Just One Night, Part 3_ Binding Agreement(52)

He nods. “Yes. A stranger to you . . . and you were a stranger to yourself.”

I sigh as I relive the memory. “I let a stranger pick me up at a blackjack table.”

“Yes,” he says cautiously. “And now I’m asking if you’ll let a friend pick you up at a bar.”

I laugh. I can’t help it.

He meets my eyes and the way he looks at me . . . it just brings back all those old feelings. The excitement, the longing, the arousal, everything.

“You’re still my ocean,” he whispers.

I shake my head. “No,” I say.

His face falls, but again he doesn’t get angry. “All right then. I won’t try to pressure you—”

“I’m not your ocean,” I say. “But if tonight goes well, I might consider being your girlfriend.”

He stops.

And then his smile, bigger than the last one, it brightens up the whole room.

It brightens my heart.

Never taking his eyes off mine he waves the cocktail waitress over. “This scotch you just served us,” he says to her. “I’d like to buy a bottle to take up to a room.”

“Oh, we can’t do that.”

He takes out his wallet, puts $400 on the table. “I think maybe you can.”

The waitress hesitates only half a second before scooping up the money and then after a minute more, returning with a paper bag concealing a bottle of scotch.

We leave the bar quickly, head straight down a large hallway that leads to the lobby.

“I can’t believe—” I begin, but before I can finish, he pulls me to him. His arms are around me and he kisses me. His hands move gently through my hair, then up and down my back. My hands stay on his shoulders, squeezing hard, almost afraid to let go.

A couple of teenagers pass us. “Get a room!” One yells.

Robert pulls back slightly.

“That boy’s wise beyond his years.”

I giggle as he leads me the rest of the way to the front desk and hang back almost shyly as he checks us in, gets a key for a suite.

As I watch him give his information to the check-in clerk I have a moment’s pause. This is reckless . . . more reckless than that night in Vegas because now I know what I’m getting myself into. What if it all goes wrong again?

But when I turn my head, I catch my reflection in a mirror hanging on the wall. I recognize the reflection. I know who I am now.

I can’t be controlled anymore. I have the courage necessary to be my own person. The very fact that I’m even aware of this, can contemplate it and turn it over in my mind . . . it means something. It means that this time I’m not going to get lost.

And so when he turns, offers me his hand, I take it without hesitation, without trembling, and instead of letting him lead me I walk by his side. In minutes we’re in our room. This one is less grandiose than the one at the Venetian but it’s also warmer, its colors and lines are softer and compelling. He lifts me up into his arms like a princess in a fairy tale and then lays me down on the king-size bed so gently it makes me sigh.

Carefully he takes his place beside me, touches my cheek. “Kasie,” he says.

“Yes?”

“Promise me you won’t let any more strangers take you up to a hotel room, okay?”

I grab the pillow and hit him over the head with it. In a moment we’re rolling on the bed, laughing, our clothes tangling together as I kiss him again and again and again.

Finally he pins me down, pressing my arms into the mattress and smiling into my eyes before lowering himself to kiss my neck. “No perfume today.”

“Is that a problem?” I laugh.

“Not at all,” he says, his voice softer now. “I like the scent of you. Still . . .”

His voice fades and he rolls off of me. He rises and goes to the dresser where we placed the bottle of scotch and brings it back to the bed.

My eyes cloud over with the memory of the first time he had poured me a glass of scotch . . . back when he was still a stranger.

“You’re not joining me?” I had asked.

And he had smiled, his eyes filled with mystery and mischief. “Oh, I’ll be joining you.”

But now there is no glass. He simply sits on the edge of the bed, opens the bottle and dips his finger into it. When he draws it out it’s slick with the liquid. Carefully, he runs a cool finger against the tender flesh behind my ear; I lay perfectly still, knowing what’s coming, vibrating with anticipation.

He lowers his face into my hair and then I feel his tongue tickling my skin as he licks off the scotch, then nibbles on my earlobe, then tastes and teases until my breathing grows uneven and I reach for him.

But he pulls away. He’s not done marking me with this strange perfume.