The Casanova (The Miles High Club #3)(30)

A huge dance floor, filled with beautiful women in hardly any clothes.

“This must be the model floor.” Daniel smirks as he watches them.

I tug the hem of my dress down, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

Jeez.

“Okay, back downstairs,” I say.

Daniel’s eyes stay fixed to the girls. “Can we not stay here for a while?”

“I’m not drunk enough for this floor.” I grab his hand and lead him back down the stairs.

“We’re coming back here as soon as possible.”

“Fine. Cocktails first though.”

The stairs are busy and a group of men are coming up, and I lock eyes with Elliot and flick Daniel’s hand away like a hot potato.

“Kate.” He tries to hide his smile and fails miserably. “What are you doing here?”

“Cooking lessons,” I reply, to try and be witty.

His eyes drop down to my toes and then back up to my face. “And I can see that you’ve got that stove smoking hot.”

Oh . . .

My eyes go to Daniel and he smiles broadly. “I would say on fire.”

Elliot’s eyes flick back to Daniel. “What was your name again?”

“Daniel.”

“Daniel who?”

Daniel smiles. “Daniel who lives with Kate, that’s all you need to know.”

Elliot stares at Daniel; his face is emotionless but he’s clearly unimpressed with that answer.

I look from one to the other. Oh . . . jeez, awkward.

“Um, we should go. It was nice seeing you.” I smile as we continue walking down the stairs.

“Goodbye,” Elliot says as he continues walking up.

“Oh my God,” I whisper. “Daniel who lives with Kate . . . what the hell was that?”

“He wants to google me.”

I screw up my face in confusion. “Why would he want to do that?”

“To see if I’m a threat.”

“What?”

“I’m telling you this guy has got it for you. The other night when you were out of it, he nearly didn’t leave.” We approach the bar on level three. “Can I have two margaritas please?” he asks.

“Sure thing.” The waitress turns to make them.

I stare at Daniel. “Why?”

“Said that he didn’t know if he should leave because I might take advantage of you.”

“Elliot?” I frown.

“Yes.”

“He actually said that?”

“Uh-huh.”

“He didn’t want to leave you with me. Why not?”

“Here you go.” The waitress hands over our drinks.

“Thanks.” We clink glasses.

“Obviously he doesn’t like his stuff being touched.”

I square my shoulders. “Well, that’s ridiculous, I’m not his stuff.”

Daniel chuckles. “Baby, I think we both know that he’s circling. I mean . . . he told you so himself.”

“That was Edgar. He didn’t know that was me and maybe he’ll never do anything about his horizontal crush. Thinking it, and actually doing it, are two completely different things.”

Daniel’s eyes hold mine. “Have you ever known Elliot Miles not to go after what he wants?”

My eyes hold his.

“Prepare for his onslaught baby, we both know it’s coming. I can feel it in my waters.”

I sip my drink as nerves flutter deep in my stomach. I hate to admit it but so can I.

Fuck.

Four hours later, Daniel throws his head back and laughs out loud and I smile into my drink: he’s sitting opposite me on one of the couches out on the terrace. He’s in the middle of a couple, a guy and a girl, and the three of them are talking, and the thing is, I have no idea which one he is actually flirting with.

But I think both.

They are bouncing off each other and the chemistry between the three of them is palpable.

What happens in these kinds of situations? Does he go home with them and the guy watches while he fucks his wife, or does he fuck the guy too?

God . . . I’m so vanilla.

“I’ve been looking for you,” a deep voice says.

I turn to see Elliot sit down beside me. He hands me a red fancy-looking cocktail.

He’s here.

Act. Cool.

“Oh, hi.” I smile as I take the drink from him. “What’s this?” I gesture to the drink.

“Ring My Bell. Recently become a personal favorite.”

I smile and take a sip. “Oh . . . it’s strong.”

He watches me wince. “I like things to taste strong.”

The hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention: the way he said that was decidedly sexual. I swallow the lump in my throat.

“We’re going to dance,” Daniel says, interrupting my thoughts.

“Okay,” I stammer.

Shit . . . don’t leave me with him. My eyes turn back to Elliot.

“Tell me.” He sips his drink and his finger traces a circle on my shoulder. “How have you been moonlighting as a boring IT specialist for seven years?”

I smile. “I’m still a boring IT specialist.”

“You’re like Clark fucking Kent.”