I heard myself asking, "Are you staying here, too?"
Instead of answering, he said, "Will you let me book a table for us? You're with George, right?"
I nodded even though I was a little confused at why he had to avoid my question.
He smiled, looking relieved, and that confused me even more.
He stepped forward, and I held my breath, wondering if he was going to kiss me. But all he did was lift his hand, knuckles grazing my cheek. It was all I could do not to close my eyes and rub my face against his hand like a kitten.
Constantijin said slowly, "I missed you, Yanna. More than I thought I would." And then he was walking away. It was a good thing he did. If he hadn't, he would have seen how a 24-year-old woman could melt into a hot, emotional mess.
Glenda was right. I was so, like, smitten to death with this guy.
"You are so fucked."
I jumped, whirling around to see a grinning George, one trolley on each hand. I grabbed mine from him as he asked slyly, "Is that who I think it is?"
"Nope."
He let out a manly giggle, which drew looks from the other female customers ordering from the pastry station. I couldn't blame them. Even with his dorky glasses and stiffly ironed checkered shirts, he was hotter than hot. It was just too bad for the rest of the female population he was gay.
"You are so going to pay me a hundred dollars," he teased.
It took me a long time to understand what he was talking about. "Oh. The bet, you mean?" I looked at Constantijin, who was a short distance away, talking to the maître d.
Turning to George with a frown, I said primly, "This is just a coincidence."
George shrugged. "Whatever you want to tell yourself, hun."
"It really is," I insisted but quickly stopped speaking when Constantijin came strolling back. He greeted George warmly just as his arm went around my waist.
I raised a brow.
He raised a brow back, eyes gleaming.
Looking at us both, George's brows lifted as well. "Are you guys sure I'm still welcomed to this lunch date?"
Constantijin pulled me even closer. If I could get my eyebrow to arch higher, I would have. Did he not remember that office romances were forbidden in his company? Was he not worried about other people seeing us together? Had he not realized---
"Yanna."
Oh, that dreamy Dutch accent was so, like, going to be the death of me.
It took everything in me not to flutter my lashes at him like the totally smitten girl that I was. 24 years old and I wanted to flutter my lashes at a guy! That was the kind of effect someone as gorgeous and sexy as Constantijin Kastein had on me!
I cleared my throat. "Yes?"
"Stop worrying."
I bit my lip. "But---"
"Don't you know what people say about Vegas?"
George piped in, "I do."
Constantijin smiled, the secretive and wickedly playful kind that I loved so much it could actually make my heart ache. "Then please, George, do the honors."
My so-called friend gave me a solemn look. "Yanna---"
"George," I said warningly. I had a nasty feeling I wasn't going to like what he was about to say.
He said with sham innocence, "What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas."
Lesson #8
The way to an (ordinary) man's heart is through his stomach.
The way to kill a billionaire's erection is through his heart.
Lunch was such a shitty affair, mostly because George and Constantijin were totally determined to gloss over the fact that we were doing something completely inappropriate. Or rather – Constantijin and I were doing something utterly bad.
George kept cracking jokes throughout lunch and even though I was so very tense at the fact that Constantijin and I were staying at the same hotel, I couldn't help laughing at all my friend's quips. I had to give it to George. When he wanted to be funny, you better be ready to double over.
Constantijin was just as bad – in a different way. He took every chance he could get to flirt with me, tucking my hair behind my ears, holding my hand underneath the table, and he kept looking at me like he was dying to get me behind locked doors and have his wicked way with me.
Between the two of them, I totally felt like I was trapped in some kind of kinky Twilight Zone and I was being set up to lose my virginity this very night. A crack in our perfectly flirtatious world appeared when the waiter returned with our orders. George had his usual clubhouse sandwich and juice, Constantijin had ordered some kind of Greek soup, while I had my very own feast – and I meant that, like, literally.
When I saw the laughter in his gaze as he took in what I had ordered, I said defensively, "I didn't get to have breakfast!" And it was true – technically. I mean, a tiny bowl of cereal was not really breakfast, right?
He threw his hands up in surrender. "I didn't say anything!"
As he took a spoonful of his soup, I couldn't help comparing it to my plate of salad, barbecued chicken in java sauce, large helping of mashed potato, coleslaw, and a healthy serving of cream of mushroom.
"You can't seriously be eating just that?" I burst out, seriously upset. I felt such a pig next to these two.
Constantijin appeared surprised at my outburst. "I already had breakfast and lunch so this was the only thing that appealed to me." Then he smiled. "But don't mind me. You and George enjoy your lunch."
"Don't mind if I do," George said, who was already on his second sandwich.
I so envied him.
Constantijin frowned. "Is anything wrong?"
"I think I've lost my appetite," I lied glumly even though my stomach immediately let out a silent but tangible grumble of protest.
A look of disappointment crossed over his face. "Don't tell me you're one of those girls who can't eat in front of a man."
I made a face. "You've seen how I eat."
"Then what's the problem?"
"It's because you're eating too little," I admitted helplessly. "You make me feel like a glutton--" I stopped speaking at his grin.
"Is that the only thing bothering you?" At my mournful nod, he said, "Will it help then if I told you that on the way here I went for a drive-thru and ate two Big Macs? And for breakfast, I had double pancakes and a hash?"
I thought about it and finally smiled. "Yes." I picked up my fork and knife again.
Constantijin burst into laughter, and so did George.
"What?" I wailed, but I was smiling, too, mostly because it had been a long time since I saw Constantijin acting this carefree.
After our meal, the three of us agreed to meet by the pool an hour later. Or rather, George and Constantijin made the arrangements and I sort of found myself nodding in agreement. But all my doubts returned in full force after Constantijin walked us back to our suite.
"I'll be a hundred dollars richer by the end of the weekend," George crowed.
"He's just flirting with me," I said, trying not to let George's optimism get to me. "It's nothing serious. He doesn't have anything to do, doesn't have anyone to talk to---"
He snorted. "Do you really expect me to believe that? One: he's a billionaire. Why is he spending his vacation here in Vegas when he could have afforded to go to Ibiza, Maldives – or even the freaking North Pole?" He flicked his second finger. "Two: I'm not blind, Yanna. I've seen how he looks at you. If I hadn't been there, I wouldn't have been surprised if you two had totally played footsie---"
I tried my very, very best not to blush.
George let out a strangled gasp.
I so totally failed.
"OMFG, you did that already, haven't you? You are so bad!"
"It's not what you think," I protested even as I blushed harder at his sly gaze.
George doubled over in laughter. "Oh, you so did." Wiping tears of amusement from his eyes, he murmured, "He likes you, Yanna. Trust me."
I threw myself on the bed, bouncing on my back as I did. "You don't understand, George. Have you forgotten who he is? Alyx told me he's Netherlands' #1 playboy."
"So?"
"He's one of the Three Pussketeers."
"So?"
I growled, "He can't be serious with me, that's so!" Peeking at George, I was shocked to see that he didn't appear worried at all.
"Yanna," he said patiently, "that may all be true, but it just means one thing. You simply have to work harder to make him serious with you."
Easier said than done, I thought with a silent grumble as the two of us went down to the poolside half an hour later. He was Constantijin Kastein – a man who might as well have descended from Helen of Troy, with a face that could launch a freaking thousand 747s. And I was just Yanna Everleigh, a twenty-four year old hopeless romantic who had been recently introduced to the illicit pleasures of (almost) sex.