Page 3 of Seduction in Spades

“Where are you taking me?”

“Somewhere quieter.”

She stops in her tracks, and I bump into her.

“Where exactly issomewhere quieter?”

I like that she’s questioning my intentions. She was free of inhibitions in the security of The Club, but out here on the streets of Boston, I see a wall of caution. All flirting has fallen by the wayside, and a little bit of badass shines in her eyes.

Fuck if that doesn’t turn me on.

“Lime and Salt. It’s a tequila bar one block over. Or there’s a wine bar around the corner if you’d rather go there.”

She opens her mouth, then closes it and licks her lips. My gaze drops, following the movement of her tongue. It was her eyes that captured my attention at first, but that mouth of hers is just as compelling.

Now that our bodies aren’t packed together like sardines, I take a moment to appreciate her body. Tall, almost my height in her heeled low-cut boots. Booties, I think I’ve heard my sister call them. Long, shapely legs encased in tight jeans with subtle rips at her knees and upper thighs.

Only a strip of her stomach shows between her jeans and her cropped long-sleeve black shirt. It’s not overtly showing off her flat stomach, but when she raised her arms when dancing, I was blessed with glimpses of tempting tanned skin.

She catches me staring at her midriff. When my gaze meets her eyes, she raises an eyebrow in question.

I return with a lift of my shoulder. “You’re a beautiful woman. I apologize for checking you out.”

“Panty-melting looks and manners. The tequila place sounds good.”

She starts for the crosswalk, and I reach out for her hand, tugging her back to me, then lead her down the sidewalk toward the bar. “This way.”

I like the feel of her hand in mine. She’s not small and delicate. Five foot nine, I’d guess. Long, lean limbs with a good amount of muscle, or at least strength, hiding beneath her clothes. She doesn’t hide that strength in her eyes though. It’s there on display.

“Since I’m buying you a drink, I should probably know your name.”

“Who says I’m going to let you pay?”

I chuckle. “Well then, since I’m letting you buy me a drink, I should probably know your name.”

“Who says I’m buyingyoua drink?”

The sass is strong but not so much that I detect a hardass attitude. “How about since we’re holding hands walking down the streets of Boston?”

“Do you have to know the name of everyone you hold hands with?” she asks as I lead her to the front door of Salt and Lime.

“So far, yes.”

“Hm.” She smiles up at me as she walks past me and into the bar.

Salt and Lime is low-key. More of an uppity place. There are groupings of young twenty-somethings working hard to look older and sophisticated over by the sofas and cushioned chairs closer to the lone musician while the fifty-plus club congregates around the tabletops.

Being a Tuesday night, the bar isn’t very crowded. “Where would you like to sit?”

I study her as she glances around taking in the two different scenes. If she’s the indecisive type, we may have a problem. I like a woman who goes after what she wants. So far, this woman has done just that.

I’m curious if she’ll want to blend in with the younger crowd, not that she or I are much older. She must be in her mid to late twenties. Not fresh out of college like most of those on the sectionals.

She turns and looks at me. “The bar.” Before I can respond, she heads over to the long row of open stools, settling in one right smack dab in the middle.

I hadn’t expected this. The bartender sets two coasters in front of us.

“What can I get for you?”

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