“That’s to be expected,” Robert agrees.
We discuss the logistics before we decide to take our leave. We thank Robert profusely for his help, and we exit the building after a successful meeting. Outside, the Uber I called while we were finishing our discussion is already waiting. Giselle enters without hesitation while I slide in after her. Although her face is relaxed, unlike during our journey here, she ignores me and looks out the window. As her demeanor doesn’t encourage a conversation, I keep silent. However, I know I can’t leave things the way they are. After the success of the meeting, we’re slated to return to New York tomorrow. By the time we get there, chances are she’ll avoid me again. This is the best opportunity I have to straighten things out.
As the car pulls up in front of the Hamilton, I decide on the course to take. Immediately after we enter the cool interior of the building, I turn to her.
“Meet me for dinner to discuss the way forward. About the sculpture, of course.”
She glances at me with a wary expression. “Is there really a need for that? I thought we settled everything earlier.”
“Not everything. We need to find a contact who will make the Honduran government give us a favorable response.”
She opens her mouth, probably to protest further, but then she snaps it shut and nods.
“I’ll meet you in the lobby by seven,” I inform her.
“Okay.”
She walks away, and I enjoy the view of her swaying hips, appreciating the dip in her waist and imagining holding her by it. I turn away and head for the bar to get a drink while I make calls, first to Ashlyn and then to a business associate. The dark decor of the bar is a contrast to the bright reception.
A smile curls my lips as I sip on my martini, looking forward to the evening ahead.
CHAPTER12
GISELLE
Istare at the simple but elegant black dress I brought with me just in case I wanted to eat at the hotel’s restaurant instead of having my meal sent up to my room. I rub my nape as I again ponder the wisdom of having dinner with Miles. It’s impossible to deny that I’m attracted to him. So, is it wise to feed the chemistry when I know nothing can come of a relationship with him?
Shame washes over me at the fact that I’m attracted to a married man. His cheating on his wife and leading me on is abhorrent, but sitting beside him in the car and talking to him during the meeting brought none of those feelings. Instead, I’d been so aware of his masculine pull that I hid behind the cover of iciness.
“I should cancel the dinner meeting,” I mutter. But it might not bode well for my career. I have to remind myself again that he’s a board member, and I need everything to go well with the exhibit to stand a chance of becoming a conservator. I don’t picture him as a vindictive person if I reject his advances or refuse to listen to him, but who knows? A wrong word in the right ear might ruin my chances.
I don’t have anyone to blame but myself. If I hadn’t jumped into bed within a few hours of meeting him, this awkwardness would be absent now. With a deep sigh, I put on my black dress, the darkness and silkiness of the fabric making my worries fade away.
I reach for my jacket and purse. After putting on some light makeup and my heels, I glance at my wristwatch. It’s almost seven p.m. I’m a stickler for being on time, so I exit the room, even though I would have loved to keep him waiting just for the heck of it. But that would mean he would come up to my room to check up on me and . . .
I’ve to get my mind off such thoughts. Stay civil with him, and that’s it. He’s not the man for me, chemistry and his dashing looks be damned.
My resolution is hard to keep when I find him standing beside one of the huge lamps in the lobby, talking on the phone. His attractive body is encased in a light blue shirt, a camel coat, and navy trousers. I swallow thickly when he sees me and walks over. His eyes rake my body, and even though I’m fully dressed and wrapped in a coat, I feel as if he just removed every piece of clothing from me, leaving me naked and flushed.
In a superhuman effort, I keep my face bland. When he reaches me, my eyes immediately dash to the top of his shirt where he left the top buttons loose, showing tantalizing glimpses of his glistening pecs. The memory of my fingers trailing the stone hard muscles while he slid his dick in and out of me has me holding my breath and wishing I had a change of panties in my purse.
Oh, boy. This was a mistake.
“You look beautiful,” he says, giving me a smoldering look.
“Thank you,” I say coolly and bite my tongue to keep from telling him how handsome he looks.
“This way.” He puts his hand on the small of my back, but I surreptitiously move away from him. How long can I pretend that I’m not affected by his proximity? This is going to be a long evening.
“Where are we going?” I ask when he leads me toward the exit.
“I thought we could dine in a South American restaurant. A friend mentioned it to me,” he explains as we go through the revolving door.
“Oh.”
“Don’t worry. It’s not far,” he says as we step outside.
Although the day was sunny and crisp, the night is cool and slightly windy. It smells like autumn. A gentle breeze rustles the leaves still hanging on to the branches. The area is bustling. People are walking around the many shops and restaurants lining the street. Miles and I walk side by side, and I’m grateful he doesn’t try to hold my hand amid the throng of people. I don’t think I’d be able to handle it.