Page 2 of Whiskey Splash

“So, you mean what wouldsluttyArie do?” I toss back at her and she smiles.

“Exactly!” She blows me a kiss. “We have the same blood, girl. That dirty vixen is inside you somewhere. Oh, and that dress—” She points to where it tightly hugs my hips. “It’s short enough for easy access!” She pretends to hike the dress up to her hips and I frown, which causes her to howl in laughter. “Have fun,” she tosses back at me, strutting toward the kitchen.

I roll my eyes and head out to the hostess desk where Olivia smiles broadly, her slick black hair framing her delicate face. She wears a stylish dress that looks like a thousand flowers blooming, matching the large floral photographs that line the entrance: beds of dark rose petals and orchids blooming in a bath of moody light and sensuality.

“I’ve got three tables waiting for you,” Olivia says pointing to the table chart. Two by the windows and one off to the side. I tap the dining room chart, pointing to the table that’s slightly hidden.

“Is this by the side entrance?” I ask, unfamiliar with the table.

“Yup,” Olivia nods, handing me a tall glass of bubbly. “And that table still needs its complimentary glass of champagne.”

I take it from her fingers, eyeing the oily residue on the rim—that’s the bit I light on fire. “Only one patron? Not a couple?”

“Indeed,” Olivia confirms. “The guy at that table asked for a booth that was secluded. Honestly, you never know if those are the kinky ones or the famous people. Gorgeous guy, by the way. So, my bet is on famous.”

“Did you recognize him?” I ask, loading up my torch holster with the rest of the necessary Flambé accessories—lighter fluid, wet rag, metal tongs—it’s the action heroine’s utility belt of fire.

Olivia shakes her head. “He’s probably a model or something. Trust me, they’re the worst,” she warns, before pointing to my ass that’s barely covered by Arie’s dress. “Fame makes people think everythingis on the menu.”

“Yikes.” I nod, thanking her for the warning and heading for the secluded table to the left of the big picture window. I hope Olivia’s wrong and he’s a nice guy. Of course, that’s me being naive, like normal. With my luck, he’ll probably make me walk out on Arie tonight and never want to set foot in Flambé again.

I pass through the dining room, where the other waiters and waitresses are lighting entrees and martini glasses on fire, making the room shimmer with orange and blue flames. But when I turn the corner to where the booth should be—I don’t see it. It’s just a small nook leading to the side entrance through a dark hallway. If there’s a booth back here, it’s the worst seat in the house. Half the fun of Flambé is seeing what pyrotechnic frenzy your neighbor has ordered so you can ooh and ahh at the firework parade.

I look left and right, holding the champagne glass up, confused, when a polite cough comes from behind me. I spin around to realize the booth is right behind me, and—thanks to the height of these gold pumps—my crotch happens to be face-level with the patron! Yup, my short-short skirt is exactly at the right level for Mr. Kinky Model to do all the things Arie was implying the dress was good for.

His eyes shoot up and down my legs, and I take a step back realizing my barely covered ass was just in his face. God, what a first impression!

“I’m sorry,” I say, stepping even further away, when two amber eyes flick up to my face and my stomach goes queasy.

I recognize him.

And heisfamous.

Like reeeeeaaaaaaally freaking famous.

Sitting in the secluded booth is none other than Desmond Pike, the star of the hottest show on television.

“Oh wow! I mean, hi! Hello,” I blabber. “I mean, good-evening sir, er—Mr. Pike, or—” I slam my mouth shut so I stop saying words, as well as half-syllable squawks masquerading as English. I pretty much hold my breath, genuinely hoping I don’t fall backwards in these pointy heels and give him a real show of the off-limits Esme surprise.

Desmond Pike is the star of the new hitBillionaire Heat. It’s one of Arie’s favorites and she’s touted it asSex in the CitymeetsFifty Shades of Greywith red rooms, and humor, and all the hedonistic trappings I can’t even begin to imagine. I’ve actually never seen it, but if it can get Arie’s dragoness blood pumping, it’s bound to be completely scandalous.

I’ve seen Desmond Pike’s beautiful face on the cover of magazines and in my online feed, but seriously, photos don’t do him justice. Sitting in front of me is a Greek god’s sexy younger brother. Basically, grab a statue from Rome and dress it in some jeans and tight v-neck that’s designed to show off all his powerful arm and chest muscles, and thatstillwouldn’t be a satisfactory comparison. Let’s just say my core is suddenly pounding like a hyperventilating child—which is completely inappropriate and alarming—especially since all he’s done is push his windswept dark hair away from those amber eyes and toss me a professional level panty-melting smile.

No man should have this kind of immediate impact on anyone.

Ever!

After tonight, I’m definitely going to become his number one fan, as well as a rabid watcher of his show—if only to glimpse a little more of that phenomenal torso and back side, which according to Arie is shown often and prominently.

I try to swallow, realizing my mouth is as dry as the Sahara, internally cursing myself for thinking about him naked, which is ridiculous and inappropriate, and probably what every girl he meets does, and now I’m a complete cliché! Awesome. Actually, I’mreally gladI’ve never seen his show because it would give me more fodder than that gorgeous face to turn my legs into Jell-O, and I’m already clumsy enough as it is, without adding bone-less-ness into the mix.

Casually, his eyes slip down my front like I’m the first course that he’s lucky enough to get a taste of, and I’m simultaneously horrified and excited that I’m wearing such a little amount of clothing.Thisis exactly how men look at Arie every day of her life, and honestly, I’ve no clue how she handles it. My thighs throb at the indecent way his gaze plays over my fringe-covered legs, my hips, my tits. Arie knows how to stand in such raw sexual attention. But me? Gosh no, I’m overheating! My body is awake as if he’s grazed his knuckles against my knees and is teasing my skin.

I try to calm my breathing, like in yoga when I force myself to focus. Focus! Push the unsightly (delicious) images of him away: naked, fingers parting my fringe, parting my legs. Focus woman! Geez! How was it possible that Olivia didn’t know who Desmond Pike was? Seriously? The girl should’ve given me more of a warning! Though from the glimmer in his amber eyes, I’m starting to think he’s going to live up to the warning shedidgive me about famous people and their inclination for off-menu delights.

After what seems like far too long, Desmond’s gaze reconnects with mine and he gives me an amused smile. Yup, I’m absolutely just standing here like a horny lunatic monkey ogling him. It’s creepy. Not like looking at a beautiful piece of art, oh no, I’m lining up to be genuine stalker material.

“Hi! Sorry. You’re—” I back pedal. “You know who you are! Uh, your drink.” I lift up the glass of champagne like it just appeared in my hand as a cheesy magic trick. “R-right!”

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