Page 6 of The Player

He bit the inside of his cheek to prevent from laughing out loud, finding her utterly beguiling. In contrast to her sexy persona, she was forthright and rather innocent if she hadn’t picked up on that nailing remark.

Then he made the mistake of glancing at her and saw the moment her faux pas registered. She winced and a faint pink stained her cheeks, making him want to ravish her on the spot.

‘That didn’t sound good,’ she said, wrinkling her nose.

‘Now we’re even,’ he said, wondering what they’d say after a few drinks under their belts. ‘My mistaken proposition, your nailing suggestion.’

‘Guess we are.’ She eyed him speculatively, as if not sure what he’d say next.

That made two of them.

‘Maybe we should stick to coffee tonight?’

‘Why’s that?’

That dimple flashed adoringly again. ‘Because with our strike rate, who knows what will happen if we have a martini or two?’

He laughed. ‘I was thinking the same thing.’

‘Coffees it is.’ She nodded, expecting him to agree.

But there was a part of him that delighted in flustering this woman and he couldn’t help but wonder how she’d loosen up with a few drinks inside her.

He leaned in close, expecting her to retreat a little, his admiration increasing—along with his libido—when she didn’t.

‘Actually, I prefer to live on the edge tonight. Why don’t we have a martini or two and see what other verbal gaffs we can make?’

‘As long as we stop at the verbal stuff,’ she said so softly he barely heard her.

‘Any other mistakes we make? Not our fault.’

‘Oh?’

He loved her imperious eyebrow quirk.

‘Haven’t you heard?’ He lowered his voice. ‘What happens in the martini bar stays in the martini bar?’

With a surprisingly wicked twinkle in her eye, she nodded. ‘That’s if we stay in the bar.’

With that, she descended the steps, leaving him trailing after her, more than a little captivated by this woman of contrasts.

A woman whose name he didn’t know.

With a little luck he’d have all night to discover it.

Chapter Three

Liza couldn’t remember the last time she’d been out on a date.

One that hadn’t been orchestrated as some huge PR stunt, that was. She’d attended media, music, and football galas on the arms of a TV personality, a rock star, and an up-and-coming footballer respectively. On each occasion, she’d been bored witless within the first ten minutes.

So what was it about this guy that had her laughing, screwing up her words, and interested in spending some one-on-one time with him?

She’d made her required appearance at the book launch. She should head home, get out of this flashy dress she’d been begged to wear by a new designer, and curl up with her e-reader and the latest juicy romance.

Instead, she watched him place their martini orders, shocked she didn’t know his name, thrilled she didn’t particularly care.

She never had fun or did anything on a whim. Ever.

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