“Take a deep breath, open your eyes, and look at me.” His voice was stern and familiar, which comforted me.

As scared as I was, I decided it was like ripping off a Band-Aid—the quicker the better.

My eyelashes fluttered, and it took me a minute to process my surroundings. First I saw the man sitting next to me, then I looked around, taking in the scene of the restaurant. No one was looking at me. I exhaled, my heart thudding in my ears.

I looked back at the man, and my brain screamed out, This cannot be him! This is not MC! It was exactly like when you go to a movie and the main character is nothing like you pictured in your head—your mind tells you it’s all wrong and it takes half the movie to try to adjust to someone else’s version of the hero.

I took a big glug of the bourbon and water sitting in front of me, glad that Quentin had ordered me a third drink while my eyes were still shut.

Shaking my head, I stared at him again, as if I could adjust my set and the proper picture would appear in front of me. But it didn’t. Instead, I continued to gaze upon a man who would give the sexiest of the Mad Men a run for his money. He was immaculately groomed, with short dark hair. He wore a suit in a time when almost no men wore suits anymore. Certainly not what I would have expected from a composer from Seattle.

This man was too impossibly gorgeous to 1.) Be interested in me. 2.) Be real. 3.) Be a hermit who lived in the middle of nowhere, typing on a computer all day. He looked like the kind of man who should be in Hollywood, or modeling in New York. I had only thought my pussy was wet before. Now a fresh wave of desire flooded my cunt, and to my horror a tiny whimper tumbled past my lips.

He chuckled. “Surprised?”

With a shaky hand I reached for my drink and took a sip while nodding.

He fiddled with the button on his suit jacket, buttoning then unbuttoning it, a sign Adonis was nervous too. That made me feel a little better.

“You’re wearing a suit,” I said, feeling lame as soon as I said it.

“Yes. Definitely not my usual attire, but since this is a special occasion, I thought it appropriate.” His fingers worked the knot of his tie. He looked amazing, but uncomfortable.

“A special occasion?” I asked, still trying to take in his appearance. Long, dark eyelashes framed piercing brown eyes, and those lush lashes were his only feminine feature. His mouth was enticing and his lips looked soft. A strong jaw and wickedly angular cheekbones made him appear stern and serious, which actually suited the MC I knew, but I’d never expected the package to be so altogether gorgeous.

“Yes, Sophie. It’s not every day that I fly across the country to attend to one of my subs in person. In fact, I’ve never done this before, so yes, I considered this a special occasion.”

I cleared my throat. “Oh yes, it is. It is. I thought so too, but I wasn’t sure if that’s what you meant.”

He sighed. “And, do you approve?”

“Of what?”

“Me? The suit? The hotel? All of it.”

The wheels spinning in my head halted. He wanted my approval? That was strange. Perhaps because we were on my turf, so to speak. He was out of his comfort zone, and my heart leapt at the realization that this might be even more difficult for him than it was for me. I’d been too busy thinking about myself and how this would affect me, that I hadn’t thought about what it would be like for him, traveling across country and putting himself in an unfamiliar environment where he wasn’t necessarily in control. He’d done that for me.

It made me want to crawl onto his lap and kiss him hard on those spectacular lips of his. Yes, he was out of my league physically, but for some reason this man had found something in me he liked well enough to come here and be with me in person. I vowed to embrace the whole experience, and worry about the future later. I needed to live in the present.

“You’re perfect. And I love this hotel.” I stopped myself from saying “I love you,” though a part of me wanted to. I didn’t need to send him running screaming out of the room just yet.

The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled at me. “You are too… perfect that is.”

I made a little snorting noise, which would have made my mother faint on the spot it was so decidedly unladylike.

“Sophie, you are lovely, prettier than I even imagined you would be. But, as you know, it’s not what you look like that interests me.”

My eyebrows rose.

He leaned into me and growled, “It’s how well you can follow my instructions, how hungry and desperate you are to show me what a dirty little whore you are. That’s what matters to me.”

My breathing grew erratic again, and I simply nodded. I did know that, and it made me want to straddle him, run my fingers through his dark hair and take him deep inside me.

“Finish your drink,” he said clamping his palm down possessively on my knee under the table.

“Yes, sir,” I said, eager to be alone with him. I polished off the last of my drink in one gulp, trying to be smooth, but failing miserably as part of it went down the wrong way.

“Slow down.” He patted me on the back as I sputtered, and I thought I saw a twinkle of amusement in his eye. At least I could entertain him.

He flagged down the waiter and asked for the check. He wrote his room number, our room number, on the white slip of paper and set it on the table. “Are you ready to continue your training?”

I managed to nod. “Yes, sir.”

“Very well.” He pushed back his chair, stood, and came over to help me up. His touch jolted me back from what felt like a dream. Suddenly this was very real, and I accompanied this man, who was in some ways a total stranger, to his hotel room.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

He wrapped his big fingers around my small ones and led me from the dining room through the lobby. His frame moved with a confident grace I’d only seen in a couple of Shelby’s athletes. He pressed the button with the “up” arrow, and we stood side by side, waiting for an elevator. Though my focus was on him, I couldn’t help but notice how both women and men alike reacted to him as they passed. The women’s eyes followed him with open appreciation, while the men looked past him purposely, or at the ground, pretending they didn’t notice him. But I could tell they had.

I was excited, and I squeezed his hand, dropping any pretense that I was calm and experienced with this sort of thing.

He squeezed back and glanced down at me before returning his gaze to the bank of elevators.

Another couple came and stood next to us, talking with one another. Then another man holding a briefcase joined the group of us waiting for an open car.

When the light above one of the elevators lit up and the doors opened, I took a step forward only to be stopped by Quentin’s outstretched arm. The three other people got on, and as they turned to face us, the man with the briefcase asked, “Going up?”

Quentin favored the elevator occupants with a dazzling smile. “We’ll wait for the next one.”

The man shrugged, the couple went back to chatting, and the elevator doors closed.

“There was room…” I said, then bit my tongue, realizing that he wanted to be alone with me. My knees felt weak and I looked for something to hold on to, but found nothing other than his hand, which I gripped tighter.

He ignored me and the next time one of the elevator doors opened he held a hand out to me in a ladies-first gesture. I got on and walked to the back of the car where there was a bar that I could hold on to if I needed it.

The doors to the elevator closed, and we were all alone. Rather than facing forward as was customary, he stepped toward me, invading my personal space in a way that made me dizzy.

Wanting to kiss him, I leaned in and lifted my arms to embrace him.