Thrill Me. Isabel Sharpe
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May’s heart started a race she was pretty sure it couldn’t win without killing her. She instructed her face and body to remain expressionless and motionless. As if she were posing for the cover of People magazine, and movement would make her look blurry.
Beck stood with his drink, and instead of moving into the chair next to her as she expected, came up right behind her. “Would you like to move to a table where we can talk?”
She turned and looked into his eyes again, bracing herself for the shock of attraction so she wouldn’t react visibly this time. He was gorgeous, even this close with every possible flaw exposed—except she couldn’t find any. Square jaw, faint grooves down the sides of his cheeks, ridged nose with great personality, killer blue-gray eyes with black lashes, full masculine mouth, cool wheat-colored slightly spiky hair…all her Serious Hunk requirements were met and then some.
But beyond that, an air of easy confidence that made Dan and Trevor and the other men she knew look apologetic in comparison. And an intensity under his relaxed in-control aura, as if an incredible brain was hard at work noticing and assessing everything and everyone around him.
She wanted to put her tongue out and pant like a puppy.
At the same time—if things had worked out as planned, she’d be rolling in the very expensive hay with Trevor right now. Yes, he’d dumped her, yes, he hadn’t called back to see if she was okay, but it felt a little uncomfortable to be chatting up a total stranger. To be this excited by a total stranger.
Or was that just too spinelessly overloyal of her?
Trevor wasn’t here. Nor would he be. And some instinct told her work had nothing to do with why. Plus, if he’d encouraged her to stay the week on his dime without him—well he had to know in a place like this something might happen. It wasn’t as if she’d be doing anything but talking to Beck tonight. She wasn’t even sure how much loyalty she did owe Trevor, since nothing had ever been quantified vis-à-vis their relationsh—
“Yes? No?”
“I’m sorry.” She resisted the urge to thwack herself on the head. Beck wanted a simple answer to a simple question, while she sat here analyzing every possible pro and con as if she were contemplating a major life change. “That would be nice.”
There. Decision. How about that?
They moved to a table for four near the window, facing what she thought was East 41st Street, but she wasn’t swell on directions, so it could be Madison Avenue, taking their drinks with them. May sat in one of the round-backed low leather chairs and was taken aback when instead of taking a seat across from her, Beck sank into the chair next to her, with quite a bit of athletic grace, she might add, extended his long legs under the table and leaned back, hands folded across his abdomen, looking as if he was settling in for a long evening.
May tucked her own legs back under her chair and took a healthy swallow of her Cosmopolitan, hoping she looked like an experienced drinker and not someone desperate to chase off nerves. Never mind the few sips she had were already affecting her.
“So, May. What happened to Prince Charming?”
“Prince who?”
“Whoever you were supposed to meet.” He adjusted his chair so his assessing stare hit her directly and made her have to work harder not to appear flustered. “Don’t tell me he got invited to another…ball?”
His emphasis on the word “ball” made May swallow her next sip quickly so she didn’t spit it out. Okay, that seemed rude as hell to her, but maybe in New York and at HUSH hotel, it was acceptable to talk to strangers about their sex lives. She’d keep her ice-coating thick and play along. “Some matter in the running of the kingdom unavoidably detained him.”
Beck’s brief grin delighted her. “Will His Majesty show up at a later time?”
She helped herself to cashews from the green pedestal bowl that looked like a giant martini glass. If she said no, she’d effectively be admitting her availability.
“No.” Another casual sip of her drink, and she was starting to feel quite happy and brave and warm all over, thankyouverymuch.
“Was this a serious boyfriend? A fiancé? A husband?”
May’s jaw clenched, then released. She couldn’t lie. She was a terrible liar. And the truth fit her Veronica image so much better. “A man I met recently.”
She felt like cheering. Oh, that came out soooo well, just tossed off casually as if she did this all the time. Fun! This was so fun!
“I see.”
She was sure he did; he brightened like a lightbulb in fact. And now must be making all kinds of sordid assumptions about her. Which May was amused to find delighted her. She’d be gone tomorrow, what did she care what he thought? “I was supposed to stay the week. Now I’m leaving in the morning.”
“Fleeing before the clock strikes midnight and leaves you in rags surrounded by rodents, lizards and a pumpkin.”
She barely contained a smile. “Something like that.”
“Where’s home?”
“Where’s yours?”
“Right here in Manhattan.” He gave no sign her refusal to answer his question bothered or surprised him. “Fifty-six blocks north and one west.”
She opened her mouth to ask what he was doing in a hotel this expensive if he lived close by, but then it hit her she had no idea if he was staying here, or if he regularly patrolled the bar looking for women with rooms whose dates hadn’t showed up. “I see.”
“I’ve written a book set here at Hush.” He winked, which did something stupidly fluttery to her insides. “Free publicity for them equals free room for me.”
“Nice deal.”
“It is.” His next glance made her feel she was supposed to react somehow. Beck…books…something was nagging at her brain. What was it?
“So…what is your book about?”
“A serial killer in a hotel.”
“Ah.” She toasted him. “Charming.”
“Thank you.” He grinned and clinked her glass with his.
Serial killer. Beck. Books… Her father was always reading some grisly shoot-’em-up book or other that drove May’s mother crazy. Wasn’t one of his favorite authors…
“Beck Desmond?”
He nodded, watching her carefully. “That’s me.”
She managed a cool nod while her insides experienced tornadic activity. Holy moly. She, Little Miss Nobody From Nowhere, was sitting at a swanky hotel in one of the world’s most important cities chatting with a mega-celebrity of the publishing world. Ginny would die. “My father reads your books.”
“Oh, nice.” He seemed genuinely pleased, which surprised her. “I take it you don’t.”
She shook her head. “I tried one, but we didn’t work out.”
He looked at her intently with those killer blue eyes, then back at his drink, as if he were considering whether to ask her something…maybe something personal? Or was she dreaming? Her heart started pounding. She had a dangerous feeling that “yes” would be an all-too easy reaction.
“Can I ask why you didn’t like my book? For professional reasons, not because you wounded my ego.”
May reached for her glass to buy time and hide her disappointment that he’d asked the wrong type of question. How the heck was she supposed to handle this one? “They’re not my thing.”
“How so?”
She threw him a look and he held up his hand. “I don’t mean to push, but it’s actually relevant