Finally the last of the tour guests head towards the lifts and I note Daisy on their heels, as if I’m not standing here waiting for her. As if she’s just going to slip upstairs without a word. I don’t think so.
“Miss Hayden.” I lay a hand lightly on her arm to stop her from proceeding and she huffs a bit, a cross between a sigh and an exhale as she flicks her eyes to mine. “I believe we have plans,” I remind her.
“I’ve changed my mind,” she says with a tiny insolent shrug.
Changed her mind? Bloody hell. She can’t be serious. I look into her eyes, trying to gauge the situation, searching for a hint of mischievousness, but it’s not there. She’s serious? Why are women so irritatingly complicated? Was I not just musing about how much I enjoy them and now this? Vexing is what they are. Each and every last one of them is a different sort of exasperating, with their own unique combination of things that piss them off. A man’s got to be a mind-reader to decipher what they’re on about half the time, for fuck’s sake.
I stare at her for a heartbeat, thinking it would make my life easier if I abandoned this straight away and found a different woman to spend tonight with, but dammit if she doesn’t intrigue me.
“Whyever would you do that?” I find myself asking her instead.
“You’re a customer,” she replies, but her eyes fall to my chest and she swallows. A hint of a blush reaches her cheeks before she meets my eyes again. “It’s not proper.”
“Proper?” I can’t help it, I laugh. “Are you living in Regency London now?”
“People still use the word ‘proper,’” she scoffs at me. Literally scoffs. I’m not used to women being so transparent with me. She doesn’t give a single toss about impressing me and it’s sort of endearing in an odd way.
“Sure they do, as in ‘I’d like a proper cup of tea.’ No one uses the word to describe a sexual liaison.”
“No one uses the word ‘liaison’ either.”
“I think they do. Should we continue this conversation in my room?” I nod towards the lifts in hopes we’re about done with this chat.
“No, Jennings. I’m serious.” She stomps her foot a little when she says ‘serious’ and I’m not sure how I’ll keep myself from kissing her right then, lobby be damned.
“What happened to you being a sure thing?” I question instead. “I quite liked you when you were a sure thing. Not that this little song and dance isn’t fun.”
“That was before.”
“Before what exactly?”
“Before I realized how complicated this is,” she huffs, but she’s not looking at me and doesn’t seem that invested in her defense. I can’t help but feel like there’s something I’m not getting.
“What’s complicated about this?” I run my fingertip along the bare skin between her elbow and wrist and she inhales quickly. “And what happened to the part where my accent drives you wild?”
“It does,” she agrees. She says it entirely too primly for a girl capable of multiple orgasms, one whose nipples hardened from me no more than skimming her arm.
Besides, I don’t care about her perceived rules.
“Plus, you’re my one-night stand and if I sleep with you again then you’re not technically a one-night stand.”
Come again?
“Not technically a one-night stand,” I repeat back to her.
“Right.” She nods and her brow is furrowed over this. “And it was perfect,” she says on a big exhale of breath and waves her hand while I smile, because yes, yes, it was. “Really, really great,” she continues. “So if we do it again my perfect one-night stand is shot and what if the next time I have a one-night stand it’s bad? Then my only one-night stand is terrible and then I’d have to keep having them until I had another good one and—”
“Okay, stop talking.” I hold up a hand, hoping it’s enough to make her stop. I don’t even know where to begin with what just came out of her mouth, but since I don’t care to zero in on the idea of her with other men, I’ll start with the obvious. “You enjoyed yourself the other night?”
“Yeah.” She looks at me as if I’m an idiot.
“So much so that you don’t want to do it again?”
“It’s complicated, Jennings.” She frowns. “This tour”—she pauses—”it’s just complicated.”
“What if it’s better the next time?” I say, ignoring her tour nonsense.
“Not possible.” She shakes her head.