“Why?”
“You smell like vodka.”
“I had a couple martinis with dinner.”
“Ah,” he said as the doors opened and they stepped into the empty elevator. “Which floor?”
“Three.” Jane looked down at the toes of her boots, then moved her gaze to his blue and gray running shoes. As the doors closed, he leaned against the back panel and crossed one foot over the other. The hem of his Levi’s brushed the white white laces. She lifted her gaze up his long legs and thighs, up the bulge of his fly and the buttons of his shirt to his face. Within the cramped confines of the elevator, his blue eyes stared back at her.
“I like your hair down.”
She pushed one side behind her ear. “I hate my hair. I can’t ever do anything with it and it’s always in my face.”
“It’s not bad.”
Not bad? As compliments went, it ranked right up there with, “Your butt’s not that big.” So why did a tingle in her wrist travel to her stomach? The doors opened, saving her a response. She stepped out first and he followed.
“Where’s your room?”
“Three-twenty-five. Where’s yours?”
“I’m on the fifth floor.”
She stopped. “You got off on the wrong floor.”
“No, I didn’t.” He took her elbow in his big hand and moved with her down the hall. Through the material of her sweater, she felt the warmth of his palm. “When you stood up in the lobby, you looked like you were about to fall over.”
“I haven’t had that much to drink.” She would have stopped again if he hadn’t kept moving her along the blue and yellow carpet. “Are you escorting me to my room?”
“Yep.”
She thought of the first morning when he’d carried her briefcase, then told her that he wasn’t trying to be nice. “Are you trying to be nice this time?”
“No, I’m meeting the guys in a few and I don’t want to have to wonder if you made it to your room without passing out on the way.”
“And that would ruin your fun?”
“No, but for a few seconds it might take my attention off Candy Peeks and her naughty cheerleader routine. Candy’s worked real hard on her pom-poms, and it would be a shame if I couldn’t give her my undivided attention.”
“A stripper?”
“They prefer to be called dancers.”
“Ahh.”
He squeezed her arm. “Are you going to print that in the paper?”
“No, I don’t care about your personal life.” She pulled her plastic room key from her pocket. Luc took it from her and opened the door before she could object.
“Good, because I’m yanking your chain. I’m really meeting the guys at a sports bar that’s not too far away.”
She looked up into the shadows of his face created by her darkened room. She didn’t know which story to believe. “Why the BS?”
“To see that little wrinkle between your brows.”
She shook her head as he handed her the key.
“See ya, Ace,” he said and turned away.