The Takeover (The Miles High Club #2)(68)

I bite my lip to hold my tongue. I want to ask him a million questions about Tristan Miles, but I know I can’t be obvious, and besides, he and I are effectively just friends, so it doesn’t matter anyway.

My mind goes over what he said to me in my office earlier today.

“So . . . sleeping with only you . . . isn’t a problem for me.” His lips touched mine. “However, not sleeping with you is a torture I won’t tolerate.”

I smirk to myself as I drive. I like the fact that he doesn’t want anyone else, and I know that this is probably a disaster waiting to happen, but I’m going with the oblivious approach.

I’m just not going to think about it.

What will I wear tomorrow? Nerves flutter in my stomach at the thought of having him to myself for an hour.

For the first time since Paris, I find myself being a little excited.

Marley walks into my office. “What do you want to have for lunch?”

“Oh, um.” I pause. Shit. “I have an appointment today on my lunch break. Sorry.” I spin toward her in my chair. It doesn’t feel right lying to my best friend, but this really needs to stay between Tristan and me. “What are you going to get?”

“Hmm . . . not sure, really. I’m feeling like sushi, but then”—she grimaces—“I can’t be bothered to walk to the good place.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s a trek.” I think for a moment. “What about Denver’s?”

She screws up her face, as if I’m stupid. “Don’t you remember last time we went there?”

“No, what happened?”

“Death by risotto.” She widens her eyes. “We nearly died that day, Claire.”

I giggle. “Oh, that’s right. How could I ever forget that?” We had risotto, and it upset our stomachs so bad that we were lying on my office floor groaning for an hour.

“What appointment do you have?”

“Oh.” I try to think on my feet. “Doctor. Just an annual checkup.” My phone beeps with a text, and I see the name Tristan light up the screen. I turn it over so that she can’t see his name.

“Cool,” she says as she walks toward the door.

“What are you going to have?” I call. “Death by risotto or good sushi?”

She shrugs. “Hmm, probably mediocre sushi from around the corner. Save my feet.”

“Mediocre sushi is better than no sushi at all,” I reply.

“This is true.” She disappears out the door, and I read my text.

Anderson,

Your lunch date is at

Dream Downtown at 1pm.

Tris.

xo

I smile and glance at my clock. Hmm, that’s a weird place to have lunch. Must be so that nobody sees us. One hour until I get to see him.

I walk into the foyer of the Dream Downtown hotel right at one o’clock.

“Hello.” I hear his deep voice behind me.

I spin toward him, and my heart catches in my throat. He’s wearing a gray suit and a cream shirt with a navy tie. His dark curled hair is unruly, and he looks completely edible. “Hi.” I smile.

His hungry eyes drop down my body. “I’ve already ordered lunch for us.”

“You have?”

He glances toward the reception desk, as if guilty of a sinister crime. “Yes, it’s in the private dining room.”

“Oh.” I frown.

“This way, please.” He turns and walks off toward the elevator, and I follow him. We get in. He pushes the number seven, the doors close, and we begin to go up.

“Where is this . . . private dining room?” I ask.

“I can’t tell you,” he says dryly. “It’s private.”

“So it’s a super-private dining room?”

“Precisely.” He continues to look straight ahead.

“How did you know how to find it if it’s so private?” I ask as I play along.

“My uncle’s sister’s husband’s brother’s mother-in-law told me about it,” he replies without hesitation.

“Oh, I see.” I smile and put my head down. This man kills me. The doors open, and he strides down the hallway on a mission and presents a key from his pocket at one of the doors. “This isn’t a private dining room; this is a hotel room.”

He winks darkly. “Semantics.”

“How so?”

He turns the key and opens the door. “You will be eating, and . . . it’s private.” He stands back to let me in. The room is quaint with a king-size bed and a lovely bathroom.

The curtains are drawn, and it’s dark, lit only by the lamps. A platter of food covered with a silver lid and a bottle of champagne are on the table. I turn toward him. “You’ve already been up here?”

“Well, I had to organize your lunch.” He rolls his eyes, as if I’m stupid. “This is a dining room.”

I look around the room. “And you drew the curtains for me?”

“Yes.” He steps toward me. “Didn’t want to scare you with my member. Thought I would ease you back into the saddle.”

I burst out laughing. “Your member?” His lips dust mine, his tongue slowly sliding through my lips as he takes my face in his hands.

Oh man . . . the way he kisses.