Page 3 of The Christmas Gift

“If I wanted a drink, I would have ordered one,” she said, more frustrated with herself for being intrigued than at him.

“You could have also told the waitress no.”

There was that logic. This man was on the instructive side, but she did appreciate a person who spoke their mind. “I didn’t want to stop her leering.” She also didn’t want to deny him an opportunity for sex since she was in the hotel for the same reason .

“I didn’t notice.” He grinned. “I was too busy being captivated by my companion.”

Ivy flushed. Down-right felt her skin heat a fraction.

“As for the drink, you’ll enjoy it.”

“Why, because you think I need one?” She was being defensive. It was one drink. She would have ordered a beverage upon arriving but didn’t want her date thinking she had to psych herself up to sleep with him.

“It will help you warm up to me before you realize your date isn’t showing.”

She laughed. “Not likely. You’re not my type.” She expected him to be offended by her words but the man didn’t even flinch. If anything, his eyes darkened a notch in challenge.

“I didn’t make your list?” He feigned hurt. “What exactly is on that list of yours?”

Ivy flushed. He’d caught her glancing at her phone again. Now there was no way he was abandoning the subject. If she told him all the ways he was breathing in her oxygen, perhaps he would go find the pretty waitress and leave her and her tingling lady bits alone. But she wasn’t going to ever see him again, she reasoned, nothing was keeping her from answering his question. As a freelance marketing executive, Ivy would make sure she never took another contract in Wheelcaster.

“I’m not on a date,” she clarified, shifting self-consciously in her seat. Knowing their conversation was one-and-done made her bold. “It’s a one-night arrangement.”

“Here you go, darlin’.” The waitress handed them each a glass. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

Ivy eyed the pair over the rim of her glass. The poor thing was doing her darndest to engage. Ivy admitted, the drink was delicious and just the way she liked her liquor, sweet, fruity. One drink shouldn’t have counted as brownie points, but she ticked the considerate box. What was that nonsense people often spewed…it’s the thought that counts. It was irritating, however, that he easily guessed her drink preference and she vowed to ask how he knew. She didn’t doubt he had a line of women he probably learned from.

“No, thank you,” mister swoony said. When the waitress walked away, he faced Ivy. “Was my order up to snuff?”

“It’s delicious.” She took another sip, enjoying a burst of pomegranate coating her pallet.

“You were going to tell me your requirements for tonight.”

“Was I?” She licked her lips. This man was persistent. Deciding to ignore the first two items, because Ivy wasn’t putting her safety under scrutiny or in the hands of a stranger, she said, “No sharing of personal info.”

“No attachments.” He nodded and she wanted to see that bun fly.

“Yes.” It was refreshing that he got her reasoning. Perhaps it was because he seemed more worldly—even if he did tease—than the guys she usually chose. He was older too. She tucked that information away for later. “I don’t want to be an ass for not exchanging digits when we’re done…er when the night is over.”

He chuckled. “What’s next?” At her wrinkled nose, he said, “I know there’s more, you might as well tell me. Besides, if anyone is going to review your sheet, they should be your man.”

“You’renotmy man.” Her thighs clenched in protest at her words.

His eyes heated like warm brandy from under thick lashes.

He was definitely masculine though. His white shirt, tucked beneath his navy blue suit was open at the collar, enough to glimpse sun-kissed skin. Ivy glanced away, but not quick enough. “Good looking.”

“I’m glad I have something going for me.”

She shot him a glare.Was he flirting?

“That’s two for two in my favor.” He drained his glass, signaling for another.

“You aren’t a contender,” she interjected. Ivy bit the inside of her cheek. Now she knew he was checking boxes of his own, she couldn’t dismiss the image of them wrapped in sheets.

“We’ll see,” he said, too confident for his own good. “What’s next.”

“Considerate,” she said, trying to ignore the tilt of his lips. “Able to have a decent conversation.”

---