Bitter Spirits (Roaring Twenties #1)(50)

Upon finishing her passionate speech, she found him staring at her intently with the strangest look on his face. Something about that look made her chest warm.

“Let’s have an affair.”

“What?”

“An affair,” he repeated. “A temporary relationship. Companionship. Sex.”

The heat in Aida’s chest climbed to her cheeks. “Ah . . .”

“We like each other,” he said in a very businesslike manner. “Might even be crazy about each other, like you said. We’re both single. I passed your kissing test.”

She snorted. “Confident about that, are you?”

One brow lifted.

“You invented the kissing test,” Aida argued. “All I said was that my previous lovers were terrible kissers.”

“Which brings me to my next point. Wouldn’t you like to be with someone who knows what he’s doing in bed? I’m very good.”

“Gee, don’t sell yourself short or anything,” she said, looking around to make sure no one nearby was listening as her cheeks flamed higher.

“Just being honest.”

“I don’t think this sort of thing is something people plan and negotiate.”

He ran his hand over the back of his neck. “Maybe they should. You’re only in town for how much longer? A month?”

“About that, yes.”

“Not much time, but you’ve made it clear you’re not interested in long-term relationships because of your traveling, and God knows I’ll never be interested in anything permanent again after my failed experiment with marriage.”

A cynical voice whispered inside her head. “You want me to be your new Sook-Yin.”

“That’s the last thing I want. That was a pretend relationship.” He sipped wine. “Though, I’m not really sure what I had with Paulina was much different. She wanted my money, too.”

“Money is nice. I’m not above its allure. I love that you brought me here,” she said, looking up at the dazzling chandeliers. “I love that damn coat.”

He chuckled, then gestured with his glass. “But pride is more important to you, and that’s the difference.”

“Perhaps.”

“I don’t want to talk about the past anymore. You just told me to live in the present.”

“You’re right. I did.”

“And what I want right now, in the present, is you in my bed. Do you want me?”

She licked dry lips. No one had ever spoken to her like this. She wasn’t sure if it was crude or refreshingly honest.

Winter looked down at the table and brushed his thumb along the curve of her wrist. “I lay awake at night thinking of you. I have since we met. Do you ever think of me?”

Her heart flamed up like a pyre. And he was looking at her with such intensity, it made lights twinkle in her brain. If he didn’t stop telling her all these things, it would get so bright up there, she’d go blind and start shouting Yes! at the top of her lungs.

As it was, she managed to say it in a normal voice, after downing the remainder of her wine in two gulps. “Yes.”

“You don’t have to answer now. You can—” His hand stilled on hers. “Did you mean ‘yes’ you think of me, or ‘yes,’ you want to have an affair?”

“Yes to all your questions.”

He smiled oh-so-slowly, like a dockyard cat eyeing a fish flailing on dry ground, and she knew right then she was a goner.

SIXTEEN

THEY LEFT THE PALM COURT WITHOUT EATING DESSERT. WINTER’S body was flying, but his brain was stuttering along, half a step behind, still in disbelief. They stopped in the main hall that led to the lobby, allowing a bellboy to pass with two luggage carts.

“How do we do this?” Aida said, almost whispering. “We can’t go to my place. Mrs. Lin doesn’t allow men in the apartments.”

Winter pulled her off to the side. “We could go to mine, but it’s still early. Might have to sneak you past Greta and Astrid, otherwise I’ll never hear the end of it. Everyone’s still ribbing me about you calling on me in my study that afternoon.”

“Your car?”

He stared down at her. No way in hell was he taking her in the car. “Jonte would certainly get a thrill straining his gnarled old ears trying to hear us, but no.”

Aida glanced around. “Well, we are in a hotel.”

No need to tell him twice. “Stay here. Do not move. Do not talk to anyone. I’ll be right back.”

He rushed off to the registration desk, rushed back with a golden key to a suite and their coats. Part of him expected her to be gone when he got back, but she was still there, looking like an exotic goddess, freckled and golden and sparkling. Not a dream. Not a figment of his overactive imagination. Not a ghost. He touched her bare shoulder, just to make sure, and the heat from her soft skin nearly made him drop to his knees in prayer.

“Elevators are this way,” he said, gripping her hand as if she might blow away.

As they ascended to the top floor, he watched her laugh at the elevator operator’s jokes. On the surface, she was open and carefree, as she often was. But the way she clutched her handbag made him realize how anxious she was. He was anxious, too.

The room was on the top floor, at the end of the hall. No one occupied the neighboring suite. His hand shook as he unlocked the door.