My breath catches in my throat. He’s so fucking handsome. There’s no way he was looking at me. No way in hell. He’s way out of my league. His suit looks high dollar, and he’s groomed to perfection. Even the air around him is too expensive for me.
The bartender startles me as he comes back with my drink, and I break my eye contact with the mystery man. I give the bartender a nervous smile and wiggle the thin cocktail pick with a bit of apple on it around in the glass, my heart pounding in my chest. Jesus. I feel like I’m having hot flashes. I have to wonder though, if that guy can do this to me with just a look, what could he do with a single touch?
I can’t help myself. I have to look back over. I chance a quick peek. Shit. He’s still looking right at me. I jerk my eyes away with my breath stilling in my lungs. Holy shit. He is looking at me. His light blue eyes pierce into me this time, holding my gaze. My lips part slightly as the feeling of being trapped washes over me. My body tenses. He’s intense. Too intense. Luckily a man to his right taps his shoulder and Mr. CEO turns to face him with a look of annoyance.
I take that as my cue to get the hell out of here while I can. He is a bad idea. And I need to stay far away.
I abandon my drink, nearly spilling it on the bar as I set it down as quickly as I can along with a twenty from my purse. I grab my black leather Coach hobo with both hands, my eyes focused on the open entryway. My skin flushes as I pass him, making my exit a little too quickly to go unnoticed.
I don’t even breathe until I’m on the elevator and the doors are closing. I stand there feeling overwhelmed and not even realizing that I need to hit the button to get this thing moving.
I need to get a grip. I push the button for my floor and lean back against the wall of the empty car. A waist-high bar is behind me and I hold it to steady myself. What the hell was that about? I replay the scene in my head, but there’s no way I’m remembering it right.
The way he looked at me triggered something deep inside me; something I’ve never felt before. A mix of fear and lust.
It was like he owned me.
Chapter 3
Logan
The curtains are open in the penthouse suite, but the soft glow from the harbor outside does nothing to brighten the darkness in the room. It doesn’t matter. The dim light from my laptop is all I need. I’m used to it. I’m most productive at night.
This is the ideal atmosphere for me, but I can’t focus. I’ve been staring at the same portfolio since I came up here and took my seat at the corner desk in my hotel room. My fingers tap against the smooth surface of the hard maple desk in a soothing beat.
I can’t calm down though. I’m nothing but tense and anxious.
I want something I can’t have, and that’s a rarity.
She’s someone I shouldn’t pursue. I already know this, yet I’m toying with the idea of making her mine. There’s a difference between finding a quick fuck to ease my appetite and taking with the intention of keeping her.
And I already know once won’t be enough.
What’s worse is that I know keeping her entails a sort of relationship. One I’m not inclined to have. A fuck buddy is an impossibility for me. I’ve learned that the hard way. Women lie. I don’t know whether they’re lying to themselves or just to me, but when they say they’re happy with only being my fucktoy, they’re lying. Even if I’m paying them. They always want more.
I don’t know what came over me downstairs and even now. I can’t get her out of my thoughts. I shouldn’t even be considering this knowing what she’ll be getting in return, or should I say what she won’t be getting.
I want her though, and I haven’t ever wanted someone like this before. I wish she were here now, and I keep picturing it over and over. I want her straddling me, with her shapely legs draped on either side of mine and her arms wrapped around my neck.
My cock hardens in my pants. I can hear those soft moans as I fist her hair at the nape of her neck and thrust my dick over and over into her hot, tight cunt. I lean back in my seat and sigh as I try to erase the image from my head.
I’ve sworn off companionship. I don’t need it. But something about her is drawing me in. Insta-lust at its finest. I haven’t fallen victim to that in quite a while.
I don’t need anyone. And it’s best I don’t get attached. More so for them than for me.
I’m a selfish man, but I’m not so selfish that I’d bring another person into my life. There’s a reason I keep them away.
I need to remember that.
I can’t have her; I’m firm in that decision. But even as I come to that conclusion, I find myself looking through the convention’s website. I just need to know her name. With a little digging I’m certain I’ll lose interest in her. I’m sure it’s the fact that she left before I could talk to her, leaving me wanting, that has the image of her branded in my consciousness. At least that’s what I tell myself to justify looking through the list of presenters with their square pictures and short biographies.