Stud Finder

The problem solver in me comes out in full force. I must show him the beauty of a made bed. “Come with me.” I grab the basket of mostly-eaten chips, dump the rest, return the salsa tubs to the counter for cleaning, and reach into my wallet to leave a generous tip in the jar.

He clasps his hand over mine, shaking his head. “My treat,” he says, his voice a soft, sexy whisper. I want to protest, to tell him I insist, but he curls his hand tighter, and I’m speechless.

His hand on mine sparks a wave of goosebumps on my arms, my body telling me I like his hands on me. I want more of his touch. I imagine how I’d feel if he ran his hand up my arm, to my shoulder, through my hair. A shudder races through me, and I do my best to tamp down my reaction to a suddenly overactive imagination.

“Thank you,” I say, my voice like a feather.

“You’re welcome.” His eyes never stray from mine, and for a sliver of time he holds my gaze by the counter at Mama une’s.

Then I wrestle my attention back to my plan. We leave, and fifteen minutes later, I stroll through the front doors of the Luxe Hotel. My friend Nate Harper is the CEO, and I’ve texted him for a quick favor. The concierge greets me and hands me a room key card. Dylan and I walk past the chichi sushi restaurant in the lobby, head to the elevator, and soon arrive at room 521. I slide the card in the door.

Dylan sets a hand on my arm. “Are you trying to seduce me?”

“No,” I say quickly. Too quickly. I’m not trying to seduce him at all.

I open the door, and a perfectly modulated blast of cool air greets us. We stroll across the navy carpet to a king-size bed perfectly appointed with a gorgeous white duvet and mountains of blue velvet pillows. I gesture to it, as if I’m a saleswoman, showing it off. “Tell me. Doesn’t this bed make you want to do everything on it?”

Then, to demonstrate my point, I fall back onto it, like a snow angel.

I prop myself on my elbows and meet his eyes. His green irises darken, and his lips part. He stares at me, and something shifts. The look in his eyes is no longer challenging. He’s not asking me to prove a point. His eyes are hungry. He stares as if he’s considering my question seriously, and I realize that maybe it does sound as if I’m trying to seduce him. I’ve pushed the limits here. I’m in a hotel room, trying to prove a point to a client, and in reality, my skirt is riding up my thighs, and I’m sprawled on a pristine, inviting bed.