‘Better than you?’ His eyes scan my face in that intensely watchful way of his.
‘Oh, definitely,’ I agree. ‘I was looking to go home with the bartender.’ It’s a joke, a sarcastic rejoinder, and he smiles but says nothing, and the silence stretches between us so, after a moment, I say, ‘I’ve never been here before—to this hotel. It’s...nice.’
He laughs. ‘It’s three-star at best, but my secretary booked it last minute.’ He shrugs. ‘And there’s a bed, a bathroom, a good gym. What more do you need?’
‘What more, indeed?’ I lift my hand to his chest, running my fingers over his ridged muscles. ‘And you work out a lot, I’m guessing?’
His breath speeds up a little as my hands go lower. ‘I like to get my heart rate up.’
I arch a brow. ‘I can tell.’
‘I run ten miles, most mornings.’
‘I can’t even imagine running three miles,’ I say with a shake of my head, pulling away from him and moving to my beer. I sip it, then look around for my clothes. He’s picked them up and placed them neatly on the chair. It’s such a small gesture but it does something strange inside of me. I move to them but he forestalls me, handing me a white fluffy robe instead.
‘Don’t bother getting dressed,’ he says simply, but with a deep, husky promise in the words that makes my pulse quiver.
Shit.
I bite down on my lip and his eyes drop to my mouth, and desire is sparking around the room once more.
‘Running is a habit, and one that gets easier the more you practice it,’ he says, the words incongruous in the heat of our lust.
I swallow, trying to tamp down on my sexual heat, to keep my feelings at bay for a moment. ‘I don’t know,’ I say, shaking my head. ‘It’s not my thing.’
‘What is your “thing”?’ he asks seriously.
My eyes skim his face, noting now that he has a slight bump in the middle of his nose, suggesting it has been broken at some point. ‘For exercise?’
‘Yeah. Or letting your hair down. Blowing off steam. You know, that kind of thing.’
I hesitate for only a moment and then speak with confidence and defiance. ‘Pole dancing.’ That defiance is hard fought for. My parents, my then boyfriend, everyone was askance when Penny and I took up the disreputable hobby. It’s amazing for your fitness, Penny cooed and, as always, she was right.
He regards me cynically, as though I might be lying.
‘Really?’
‘Yep.’
I can feel his curiosity and turned-on-ness pulsing towards me. He moves to the narrow wooden desk and props his hips against it. ‘Care to give me a demonstration?’
I eye the room and shake my head. ‘I don’t think anything in here would be strong enough.’
His disappointment is palpable. ‘You can’t pretend?’
I laugh. ‘Not easily.’ The robe is soft around me. I cinch the belt at the waist and move to sit on the edge of the bed, watching him.
‘How’d you get into it?’
‘The same way I get into most unorthodox parts of my life.’
‘Penny?’ he prompts, smiling.
I nod. ‘Oh, yeah, you betcha. I suggested we join a ballroom dancing club—I wanted a hobby, and to move my body, to feel limber and flexible.’ I smile distractedly. ‘I work really long hours and even though I get to be out and about a lot of the time, I still feel more...sedentary...than I’d like. So dancing felt like a health kick, or a kick-start to a health kick...’
‘Naturally.’ He nods, his eyes skating over my body, which must look like a fluffy duck in this robe.
‘She picked me up on the allotted night and we talked the whole way there. It was only when she pulled into some dodgy car park out in the western suburbs that I realised we weren’t at Miss Clarence’s Ballroom Blitz.’ I smile at the memory. ‘Penny said she presumed that because ballroom dancing was for senior citizens, I must have meant pole dancing and just got mixed up.’