders, shimmying them up and down, as if settling in for story time. “I was leaving through the tennis courts, and I saw you being nice to the valet. Not enough people are nice to them, you know! And I knew Hamish was going to stonewall you, so I circled back and intervened.” She tilted her head curiously. “Why did that valet want your autograph? I couldn’t hear that part.”
“I’m a hockey player.”
She gasped. “A famous one?”
“Only to people who watch hockey, I suppose. To everyone else, I’m just crashing the country club.”
“You were crashing it, too.” She clucked her tongue in mock reproof. “Hamish has never been spoken to in such a manner.”
“He’ll live.”
A smile spread across her gorgeous mouth to reveal a perfect row of pearly whites. “You’re going to be fun to get drunk with, I think, Mister . . .”
“Gauthier. Sig Gauthier.”
She reared back slightly, nose crinkling. “Oh. That name does sound weirdly familiar. I must have heard it while flipping past SportsCenter.”
“Past it, huh? Not a sports fan?”
“Does tennis count?”
“Nah.”
She laughed, and he smiled enough to notice his facial muscles shifting. Stretching. Damn. Damn. Beautiful and fun and quick. He suddenly couldn’t care less if he made it to dinner tonight. He’d let his phone charge well past 100 percent, too. Just sitting there talking to this girl. Looking at her. There was something big and scary happening inside of his chest that he couldn’t name or explain. Only that he wanted, needed, to let it happen.
Somehow, he knew that she wasn’t a choice.
“We’ll sit here, since it’s the closest to an outlet.” Chloe indicated that he should take a seat on a leather couch the color of whiskey when it’s held up to the light. She rummaged in her purse a moment and took out a white phone charger, kneeling down to plug it into the wall and holding out her hand for his phone, giving him a riveting view of Chloe from behind. “You’ll be back up and running in no time.”
His gaze traveled up the backs of her thighs. “I don’t seem to be in a rush anymore.”
“Hmm. I bet.” She leaned sideways and lifted her chin to look over his shoulder. “I need to wait for the bartender to turn his back so I can steal our drinks.”