Million Dollar Devil (Million Dollar #1)(38)

Snap out of it, Elizabeth.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Daydreams and fantasies be damned.

I walk out into my great room.

“James?” Great. Where’d he go? “Are you hiding again?”

“I’m right here.”

I jump at the sound of his voice and slowly turn to find him sipping a glass of wine by the bar, a glass of wine that seems to be quite intriguing, given the look on his face—only he isn’t intrigued by the wine.

He’s looking at me as if he can drink me in anytime he chooses.

He is eating me up with his eyes. His body is rigid as hell. His jaw is set, firm.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking at a damn fine woman. You?”

“Smooth talking your boss will not get you a free pass for drinking on the job!”

I approach the bar and pluck the glass from his hand. He’s taken out my 1980 Chateau Margaux, which isn’t exactly cheap, but maybe it shows he has some taste. Of course, my bar doesn’t have cheap liquor. I glance up and notice that burning gaze again and promptly drink the wine. “But thank you.” I set aside the glass. “For the drink and the compliment.” I clap my hands. “Now, back to work.”

“Believe it or not, I can work and drink.”

“Good, because you need a lesson on how a real man drinks. None of that Montezuma shit from Tim’s.”

He holds up the glass of wine. “I opened this. It’s not bad. Expensive?”

“Very,” I tell him, going behind the bar. “But a Banks man will only drink wine with dinner. When you go out for drinks, you’ll need to order a real man’s drink.”

“Tequila ain’t a real man’s drink?”

I shake my head.

“No wonder he doesn’t like to fuck.”

I smirk at him and say, “When you go up to the bar, you will order a Macallan 25 neat. Now, not every bar will have this scotch, but the ones on the fashion circuit will because they all know it’s my father’s favorite drink.”

He raises his eyebrows. I take out the glass tumbler and put a splash in there. I’ve made this same drink about a million times for my dad.

He reaches over and grabs it, bringing it to his lips.

I shake my head. “Swirl it first a little.”

He does, then looks at me for the go-ahead to toss it back. I nod.

“But don’t chug it. Take a sip and kind of roll it around your tongue. Chew it.”

He watches me as he takes a sip, doing exactly as I told him. When he swallows a bit too soon for my liking, he says, “What? Did you want me to gargle too?”

“How was it?”

He shrugs and peers deep into the glass. “I guess it’ll do the trick. But I’m a tequila guy. How much would this run you in a bar?”

“Two hundred. Maybe more.”

If he’s impressed, he doesn’t show it. He simply says, “Better not let it go to waste,” and then chugs the rest of it.

Sigh.

I reach into the humidor, where I keep a stash of my father’s favorite cigars for those rare, once-every-few-months evenings when he comes over for dinner. I offer the open box to him.

He shakes his head. “Quit smoking when I was eighteen.”

“To smoke is human; to smoke cigars is divine.” I take one out, open his jacket, and stuff one in the inside pocket. “That and a glass of scotch is a singular after-dinner pleasure, mellows you out.”

“I’d rather just fuck.” He shrugs. “Cheaper?”

I give him a look and shake my head slightly. “James,” I say, groaning.

“Then after you,” he says, sounding disappointed as he puts his hand on the small of my back.

I take one step, then stop. “That’s not how we enter a room.”

He cocks a brow. “Why not?”

“It’s too personal.”

“Putting my hand on your back is personal?”

“Yes. When we enter the ballroom, you’ll need to hold out your arm and offer it to me like this.” I show him a gentleman’s gesture. “I’ll accept, and you’ll lead me in. We’ll be greeted by reporters, bloggers, all sorts of people who will be there to learn more about Banks LTD and the new line. Most importantly, they’ll be there to meet you.”

“If you’re wearing that dress . . .” He lets out a whistle, eyes sparkling. “They won’t see me.”

I blush, and my body reacts with pinging nipples, tingling thighs, a tighter stomach, and clenching inner muscles. Damn traitorous body.

I sigh and hope it doesn’t sound like one of those dreamy little sighs.

“You like it when I compliment you, Elizabeth?”

I don’t know what’s worse. When he calls me Lizzy. Or when he calls me Elizabeth.

“I like complimenting you. And you look very nice in charcoal.” I try to switch topics.

“You look lovely in red.”

God help me.

“Thank you.” I want to tell him that he should be gracious as well, but manners will come later.

He tilts his head up and holds out his arm. “It’s good to see ya tonight, Miss Banks.”

“The ya must go,” I tell him, hoping to keep our practice run in a positive light. “Use the traditional you wherever possible. In fact, working on vocals and vocabulary is next on my list. But first . . . dining etiquette.”