Page 4 of The Rebel

“If you change your mind, meet me in the bar,” I told him.

A bellhop opened the back door, and I climbed out of the backseat and walked into the lobby.

Every hotel, especially if it was part of a brand, had a distinct smell. Since I was hypersensitive to scents, that was one of the first things I noticed whenever I walked inside a lobby.

The aroma that met me in the doorway was as important as the interior of the hotel.

If the smell was insipid, uninviting, I was immediately turned off.

And here, I was definitely underwhelmed. A mix of leather, like an accumulation of briefcases, and coffee. Not scents that were piped and vented through the ducts—something we did at all our hotels—but rather what a man would smell like after returning from a long day at a job he hated.

I quickly scanned the interior on my way to the bar, bored by the brown and gold accents, unimpressed that they hid the view of the lake behind short windows and heavy drapery, and I took a seat at one of the barstools. My ass wasn’t even settled on the hard surface when the scent came over me.

Not one that came from the hotel.

This was the perfume of a woman.

A smell that reminded me of late summer sunsets and the anticipation of cool fall nights.

A perfect combination of Granny Smith apples and cedarwood with a heavy dose of lust.

I looked to my right, scanning the faces of the people sitting nearby. None seemed to fit the fragrance. Just as I looked to my left, a woman sat beside me, sending me a stronger whiff of what I’d smelled before.

An essence that matched her exceptionally.

Her long, mocha-colored hair hung in curls. Her profile—a balance of soft lines, a small and sloped nose, and a jaw that outlined thick, pouty lips—was stunning. As I looked down, I noticed her sweater hung to the bottom of her thighs, where there was a hint of creamy skin before the start of her knee-high boots.

My eyes weren’t satisfied.

I wanted more.

No.

I fucking needed more.

My gaze slowly lifted, and that was when our stares connected, hers a bright and beautiful emerald.

Goddamn it.

The side view of this woman was breathtaking.

Straight on, and I was practically speechless.

Especially when she smiled, her straight white teeth piercing her bottom lip before she let out a soft, quiet laugh. “Hi.”

One thought instantly nagged at me, demanding my full attention.

It churned through my body, giving most of its focus on my cock.

I fucking need her.

“Hello,” I replied.

“What can I get you to drink?” I heard.

Reluctantly, I turned my head toward the bartender. “Bourbon. The oldest one you have.”

“On the rocks?”

---