Perfect Stranger (3 page)

I settled at the bar and found a position with a good view of the entrance to the conference suite. With a bottle of champagne on ice, and a glass of soda water in front of me, it was just a case of waiting. Sure enough, the doors eventually opened and disgorged a group of delegates. In their dark suits and with their noisy chatter, they reminded me of a flock of starlings.

Jordan came out of the conference suite, locked gazes with me, and then disappeared from sight, phone pressed to his ear. I’d give him quarter of an hour, and if he didn’t return, I’d take the champagne back to my room and admit defeat.

I’d only waited a couple of minutes, when he strolled into the bar area and headed straight for my stool. “Hey, Birthday Girl.” His lips curved in the start of a smile, and my stomach cartwheeled in delight.

He was here. I’d been so caught up in my shitty day that I’d forgotten how gorgeous he was. Six foot tall at least, he was built like an athlete. His profile was lean and strong, the mouth full and sensuous, and his slate-gray eyes sparkled under the bar lights. The business suit fit him like a dream. Why were there no men like this at home? The city was full of either football fanatics, sporting Manchester City shirts, or students in ragged jeans and hoodies.

I dragged my thoughts under control, tamped down the introverted part of me that wanted to run back to my room, and managed to smile without looking like an idiot. If I pretended he was a business associate or a customer, I’d be fine. I could breeze through that.

“Thank you for the flowers. They were a lovely surprise. Won’t you have a drink with me?” I lifted the champagne from its bucket, to underline my invitation.

“Thanks. I will.”

The barman materialized and opened the bottle before pouring two glasses. I longed to look cool and relaxed, as though chatting to gorgeous men in bars was a normal pastime for me. I took a sip of the champagne and tried to figure out what to say next.

He spoke before I could. “If you don’t have any plans already, I’d like to take you to dinner.” There was that sultry cowboy drawl again. He stepped closer and leaned against the bar next to me. “Happy birthday, Kate.”

Jesus. That accent was doing funny things to me. I wanted to swoon. Tilting my head back, I looked into his eyes. “Dinner would be good. The restaurant here?”

“Sounds like a plan.” He tugged a stool next to mine and slid onto the seat, resting one elbow on the bar. “So how was your day?”

On a scale of
one
to
horrendous
, it hovered somewhere around
terrible
, but that wasn’t for sharing. “Definitely improving.” I took a slug of my drink. “How was the conference?”

“Busy. This is a good venue, though.”

I nodded. The conversation was shifting into familiar territory. “I’ve stayed here a few times, and I like it. I travel a lot, and a decent hotel makes such a difference.”

A couple stepped up to the bar, and Jordan eased closer to me. “Damn right. What’s the worst place you ever stayed?”

I thought about it. “First time I went camping. My tent leaked water, probably because I hadn’t set it up right, and I was eaten alive by midges.” Jordan’s lips quirked, but I hadn’t finished. “Even worse was the shower block.
Jesus
. It was like a shrine to dead insects. Seriously.”

“Not into camping, huh?”

“These days I prefer a sprung mattress, a decent shower, and WiFi.”

He huffed a laugh and chinked his glass against mine. “Same. Add a good gym and maybe a pool, and I’m happy.”

My glass was empty. I watched as Jordan poured more champagne for both of us. “My little sister is backpacking her way around Europe at the moment. I could never do that,” I said.

“I used to go hiking a lot. But yeah, the days of crashing on a foam mat are long gone.”

He talked about a disastrous trip to the South of France when he was eighteen, and before I knew it, we were swapping stories like old friends. Maybe it was just the alcohol fizzing through my bloodstream, but I was enjoying myself.

At some point, he glanced at his watch—an expensive-looking piece. “How about that dinner? We could take the champagne with us.”

Jordan led me into the busy dining hall, with his hand resting in the small of my back. The possessive gesture sent delicious shivers down my spine. He spoke to the maître d’, who found us a secluded table at the back.

I sank into my chair, unsteady on my feet. Probably a combination of spending my lunch break shopping instead of eating, and then breaking in the new shoes I bought. So far so good. They only pinched slightly, and they looked magnificent. Proper Fuck-Me heels.

What was going on in my head? It was unsettling to admit, but I was more turned on, than I’d been my entire time with Tony. This unbidden thought made me smile. Jordan Merrill had no right to be so darkly attractive. Those sensuous lips were made for kissing.

He gazed at me from across the table. “We should look at the menus. What do you like?”

“I like most things.” Great. That made me sound simple. I bought some regrouping time, by browsing the food options. “How about the Mexican-style combo?” I glanced up and found him looking at me. The way he raked his gaze over me made my body heat. I gulped some champagne. “It’s… um,
a banquet designed with two people in mind
.” I carried on reading the description aloud. “
Ribs, potato skins, shrimps, onion rings, Mexican spiced chicken pieces, soft flour tortillas, and an assortment of dips and salsas
. Sounds good.”

“Uh huh. Could be messy.”

“Much more interesting, though. Eating with your fingers, I mean.”

“Definitely.” He beckoned a passing waiter, placed our order, and then turned his attention back to me. He grinned, his teeth white and even. “You’d probably like the food in Houston. We have some excellent Mexican restaurants there. I’m not sure how authentic this is gonna be, but it should be fun.”

“Do you get home often?”

“Every couple of months. Business meetings, mostly.” Wow, and I thought I traveled a lot for work. “So,” he continued. “Will you celebrate your birthday properly when you go home?”

I remembered the row with Tony, and my mood slumped. “Not until the weekend, when I catch up with friends. I had plans for dinner with my boyfriend, but he moved out yesterday.” I shrugged, as though it didn’t mean a thing.

“Poor you.” Jordan’s voice was gentle. “You had a rough day, didn’t you?”

“I guess I knew it was going to happen, just not when.” That was enough of my whining. I didn’t want to talk about Tony and my failed relationship. I cast around, for some way to ask about his relationship situation, when the waiter arrived. He bustled around us, this time laying out plates and a basket of bread rolls.

I wrapped my fingers around my glass. “And you? Do you have someone at home waiting for you?”

“Uh huh.” He did? I felt crushed, but then I saw the crinkle around his eyes. “My cousin Louisa is visiting at the moment,” he said. “She’s married to my best friend, but he’s in Berlin right now, so she’s hanging at my place for a couple days.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“She likes the shopping in London. I’m used to it.” He flashed me a grin. “So, tell me. Favorite birthday meal?”

It was a skillful subject change, and an easy question to answer. “Pancakes and ice cream.” He cocked his head, amusement dancing across his face, and I went on. “There used to be a chain of roadside restaurants, Little Chef, and they made a fabulous dessert called Jubilee Pancakes. Thick, fluffy pancakes folded over, with a sweet cherry sauce inside and a slab of vanilla cream.” I hummed softly at the memory. “I would have been six years old, we were going somewhere on my birthday, and Mum said I could pick whatever I liked best for my dinner. So I chose the pancakes.” I ran an unsteady hand through my hair but made my voice bright and happy. “How about you?”

“My aunt is Italian, and she makes a lasagna to die for. Seriously. I’ve eaten pasta in Rome and Naples, and none of it matches up to her recipe. It’s her family secret, and she flat out refuses to share it.” He rolled his eyes, his lips tugging up at the corners. “It’s kinda spoiled me for eating lasagna in a restaurant. I’ll always compare it to hers.”

“Remind me never to make lasagna for you. I’d hate to be second best.” Where the hell did that come from? Presumptuous, much? I was saved further inanities by the waiter and his trolley of hot dishes.

As I expected, the food was a bastardized version of what I’d eat back home, but Kate’s enjoyment made it worthwhile.

She exclaimed in delight at the array of choices on the table, and her warm brown eyes sparkled. “I don’t know what to try first.”

I could help with that. I folded a floury tortilla around a pile of shredded chicken and salsa, and held the package to her mouth. After a brief hesitation, she met my stare and bit into the tortilla.

Christ.
Watching her eat was almost as good as porn. I’d play the visual in slow-motion in my head later. Probably when I jerked off in the shower. She parted her lips and then closed her mouth around the food, a mischievous glint in her eyes. She had to know I was imagining her taking my cock that way.

The show wasn’t over. She flicked out her tongue, and then, before she swallowed, a dribble of salsa escaped and trickled down her chin.

Eyes wide, she giggled and reached for a paper napkin. “Wow. The salsa was hotter than I expected.”

So was that little show she’d just put on.
“You liked it?” I asked.

She took a gulp of champagne. “Definitely. But let me put this fire out before I eat any more.”

“I like it hot,” I said, teasing.

She snorted with laughter. “I bet you do. Hmmm… bit of a cheesy line though, don’t you think? Do you use that on all the girls?”

Sitting back, I grinned. “
Busted
. I can’t say it’s ever worked. Maybe I need some more practice.”

She fluttered her eyelashes. “I bet you’ve had some hot stuff.”

It was my turn to snort. “Now who’s being cheesy?”

Flirting was new to me. I didn’t do hookups, and whenever I dated it was with women I already knew through either work or friends. I didn’t like to waste time, getting to know strangers and then finding we had nothing in common.

Kate was different though, even if I couldn’t figure out why.

The light conversation flowed easily as we ate. We enjoyed some of the same films, equally hated reality TV, and discovered we’d both been at the same rock concert a couple of years earlier.

As we dawdled over the cheese board, Kate turned her head as though listening for something. “Is that music?”

“Yeah. There’s dancing for the conference delegates. Would you like to go?”

“I’d love to.” Her beaming look of delight was irresistible, and the opportunity to hold her close in a darkened corner was too good to turn down. 

The pounding bass vibrated through me before we entered the ballroom. A quick glance around the tables showed plenty of familiar faces from the conference but none of my immediate colleagues. That was good. I could hang out with Kate without the grapevine going wild.

I found a small empty table and waved to the nearest waiter. “More champagne?” I asked Kate, raising my voice over the music. She nodded, and I ordered another bottle, then claimed my seat and draped my jacket over the back,

It was too loud for conversation. I refilled our glasses, we drank a little, and Kate moved her chair next to mine. Our knees rubbed together, and our arms brushed when she played with her glass. When I stood and held out a hand, Kate let me pull her up, and together we moved to the dance floor. She stumbled as she walked, and I slung my arm around her waist. How much had she drunk?

She turned to face me, stood on tiptoes, and pressed her mouth to my ear. “I’m breaking in new shoes.”

The thumping beat gave way to a sultry vibe and provided the excuse I needed to step closer, as we swayed to the music. It felt natural for her to slide her arms around my neck, while I held her loosely around the waist.

I wanted to run my fingers through her hair, to see if it was as soft as it looked. Unable to resist, I lifted one hand and tucked a stray lock behind her ear. The dark strands felt like silk. I did it again and uncovered a gleaming hoop that sparkled in the flashing disco lights. She didn’t back off or push my hand away. Her eyes met mine, and we could have been the only people in the room.

If she kept looking at me like that, I’d kiss her.

I didn’t kiss women on dance floors. In public. I didn’t normally send flowers to strangers either, and it was becoming apparent I’d not only stepped out of my comfort zone, I’d landed on a whole new freakin’ planet.

She moistened her lips with her tongue, and I bit back a groan. One taste—that was all I needed.

She reached up and leaned against me. Her mouth edged closer, and then she spoke into my ear. “I love this song. One of my favorites.”

Fuck. I thought she was homing in for a kiss. Half a bottle of good champagne had left me far more relaxed than normal. I breathed in deep through my nostrils and tried to will my rising erection to subside. What had Kate just said? The song. She liked the song.  I recognized the soulful lyrics and the insistent bassline, but I couldn’t place it.

I needed some distance but had no intention of letting her go. In a moment of genius, I turned her to face the DJ on his podium and held her from behind. I had my arms filled with the sexiest, most gorgeous woman I’d met in ages, and I might be able to hang onto a shred of control.

Or not. Kate rested her hands on top of mine, and she rubbed her delectable ass against my groin. My dick, previously half-hard, responded with a mind of its own. She couldn’t miss the bulge in my pants.
Jesus
. This was torture of the sweetest kind.

Focus.
I splayed my fingers over her flat stomach, on the sheer fabric of her barely-there top. I could sneak under the hem and stroke bare skin.
No
. I didn’t grope women in public, either.

I forced myself to work through the details, to slow down my blazing libido. Her hands were soft where she laid them on mine. She had long, slender fingers, with neat nails. She didn’t wear masses of makeup and layers of jewelry, and I liked that. She was elegant. Her hair smelled of something exotic, and her perfume was lightly floral.

How long was it since I last got laid? That’s why I was so horny. And just because Kate was happy to dirty dance with me, didn’t mean she wanted to spend the night in my bed. She’d broken up with her boyfriend. She was lonely.

She was so fuckable, I wanted to take her right there. In front of the delegates, and uncaring who saw me.

My dick aching, I blew out a pained breath and found Kate leaning closer against me, our bodies pressed together from shoulders to thighs. She dropped her head back and met my gaze, and I saw the same heat in her eyes that I felt radiating from mine.

When she suggested we go back to my room, there was no way I could refuse.