Читать книгу Faking It / Forbidden Sins - Stefanie London - Страница 20

Hannah

MY HEART IS pounding a million miles a minute as I enter the dimly lit bar. The place is full, but not bursting. A beautiful curved bar in gold and pearl-white wraps around the back two corners of the room. Ornate pendant lights emit a warm glow, and velvet chairs dot the space, where people sit drinking and talking. Most wear suits or pretty dresses—they’ve probably come from seeing a show at the Arts Centre.

When a couple vacate the bar, I claim one of the empty seats.

Will Owen follow me in here? Is he outside stewing over his decision or has he already started walking home? I can’t get his words out of my head.

Nothing will ever stop you, Anderson. You’re a force.

When it comes to work and my career, I’ve worn that label with pride. I’m ambitious and I have the respect of my colleagues and superiors. But the second I shrug out of my blue uniform, I somehow shrug out of my confidence, too.

“What can I get you?” The bartender smiles.

“A French 75, please.” I’m craving something fizzy.

My eyes stray to the door, where a couple walks in. They’re arm in arm and so into one another that the room shoots up a hundred degrees. Is it pathetic that all I want is for someone to look at me like that? I’m an independent, intelligent woman but…

Just once I want to be that girl. The girl who gets the guy, the girl who stops traffic. Is it so bad to want to feel desirable? To feel sexy and coveted and beloved?

The bartender places my drink on a coaster and I pay. Bubbles race to the top of the champagne flute, where a delicate curl of lemon peel sits, curving over the edge of the glass. I stare at it for a moment, hanging in a delicious limbo between fear of rejection and the possibility that I may have something exciting in front of me.

The cocktail is tasty, dry champagne with a hint of sour lemon. As I watch the door, I twist Owen’s mother’s ring. I still haven’t gotten used to wearing it. But for tonight it’s on the wrong finger. I slip it off and transfer it to my other hand.

I turn back to my drink and run my finger over the rim, trying to make it sing like I used to when I was a little kid. I count my breaths in and out, clinging to hope.

Please come to me.

I remember how mortified I was when I found out my diary had been read aloud. I knew Owen had done his best to conceal my identity. But people talked and theorised—we all wanted to be investigators, after all.

Rumours spread. I’d denied it, of course. And then the diary had turned up back in my room seemingly of its own accord. I knew he’d put it there. And part of me had been excited that he knew how I felt. Unfortunately, nothing had come of it.

“Is anyone sitting here?”

I turn toward the deep voice and swallow back the excitement surging through my veins. Owen has a dangerous edge to him. His usually playful smile is nowhere to be found, and his vibrant blue eyes hold me captive. Will he play my game?

“No, please.” I gesture toward the empty seat next to me. “It’s all yours.”

He eases himself onto the bar stool and signals to the bartender. 18-year-old Talisker, neat. I’ve never seen him drink anything but beer. He looks at me while the bartender pours, his expression smouldering and unreadable. The corner of my lips lifts into a smile, inviting him closer. He knows what I want, so now the ball is in his court.

I hold my breath…waiting.

“I’m James,” he says.

My thundering heart almost trips over itself with joy. It’s happening. “Annabel.”

“Are you from around here, Annabel?” An American accent has crept into his voice that’s doing funny things to my insides. Is he drawing on his time in New York?

My mind spins. I don’t have a backstory planned—I don’t know who I’m supposed to be. Hell, I have no idea how this role-play thing is supposed to work. Perhaps part of me never thought he’d say yes…

“I’m in town on business.” I sip my drink. “For one night.”

“Just one?” There’s that cheeky twinkle.

“Yes. I’m…” Think, dammit. “A researcher.”

“And what do you research, Annabel?” The way he says my fake name sounds like sex itself.

His drink arrives and he brings the heavy glass up to his mouth, tipping his head back. As he swallows, I watch the muscles working in his throat and I find my own totally devoid of moisture.

“I research the five senses and their effect on the human body.” My creative mind kicks into gear and it’s like slipping a costume over my head. “Such as how the other senses increase in strength to compensate when one is no longer accessible.”

“That’s an interesting field of research.”

“It’s very hands on.”

Our bodies are turned toward one another, my legs crossed so that my knees sit between his open legs. Owen leans one arm on the bar and watches me closely. It’s different to every other time he’s looked at me.

“How do you test those things?” he asks.

“It’s pretty simple. I can show you right now, if you like?”

He nods. “Sure.”

“Close your eyes.”

There’s something deeply appealing about having this strong man under my spell. Owen is physically fitter than most men…even most cops. He’s easily over six feet, broad-shouldered and has the kind of sculpted, muscular arms you’d expect of an action hero. But having him here in front of me, eyes closed, while he awaits my instruction makes me feel all kinds of powerful. I usually only get that surge of confidence at work.

But this is purely personal.

I take the lemon rind from my cocktail and slowly bring it under his nose. I see the recognition in his facial features, even though he doesn’t open his eyes. “What do you smell?”

“Lemon.”

“But a second ago you had no idea it was there.”

I leave the peel there for a second before placing it on a napkin on the bar. Then I lean closer to him, being sure not to touch him. When my lips are right by his ear, I blow cool air onto his skin and he shudders.

“With your eyes closed, everything else feels more intense. Your sense of smell and touch compensate for your lack of sight.” I place my hand on his thigh, feeling hard muscle beneath the fine fabric of his trousers. “It’s something that helped our ancestors when they had nothing but the moonlight to guide them.”

Where the hell is this coming from? I’ve fully embraced the role—Annabel, the sexpot researcher. It’s helping me be less like my typical awkward self, and more like the woman I wish I was.

“In fact,” I say, pausing to clear my throat. “I’m here recruiting test subjects.”

Owen’s eyes open and he looks at my hand resting on his thigh. “What are the requirements?”

“Single men between the ages of thirty and thirty-five. Must be in good health.” I let my gaze roam over his body in a way I’ve never done before.

I dwell in the details of him—in the blond hairs dusting his arms where his sleeves are rolled back. In the way his Adam’s apple protrudes at his neck. In the sharp cut of his jaw and the hard slash of his cheekbones. In his bluer-than-blue eyes and full, curved lips. He’s so attractive it borders on obnoxious. All the female recruits had a crush on him—charming Owen, who could befriend anyone. Who was always quick with a smile and a joke.

He was a boy, then. And now he’s filled out into this complex, mysterious man.

“Anything else?” he asks.

“Must be free for one night of testing,” I reply. “One whole night because…I like to be thorough.”

“Sounds like I fit the bill.” He knocks back the rest of his Scotch and I’m so nervous and excited I’m worried my heart is going to bust its way out of my rib cage. “I don’t suppose you have a spot open tonight?”

“Actually, I do.”