“It’s early. You are sure you have to leave?” Ross kept his gaze locked on Kelsey. At that moment, he knew he couldn’t let her walk away. Not when his body hummed at the very sound of her voice.
“Maybe,” she replied. “Maybe not.”
“Kelsey,” her friend warned. “You have to be on a plane tomorrow at nine a.m.”
“All the more reason not to go to sleep, Marie,” Kelsey replied, swinging her hair over one shoulder. She pinned him with a deep, meaningful gaze. “You here by yourself?”
He nodded. Obviously, he’d have to reassess his plan of twelve hours. Or maybe just be clear that the plan started tomorrow. On second thought, would spending the night with her really conflict with his plan? His plan had ruled out dating women like this. It had said nothing about sleeping with them.
“How about a drink?” He motioned toward his table, where his half-empty glass still sat, the amber liquid beckoning.
Marie gave Ross a friendly smile. “That’s a lovely invitation. Will you excuse us for a moment, Mr., er…? I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”
“Bencher. Ross Bencher.” He took one last look at Kelsey’s lips, imagined licking them with a slow brush of his tongue, and then glanced at her breasts. Full. Round. He thought he saw her chest rise, then freeze, as if she were catching her breath. And did he imagine it, or did her cheeks turn pink under his gaze?
He forced a polite smile at Marie and nodded at Kelsey. An invisible magnetic force stretched between them. She wanted this. She wanted him. And he wasn’t going to let her get away.
“Take your time—I’ll be right over there when you’re ready.”
…
Kelsey watched the tall, heart-thumpingly gorgeous man walk back to his table and felt her stomach give its hundredth flip-flop of the night. The sensitive organ had been turning somersaults ever since she’d noticed him sitting by himself, nursing a series of drinks, a distant, unemotional mask over his features. He had the broad shoulders and lean waist of a wrestler, but the patrician look of a businessman. A heavy silver-and-gold watch adorned his wrist, shouting money and power. She’d never seen a Rolex, but she’d have bet that’s what he wore.
He was a wealthy professional who wore fancy clothes and apparently wasn’t afraid to throw down some cash for a killer haircut. She had no idea what he did, but it was clear from looking at him that he was nothing like the men she normally dated. And that was exactly what she wanted.
“Kelsey, what the hell are you doing?” Marie hissed. “You are not going anywhere with that guy. The girlfriend code of ethics does not allow such blatantly idiotic behavior.”
Kelsey watched Ross sit back down. He motioned across the room toward a waitress, who immediately gave him a simpering smile. She had a feeling women regularly turned into helpless adolescents around him. Six feet of muscle and shoulders you could set a truck on drew the initial gaze, but it was the intense blue eyes and deadly smile that made it impossible to look away. Something about Ross Bencher promised a night of sensual bliss, and that was precisely what she wanted.
Something crazy. Something different. Something that she’d never done before, and would never have the chance to do again.
“I have condoms, a black belt in karate, and a cell phone with your number on speed dial,” Kelsey said, unable to look away from the man who was now boldly staring right back at her. “I am also an EMT. So I’m fully qualified in case I pass out from the force of his hotness.”
“You are also in a state of confusion due to said hotness,” Marie said in exasperation. “Which, I must admit, is totally warranted. He’s like Brooks Brothers, Calvin Klein, and Esquire magazine all rolled into one.” Marie shot Ross a glance over her shoulder. “Then again, with that body, he’s probably a famous football player. Not that either of us would know.”
“Yeah, it’s been a while since I turned on ESPN,” Kelsey mused. “Should we ask him? If he’s famous? That’s rude, isn’t it?”
“Of course we aren’t going to ask if he’s famous.” Marie snapped her fingers in front of Kelsey’s face. “Seriously. He’s obviously rich, sexy as hell, and he’s eating you with his eyes. That’s not the point.”
“No?” Kelsey said, her attention drifting back to the man who was watching her with his sinfully blue eyes. What did football players wear, anyway? She tried to picture him shirtless, wearing a pair of snug, white pants that laced up just below his navel. The image fit perfectly.