Wicked Wings

16

He breaks my gaze and clears his throat. As he folds his hands on the marble counter, I realize I’ve been polishing a glass this entire time so hard it’ll probably have permanent streaks. This isn’t like me to fall apart all over a guy. I pull myself together and give him a lazy, seductive smile. “What can I get you?”

“A scotch, neat.”

Well that’s just unfair. He has a British accent, as If he wasn’t hot enough already. I bet women fall all over themselves to be around him wherever he works. I’ve known him one second and I’m drooling all over the bar already.

I pour his drink, taking my time. I’ve got this routine down, and all I need to do is stick to it. First, you slowly fill their order, letting them get a good look at you from every angle. Some drinks are sexier than others to make. This one is too boring and simple to do many of my tricks, like shaking the drink in a way to draw attention to my breasts, but his eyes linger on me anyway. It helps there’s not much else to look at in here, unless he turns around to stare out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the view of Los Angeles at night or the airplanes flying in to LAX. This rooftop hotel bar is dark, with low inoffensive music playing in the background, and everything is glass, metal, and marble. High quality furnishings and expensive alcohol for a more refined traveler—my favorite target.

Hotel bars near large airports are prime hunting ground, second only to strip clubs. Mother taught me that, and she should know—she’s been doing this for centuries. Of course, she prefers staying at the hotels during her endless travels across the world, whereas I work at one. I need a way to make money, and Jonah would never approve of me working at a strip club. Not that I see him much anymore these days. Besides, at strip clubs you get regulars, and that only leads to trouble. Feeding on travelers is much safer.

Unfortunately for me, it’s Tuesday night, which is always the slowest travel night. LAX is dead, which means this hotel bar is dead too. Before this guy walked in I was gazing wistfully across the empty tables while my hunger grew. The strip club life was starting to look better every day—I’d never go hungry there, and I’d probably make more money too.

It’s a good thing this guy arrived in time.

I set his drink on the counter. “What brings you to L.A.?”

“I’m here to see my father.” His voice makes it clear he’s not excited about the prospect. He takes the scotch and downs it quickly.

I chuckle as his empty glass hits the counter, and I grab the bottle for a refill. “That bad, eh?”

His mouth twists. “He’s not bad, not exactly, but he’s definitely challenging. Our relationship is…complicated.”

“Trust me, I know all about that.” My smile is genuine because I can actually relate this time. “I’m not sure who is harder to deal with—my mother or my father.”

He glances down at his drink with a frown and I sense I’ve hit a nerve. This isn’t going well. Normally by now I’d have the target begging me to go back to his or her room already.

I try again. “Where are you visiting from?”

“I just moved to Northern California.”

“And what do you do there?”

“I’m a history professor.”

“Really?” I raise my eyebrows.

“Why is that so surprising?”

“The way you’re dressed. I pegged you for a rich corporate type. A finance guy. CEO, maybe.”

“You can blame my father for that. He has impeccable style.” He picks at the shining button on his shirt sleeve. “The devil’s in the details, after all.”

“So they say.” The saying is a little too close to home. I need to regain control of this situation. I lean forward on the counter, showing off my ample cleavage. “There’s nothing better than a good-looking man in a well-fitting suit.”

“My father would agree with you.” His eyes dance down my body. “Although I’d argue a beautiful woman in a little black dress is even better.”

And just like that, I’m back in the game.

I reach out and caress his wrist lightly, using a tiny bit of my powers to ignite the desire in him. “I have a break in twenty minutes.”

At my touch, a flicker of confusion passes over his face for the briefest moment, so fast I nearly miss it. Then he gives me an alluring smile. “Is that so?”

Thirty minutes later, I’m knocking on his door. He throws it open and at first we can only stare as the s****l tension rises—then we reach for each other without a word. Our lips meet, and the kiss is carnal and intense. I’ve never tasted anything like him before, and I need more, more, more.

My back hits the wall, and his hands are on my bare thighs, pushing my black dress higher. I grab the front of his shirt and yank it open, and yep, there’s the six pack I was hoping for. His chest is lean and strong, and I run my hands down his hard skin, enjoying the feel of him under my fingertips. Then I reach for the front of his trousers.

“What’s the rush?” he asks, as I pull the zipper down.

“I have to go back to work soon.”

He lets out a sexy growl as he yanks me against him and hefts my thigh up. “Fine, but when your shift is over you’re coming back for round two, and I’m going to take my time with you.”

I wish that could happen, but for his own safety I can only sleep with him once. It’s a shame, because I actually feel a connection with this guy, even though we’ve just met and have only shared a handful of words. If it were up to me, I’d spend all night in his bed. We’d wake up beside each other and have room service for breakfast. Maybe it would even turn into something more after that. Something I’ve never had—a relationship.