His eyes come to me, and a trace of a smile crosses his lips. “Be my guest.”

I sit down on the stool beside him at the bar, and the waiter approaches me. “What will it be?”

“I’ll have another glass of champagne, please.”

“Sure.” His eyes flick to Tristan. “Another scotch?”

“Please.” Tristan stares straight ahead, with his hands clasped in front of him. “Took your time, Anderson,” he says.

“What does that mean?”

He glances at his fancy watch. “It’s ten p.m.”

“Well, if it’s too late to talk, I’ll leave,” I tease. I go to stand.

“Sit. Down.” He smirks. “You’re lucky it’s a quiet night.”

The bartender puts the champagne down in front of me, and I pick it up as I try to hide my smile. “Who’s lucky?”

He chuckles and taps his glass on mine. “To Épernay.”

“To Épernay,” I whisper. Our eyes lock, and I sip my champagne. It’s cold and bubbly and starts a fire inside of me.

With his eyes fixed firmly on mine, he licks the scotch from his lips. “You should probably stop looking at me like that.”

Electricity buzzes between us as everyone else in the room disappears.

“Like what?”

“Like you want to fucking eat me.”

My stomach flutters. “That’s very presumptuous, Mr. Miles.”

“Call me Tristan.”

I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from smiling. I like this game. “I’ll call you whatever I like,” I mouth.

He inhales sharply and rearranges his crotch.

Watching him touch his dick does something to my insides, and my sex begins to throb.

“What makes you think that I want to eat you?” I whisper.

His eyes drop to my lips. “Because I want to eat you, and it’s manners to reciprocate.”

I giggle at his audacity. “I don’t have very good manners, I’m afraid.”

In slow motion, he picks up his chunky crystal glass and smiles as he puts it to his lips. “So . . . this martyr thing works for you?”

“How am I a martyr?”

“Well.” He shrugs casually. “You keep telling me that you’re not attracted to me, and yet . . .”

“And yet what?” I whisper.

“And yet I can feel it,” he murmurs. “Your body is calling for mine.”

Our eyes lock as the air leaves my lungs.

“Every time I’m close to you, I can sense our bodies talking to each other. Don’t tell me you can’t feel it, because I know you can,” he whispers.

We stare at each other for an extended moment, the air swirling between us.

“Are you going to give her what she needs?” he asks as he lifts his glass to his lips.

I drop my head, rattled by his sixth sense. “I’m afraid I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re not someone I . . .”

“Like?” he asks, amused.

I hold my tongue, not wanting to be rude.

“Relax, Anderson; you’re not someone that I would like either. Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

I smile, relieved.

“But . . . what happens on tour stays on tour,” he adds.

My stomach flutters at the prospect of having secret sex with this man.

His focus moves to straight in front of him, as if he’s pondering something, and then he smiles darkly and takes a sip of his drink.

“What?” I ask.

“Well, you do know that one day, we are inevitability going to . . . fuck.”

I stare at him as a million pornographic pictures come to mind.

“An attraction like this doesn’t go away, Anderson.”

Goose bumps scatter up my arms; he does feel it too.

“So, as I see it . . . we can use the time away to our advantage.”

“Or?” I ask.

His dark eyes meet mine. “Or we can go back to New York until I eventually wear you down—for then I will fuck you on your desk. It will be hard and wet and messy, and who knows who might walk in on us.”

I blink, shocked. What the hell? “You’re so sure of yourself.”

“I always get what I want.” He gives me a slow, sexy smile. “And what I want is you.”

My stomach flutters with nerves. “Why?”

“You see . . . I could pretend that I like you and that I want to explore our friendship or some fucking bullshit.” He sips his drink. “Or I could just tell you the truth.”

“Which is?” I breathe.

Our eyes are locked.

“The idea of you hating me while I lick you up is a fucking turn-on,” he whispers.

I begin to hear my pulse in my ears.

He leans in and whispers in my ear. “I want to hear you fucking moan, Anderson.” His breath tickles my ear, and goose bumps scatter. “It’s all I can think about; my cock has been weeping for you all day.”

Jesus.

“You don’t expect me to like you?” I ask, fascinated by his request.

“As a friend . . . who you can trust to take care of you sexually, of course.”

“Anything more?”

“Absolutely not.”

I sip my champagne as I process his words. “I’m not the kind of woman who does this sort of thing,” I whisper.

“And I’m the kind of man that does. You don’t even have to talk; I’ll do all the work.”

The air buzzes between us like electricity.

This is it, the defining moment—an offer to possibly find the woman inside of me whom I’ve lost. I know that I have two choices. I can go home alone and always regret this moment, or I can have honest sex with a man with whom it’s impossible to form an emotional attachment.

“We’re going to the cellar,” Nelson says jovially from behind us, breaking the spell. “You guys coming?”

I look over at the group as they all stand by the door, waiting for everyone, and I know I need to make a decision. “Um . . . no. I’m going to call it a night and go to bed.”

“Oh, okay.” Nelson turns to Tristan. “You coming?”

“No, I’m meeting a friend here at the bar. She hasn’t arrived yet,” he lies without a beat.

Nelson smiles. “Lucky bastard. Have fun for me.” He slaps him hard on the back and smiles at the two of us. “Good night, then. See you tomorrow.”

“Good night.”

The group waves to us, and with a loud chatter among them, they leave the bar.

Tristan’s eyes come to me. “Your room or mine?”

“Mine.”

I unlock the door to my room as he stands behind me. I can feel his breath on the back of my neck, and I may pass out at any moment . . . or orgasm. Both options aren’t ideal or particularly cool.

He kicks the door shut and, without a word, takes my face in his hands and kisses me as he walks me backward toward my bed. His tongue dives deep into my mouth as he holds me close, and goose bumps scatter up my spine.

No matter what happens from here . . . the man can kiss. So . . . well.

Our tongues dance together, and I can’t even open my eyes to look at him.

I’m so in the moment that it’s just ridiculous.

“Jesus,” he murmurs against my lips.

I giggle.

“Hurry up. Fuck.” He begins to undo the buttons of his shirt with urgency.

“What’s the rush?”

“The rush is I want you naked, and I can’t get you naked until I’m naked. It’s the naked law.”

“There’s a naked law?”

“Everyone knows that. Fuck.” He rolls his eyes. “I told you not to talk, remember?”

I laugh. Oh man. He’s fun.

He tears his shirt over his shoulders, and my breath catches. Broad and muscular, with a scattering of dark hair. He has a rippled abdomen and a V of muscles that disappears into his pants.

Holy shit.

Suddenly, I’m nervous.

Nobody has seen me naked in a very long time . . . oh jeez.

Abort mission.

He takes my fingers and puts them on his zipper. He smiles, with his eyes fixed on mine. “Take it all off,” he mouths.