I settle at the shiny bar and smile at the bartender who is over in a flash. There are only a handful of people here, but it’s still early.
“Well, hello,” he says with a wide grin. “What can I get you?”
“Hello,” I say, returning the warm smile. “Extra dirty, Grey Goose martini.”
“Getting the party started?” he asks as he leans over and starts gathering ingredients, hands moving quickly.
“Party of one,” I laugh. “I’m all I need.”
“You’d be all I’d need too,” he says boldly, eyes sparkling as he vigorously handles the shaker.
I raise my eyebrows at him and laugh despite myself. Awkward, but better than the stones I thought would be cast my way in Bishop.
He blushes as he places the frosty drink in front of me and waits for my approval, which I give with a smile as I take a long sip of it. It isn’t mixing well with my toothpaste, but that’s hardly his fault.
He picks up on my silence and smiles at me before walking away and leaving me alone. I look at the menu and am pleased enough with the selection. Patatas Bravas, charcuterie, olives, artisanal breads and the rest of the lineup commonly found in upscale lounges across the country. Not inspired, but certainly tasty, and hopefully pretty for me to spotlight.
By the time half of the martini is gone it no longer tastes like minty olives, and I begin to relax happily, enjoying the warm glow casting onto all the surfaces.
The bartender comes with another martini that I did not order, and places it in front of me. I look at him quizzically.
“From the gentleman behind you,” he says with a now mechanical smile.
I turn around curiously and feel my heart leap pleasurably in my chest when I spy the man from the lobby earlier. He’s sitting with one shapely arm perched on the soft, red velvet at the top of the lush booth he’s gracing. He stares unflinchingly straight into my eyes with such confidence that despite blushing, I feel compelled to meet that gaze. I raise my glass and let a smile play at my lips. I’m so glad I put the extra effort in, because these lips are feeling glossy and fabulous.
He responds to the gesture in kind, but sans lipgloss. Maybe he can borrow mine, I think. Right off my lips.
I turn, gather my purse, drink the rest of my first martini and grab the other as I bring it with me, the stem refreshingly cool to the touch. I slide off the barstool in a way that I hope is graceful and boldly saunter over to his booth. I stand in front of the booth and take him in. Piercing, dark eyes framed by impossibly and unfairly thick, black eyelashes. A swath of dark hair that’s clean cut, but fighting against it. Threatening to be unruly, like his sensuous lips that are currently curled in a pleased, puckish smile at me.
“Are you following me?” he teases. His voice is deep, velvety and tinged with good humor.
“I was going to ask you the same thing,” I say, raising my eyebrows.
“Just with my eyes,” he laughs. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”
“And with bonus conversation this time,” I add.
“Would you like to have a seat?” he asks, motioning to the large booth.
I nod and slide in at a healthy distance, despite the urge to keep sliding until we are hip to hip. “Thank you for the drink.”
“That’s my pleasure, you were looking low on libation.”
“No longer,” I say as I take a sip. “I’m Kat,” I say, sticking my hand out. I am beyond pleased when he grabs my hand in a firm handshake and I’m further titillated when he doesn’t let it go immediately. I know I’m not off base when I feel the chemistry crackling between the two of us, and I let it fill me with confidence as I stare into his eyes.
“Ian,” he says with a smile, his handsome face filled with captive interest. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“It’s very nice to meet you as well,” I say as I finally look back down at my beverage. “Are you staying at the hotel?”
“I am. It seems you are as well?” he asks, as he takes me in. The conversation is basic, but the undercurrent of attraction makes it exciting. He seems to be admiring my hair and lips, and I feel it all down my body.
“Yup. I swear I’m not just haunting the halls.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” he remarks with a laugh. “And I swear I am not haunting you everywhere in the hotel.”
“That’s good, because you never know. This place has to be haunted,” I joke.
“Oh, it is,” he tells me. “Do you believe?”
“I do,” I say, sitting back. “You?”
“Very much so,” he says, sipping his whiskey. He suddenly looks up, and I notice a portly man standing there in an impeccable suit staring at us both eagerly.
“What a pleasure to find you both together,” he booms, and I struggle to hide the confusion on my face.
“I’m Roger, the general manager. I am so pleased to welcome you both,” he says, reaching out his beefy hand to shake both of ours. He seems like a nice and jolly fellow, though I can’t be sure of why he’s so excited to see Ian. Does he think I’ve brought a boyfriend? I could certainly do worse, I think with a blush.
I smile as I shake his hand, which is limp, but warm. “Thank you so much for having me here, Roger. What a splendid job you’ve all done with the hotel.”
He raises his shoulders humbly and smiles. “Our pleasure, Miss Clary. I hope you’ve enjoyed your stay so far.”
“Absolutely,” I tell him. “I cannot wait to take advantage of all the wonderful facilities, and I’ve already taken some gorgeous shots of the room.” I realize I’m being rude and gesture to Ian. “Roger, this is my new friend Ian.” I want to make
