One night. That was all it was meant to be.
‘If she’s deleted her profile, it suggests she doesn’t want to be found, Mr Rothsmore.’ His name in my mouth is so sexy. I want to kiss it against his skin.
I watched him get dressed on Saturday night. I lay in bed sated and so full of pleasure, and I watched as he pulled on his shorts, his trousers, donning the tuxedo he’d had on earlier. Even after sleeping together, that simple act of voyeurism felt strangely intimate.
‘Perhaps.’ His eyes narrow.
‘In which case, I can’t help you.’
‘For a million dollars, you’re not willing to discover who she is?’
I wait a moment.
He pulls a card from his pocket. It’s jet black, matte, thick, with gold writing across the front. As he brings it closer I make out his name and, beneath it, a series of numbers.
‘I’ll tell you what, Imogen. You find her and ask her to call me. Whether she does or doesn’t, the million dollars is yours regardless.’
I stare at the card, the trap he’s unknowingly set one I refuse to enter. Because it’s dishonest. I can’t take his money under these circumstances. I mean, the woman he’s looking for is standing right in front of him.
‘A million dollars? You must have shared something pretty special.’
Damn it! Why the heck did I ask that? I jackknife off the edge of the desk, leaving his card where he’s placed it.
‘You could say that.’
Oh, God. I didn’t need to hear that. Temptation is slicing through me.
And yet, he’s loaded. Seriously loaded. A million dollars isn’t even small change to him. It’s the lint in his pocket after he’s got rid of his small change.
And Chance is my life’s purpose.
I toy with the morality of this, mentally tossing it back and forth.
‘I’ll try to find her,’ I say, quietly.
It seems to placate him. He nods, moving towards the door. ‘Then I won’t take up more of your time. You’ll let me know, one way or another?’
His hand curves around the handle. He’s leaving. I swallow back an urge to shout the truth at him.
‘Count on it.’
* * *
Count on it.
Her words jam against me, hard, holding me completely still. I’m back in Sydney, in the Intimate Rooms.
‘That’s what you want?’ I asked her.
‘Count on it.’
Count on it. Common enough, I guess, but no.
I spin around, catching her staring at me. Except it’s impossible to tell because of those damned glasses she’s been wearing.
Suspicion moves quickly to certainty.
I shut the door and stride across the room, and it’s so unexpected that she doesn’t even have time to react. I stand before her for a second, and now I look at her lips and I kick myself for not realising sooner.