Page 8 of On His Knees

Henry shakes his head. “Your grandfather must be having a midlife crisis.”

“If that’s the case than I guess he’s going to live to one hundred and eighty.”

He laughs. “At least he has good taste.”

“That he does.”

And therein lies the problem. Summer is breathtakingly beautiful, a girl I plan to expose, except suddenly exposing her—her clothes, that clip in her hair, her inhibitions—is playing out all kinds of wrong in my head.

CHAPTER FOUR

Summer

I PACE INSIDE my suite, hardly able to believe I’m about to have dinner with Tate the sexy bartender with a body made for sin. He never did give me his last name, and I never gave him mine, which is A-Okay with me. If I’m going to have a hot affair with a man I never plan to set eyes on again, the less I know about him the better.

Wait.

What?

I’m going to have a hot affair with Tate?

My blood races faster, heating my flesh and no doubt turning my cheeks a deeper shade of pink. God, am I really going to do this? I mean, there is no denying the heat between us, the insane, off-the-charts attraction. As soon as he approached our table, crowded my personal space, we created a volatile bubble of sexual energy that even my friends felt to their cores. Off course, after he left, they suggested I jump his bones and have a little much needed fun while I’m on vacation.

Should I?

I walk to the patio window and glance out at the slopes. Honest to God, I have the nicest view in all of St. Moritz. James spared no expense, giving me this suite and setting my friends up in their own rooms. Guilt tightens my stomach. I’m not one to take from people, not at all. I’ve always paid my own way in life, and went without when I couldn’t.

For most of my life, I’ve had my own preconceived notions about the wealthy, thanks to many childhood incidents with the rich boys at my school. Spoiled, entitled, mean boys who bullied me, and set me up for disaster. Growing up in New York and going to Harvard, I’ve met people from all walks of life, most of them kind. But after what those boys did to me when I was a kid, I was never able to shake the feeling of distrust I get around rich people. And, honestly, several summers spent working at an upscale steakhouse in Boston did little to help with that. The tips were great, some of the diners...not so much. But James is kind, compassionate, fair and generous. In the world of the rich, he may be one of a kind.

The knock on my door startles me, and my heart jumps into my throat as I turn around. I glance at myself in the mirror. Am I dressed appropriately? I only packed a few nice dresses. I had no idea I’d be dining with anyone other than my girls.

I check my clipped hair, take a deep breath and walk to the door. I open it and my pulse leaps when I find Tate standing there, hands in the pockets of his dress pants, and a suit jacket that fits him to perfection. He must have had it professionally made to fit those shoulders. Then again, probably not. Not on a b

artender’s salary anyway. I give him another once over. Tate in jeans is one thing, but damned if he doesn’t clean up nice.

His gaze leaves my face, drops to take in my little black dress. “You’re beautiful,” he says so low, I almost don’t hear him.

“You are, too.”

He grins as his eyes lift to mine. “I’ve been called a lot of things before, but beautiful was never one of them.”

“Well, it’s fitting,” I say. “You look amazing. I’ll be the envy of every woman in the restaurant tonight.”

He steps into me, captures my chin with his thumb and index finger, lightly brushes the soft pad back and forth, and my mind takes that moment to envision him using the same movement, on a different part of my body.

“Thank you for the compliment,” he says. “But you’re the one who’s going to turn heads tonight.”

His intense gaze sets my panties on fire, and I resist the urge to run to the bathroom to change my damp thong. My God, the man sure knows how to sweet talk a woman.

His hands drop. “You all set?”

“I am.” I grab my purse from the table, and let the door click shut behind me. Silence ensues as we walk to the elevator and I steal a few glances at him as we wait for it to arrive. It’s empty when it opens and Tate puts his hand on the small of my back to lead me in. Breathless, I move to the back wall, and grip my purse tighter.

“How long have you worked here?” I ask him as he presses the button for the lobby.

“Long enough to know my way around the place. Are you up for a tour later?”

“I’d love a tour.” I glance down at my little black dress and heels. “I’ll have to change though.”

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