Page 11 of Torrid Passion
“A forced one,” I answer.
He knits his eyebrows. “I don’t get it.”
I tell him all about Chelsea and her rich husband.
“You don’t need that kind of drama in your life,” Larkin says.
“I agree.”
“Did you reserve a room?”
I laugh. “I did.”
“At the Quintus or did you reserve one of the suites at Dark Compulsion?”
“I wasn’t sure what she was into, so I reserved a room upstairs at the Quintus, but I won’t need it anymore.”
“Keep it,” Larkin encourages. “When you scan out, it will auto-cancel the room. You never know. You might need it later.”
“I doubt it.”
“All work no play, Mr. Berkshire?”
“That’s my reality these days.”
“Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. That’s unhealthy,” Larkin says. “Why don’t you head to Dark Compulsion? The first floor is already crowded. Lots of beautiful women. With your good looks and bad boy attitude, I’m sure you’ll find a willing friend—or three—to play with the second you step into the room. In no time, you’ll forget all about the married bitch.”
“I think I’ve had enough for tonight. I might head home––”
From the corner of my eye, I catch sight of a vision striding into the bar, hips swinging temptingly from left to right. I do a double take and my jaw drops.
Whoa.
I guess my stupor is unmistakable because Larkin asks, “Is that the married woman?”
“No.”
“You know her?” he asks pointing his chin in the direction of the woman.
“I do.”
The last time I saw her she was pretty, but the siren smiling shyly at me is smoking hot.
What a difference three years make.
“Well,” Larkin pauses, “perhaps it won’t be necessary for you to stop by the private club after all,” he chuckles, tapping me on the shoulder. “Enjoy your evening, Mr. Berkshire.”
