“If that’s the case than I guess he’s going to live to one hundred and eighty.”
He laughs. “At least he has good taste.”
“That he does.”
And therein lies the problem. Summer is breathtakingly beautiful, a girl I plan to expose, except suddenly exposing her—her clothes, that clip in her hair, her inhibitions—is playing out all kinds of wrong in my head.
Summer
I PACE INSIDE my suite, hardly able to believe I’m about to have dinner with Tate the sexy bartender with a body made for sin. He never did give me his last name, and I never gave him mine, which is A-Okay with me. If I’m going to have a hot affair with a man I never plan to set eyes on again, the less I know about him the better.
Wait.
What?
I’m going to have a hot affair with Tate?
My blood races faster, heating my flesh and no doubt turning my cheeks a deeper shade of pink. God, am I really going to do this? I mean, there is no denying the heat between us, the insane, off-the-charts attraction. As soon as he approached our table, crowded my personal space, we created a volatile bubble of sexual energy that even my friends felt to their cores. Off course, after he left, they suggested I jump his bones and have a little much needed fun while I’m on vacation.
Should I?
I walk to the patio window and glance out at the slopes. Honest to God, I have the nicest view in all of St. Moritz. James spared no expense, giving me this suite and setting my friends up in their own rooms. Guilt tightens my stomach. I’m not one to take from people, not at all. I’ve always paid my own way in life, and went without when I couldn’t.
For most of my life, I’ve had my own preconceived notions about the wealthy, thanks to many childhood incidents with the rich boys at my school. Spoiled, entitled, mean boys who bullied me, and set me up for disaster. Growing up in New York and going to Harvard, I’ve met people from all walks of life, most of them kind. But after what those boys did to me when I was a kid, I was never able to shake the feeling of distrust I get around rich people. And, honestly, several summers spent working at an upscale steakhouse in Boston did little to help with that. The tips were great, some of the diners...not so much. But James is kind, compassionate, fair and generous. In the world of the rich, he may be one of a kind.
The knock on my door startles me, and my heart jumps into my throat as I turn around. I glance at myself in the mirror. Am I dressed appropriately? I only packed a few nice dresses. I had no idea I’d be dining with anyone other than my girls.
I check my clipped hair, take a deep breath and walk to the door. I open it and my pulse leaps when I find Tate standing there, hands in the pockets of his dress pants, and a suit jacket that fits him to perfection. He must have had it professionally made to fit those shoulders. Then again, probably not. Not on a bartender’s salary anyway. I give him another once over. Tate in jeans is one thing, but damned if he doesn’t clean up nice.
His gaze leaves my face, drops to take in my little black dress. “You’re beautiful,” he says so low, I almost don’t hear him.
“You are, too.”
He grins as his eyes lift to mine. “I’ve been called a lot of things before, but beautiful was never one of them.”
“Well, it’s fitting,” I say. “You look amazing. I’ll be the envy of every woman in the restaurant tonight.”
He steps into me, captures my chin with his thumb and index finger, lightly brushes the soft pad back and forth, and my mind takes that moment to envision him using the same movement, on a different part of my body.
“Thank you for the compliment,” he says. “But you’re the one who’s going to turn heads tonight.”
His intense gaze sets my panties on fire, and I resist the urge to run to the bathroom to change my damp thong. My God, the man sure knows how to sweet talk a woman.
His hands drop. “You all set?”
“I am.” I grab my purse from the table, and let the door click shut behind me. Silence ensues as we walk to the elevator and I steal a few glances at him as we wait for it to arrive. It’s empty when it opens and Tate puts his hand on the small of my back to lead me in. Breathless, I move to the back wall, and grip my purse tighter.
“How long have you worked here?” I ask him as he presses the button for the lobby.
“Long enough to know my way around the place. Are you up for a tour later?”
“I’d love a tour.” I glance down at my little black dress and heels. “I’ll have to change though.”
“Of course. We can’t have you going outside in that dress.”
The doors open and he leads me into the exquisite lobby. Raydolins is a pretty top-notch resort, so I’d imagine the fine dining restaurant must be pricey. He puts his hand on the small of my back again and guides me across the wide expanse of marble flooring. Heat sizzles through me at his touch, and I try not to appear as flustered as I feel.
We step through the doors to the restaurant, and I take in its opulence. “Tate,” I begin quickly. “We don’t have to eat here.” Jeez, how do I say this without offending him? He wants to take me out to dinner to a nice place, but I don’t want it to empty his bank account.
“You don’t like it?” he asks.
“No, it’s beautiful, I just...” To be honest it’s a little out of my element. Deep down I’m just a simple girl from Brooklyn and I don’t want this man to think he has to wine and dine me to impress me. I’m good with a cheeseburger and Coke. I might even prefer it.
He leans into me, puts his mouth close to my ear and whispers, “If you don’t want to stay...” he says, looking and feeling far more comfortable in this swank restaurant than I do. He actually looks like he belongs here, like he wants to be here.
“No, I do,” I say. If he wants to stay, we stay.
“Anything you want, Summer. Just say the word.”
What would that word be, please?
My brain spins, buzzing like a fine wine, as his low, sexy voice travels down my body, hitting every erogenous spot along the way. I tremble. Almost violently.
Tate’s brow furrows. “Maybe we should run back upstairs and grab you a sweater.”
“No, it’s okay, I’m fine,” I lie. I’m far from fine because the thoughts of running upstairs with him sounds appealing. Except I don’t want to go back to my room to put more clothes on. Quite the opposite, really.
When the hostess arrives, Tate says something I can’t hear. The waitress laughs, and her face lights up in admiration. She touches Tate’s arm, and I sense the familiarity between them. I guess working here, the staff all know each other and probably hang out. Heck, they probably all live together in the staff’s quarters.
We’re led across the restaurant, and a few heads turn to Tate, give him a nod of acknowledgment. I guess he’s well known, even with some of the guests. The hostess takes us to a table with a spectacular view of the mountains, as nice as my penthouse view. I stare at Tate, and wonder how exactly he managed to arrange this.
“You’re right, you do have some pull,” I say as we’re seated.
He grins, and smooths his hand over his tie. I angle my head, the gesture so familiar to me. James does the same thing, even when he’s not wearing a tie.
“Told you,” he says, but not in a show-off way. Just