Page 22 of Filthy Rich

“Meeting family?”

“No.” I scowl at her for making me squirm like this. I don’t want to lie to her face, but I’m damn sure not telling her the truth. Not now. Not ever. “I’m relaxing.”

“This is you relaxed?” she says, brows going up.

“Give me time. It’s only the first day.”

“If you say so,” she says darkly.

“In here.” I open the door and usher her inside a cozy little bar. I relax immediately because it’s a much better choice than the casino. It’s got palm trees and Spanish tile. Small, round tables with candlelight. A guitarist on stage, strumming away on something light and mellow. “See? I’m starting to feel like I’m on vacation. Over here.”

We find a table in a quiet corner in the back. The server immediately swoops in for our drink orders.

“You’re a crusader,” I tell her once we’re settled. “You’re out to save the world one round of roulette at a time.”

“No, I’m not,” she says with a startled laugh. “I just try to do what I think is right.”

Ah. What’s right. What a concept. “And you always know what that is? At the ripe old age of, what? Twenty-one?”

“Twenty-two. Things usually seem pretty clear to me, yeah.”

Staring into her direct gaze, I have no trouble believing her. And I can’t help but wonder how she’d react if I told her I’m too jaded to care about any cause other than making my next million or enjoying my next moments of pleasure with her.

I have a hard time thinking she’d be pleased.

“You make me feel old,” I say.

“How old are you?”

“Ancient. Thirty-three.”

A tinge of concern from Ms. Scott.

“You’re not that old. You don’t try to do the right thing?”

Humorless laugh from me. “I wouldn’t know the right thing if it came up and bit me in the ass.”

She cocks her head, zeroing in on me even further.

She seems determined to discover things about me, which makes me hate this level of focus.

Almost as much as I revel in it.

“Are you warning me about something?” she asks quietly.

I’m warning you to stay as far away from me as you can, I want to say.

But I don’t.

I want sweet little Ms. Scott in my bed. Tonight. So I don’t plan to put up any roadblocks.

“Why would I do that, pray tell?” I say instead.

“I don’t know,” she says, still staring me in the face and sounding a little shaky now. “You’re in a weird mood tonight, aren’t you?”

I try to smile—God only knows what kind of expression I’m wearing right now—but can only get one side of my mouth to operate. “You have no idea.”

The moment stretches between us, crackling with electricity. Her color seems higher now, with maybe a gleam of sensual knowledge thrown in. My sweet little Tamsyn is full of sensual knowledge. I know it even if she doesn’t.

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