“Um. Hi,” I say. I even give a small, dorky wave.
I’m not really sure what to say or how to dance or how to think words right now. I’ve never had a Dirty Dancing meet you on the floor kind of moment before. I spin around, looking for Shanna. When I find her, I give her wide help me eyes. She frowns, points at the guy, and mouths, “Talk to him!” She wears that little crooked expression of hers, the kind that makes me feel like she’s a tiny bit sorry for me.
All right, then. I can do this. I’ve been out of the game a long time, sure. Okay, like over a year. Most nights I’m working on a deadline, getting a beer with friends, or catching up on Netflix. Maybe I’ve been a little overly cautious about going out there and having a good time, and this is my chance. I’ve got to get back in to the flirting pool, one toe at a time.
I just wish I knew what to say. Like, how do I interest a guy, seduce him, make him think I’m sexy and desirable?
I mean, if only I were a romance author or something, duh. Come on, Julia! Screw flirting, your professional reputation is at stake here! I mean, kind of! I turn back around, this time with a smile playing on my lips. I also shake my hips a little more, just a white lady trying her damn best. I try for coy and mischievous. Coy and mischievous are right up this guy’s street. He moves a little closer, letting his hands drift down to my hips. I do a little shake. I think he likes it.
“I’m Julia,” I say, putting a hand on his shoulder while we dance. I press myself close, feel the heat of his body through his white T-shirt. In my fantasies, he’d be dressed up a little more. Ooh, like in an Armani suit, elegant and aloof. And then he’d open his mouth and tell me his name was something exotic, something like—
“My name’s Derek,” he says. Okay, that puts a bump in my fantasy. But the next words out of his mouth are, “Buy you a drink?” I already like where this is going.
What did Lola Sinclair say when she first met Archer Valmont in Sizzling in Seattle?
Well, she had his dick in her mouth in the first ten pages, so maybe not much in the way of dialogue.
But nothing wrong with pretending to be Lola, is there? If nothing else, girl knows how to get the job done.
“Drink?” Derek asks again, a little concerned look on his face.
Crap. I’d done the go to another dimension writing blackout thing. I’ve been told my eyes cross when I do that. I toss my hair and return myself to the here and now. Lola it up, Julia. Let’s do this.
“Love one,” I purr into his ear. Derek likes that. He sweeps me off the floor, finding us a cozy little booth in the corner. I slide in, and he moves in after me, casually circling his arm behind, then slowly around me. I’m a goddess right now; everyone should come and offer gifts of chocolate and mojitos. That’s my currency.
“Do you live around here?” Derek asks, once we get a couple of shots going. Mmm, shots are a sensational treat I’ve denied myself since college. The tequila burns on the way down; that’s good.
“I’m here on business.” I grin, looking up at him slyly. “Maybe mix it with a little pleasure while I’m in town.”
“Pleasure. I like the sound of that,” Derek says, running his hand down to linger on the small of my back. I push my chest forward, showing off my very nice cleavage. I’m not modest; a girl has to know her assets. Derek appreciates it. “What kind of business are you in?” he asks.
“International espionage.” Well, that was what Lola was doing—trying to crack Archer’s heavily encrypted files and getting more than she bargained for in the process. “I have to create a distraction at the Venetian hotel while my team breaks in and pulls off an elaborate heist.”
I take another shot of tequila and lick my lips in what I hope is a sexy way. Seems to be, because Derek’s hand travels a little further south and traces across my ass.
Sexy. Be Lola. Experiment, dammit. “Oh, Mister . . . Derek. You are so bold,” I drawl.
“And you’re, like, super fucking hot,” he says, leaning in for a kiss. His breath is stenchy with liquor. Before he can claim his kiss, I laugh and kind of push away from him. That brought reality crashing back in a kind of hard-hitting way. Derek doesn’t seem deterred. Well, if he gets too out of line, I know a good karate chop. Self defense forever, kids.
“What do you say?” he asks, trailing his fingers around my ass, my hip, heading for . . . hello there. I cross my legs. He pulls out his wallet, and takes out a plastic key card. “I’m in Paris.”
I almost tell him that he has his cities mixed up, when I realize he means the hotel. “Oh,” I say, super eloquently.