The gala had gone off without a hitch—thanks in part, I was sure, to limited contact with Ollie courtesy of how busy he was—and by the time the festivities had wound down, it was nearing eleven o’clock.
I should’ve been tired, given the whirlwind nature of my adventure into Australia, but I felt wired, a bit hyper, even, and I decided a short nightcap at the bar was a good idea.
With the early morning wake-up call for my flight to Bali the next day looming, I needed to get a good night’s sleep. And, for me, a glass of wine before bed has about the same power as a sedative.
The hotel bar was mostly empty when I stepped inside, and I headed toward the center and grabbed a seat to the right of the gray-haired bartender. He lifted his eyes from his phone and offered a welcoming smile.
After a short exchange in which he made it politely clear that my day made me look as long as it felt, I ordered the house red and settled in for some quiet time with Tom.
His name tag made it far too easy to pretend he was a new friend.
But thoughts of relaxation were short-lived. Without preamble, or permission from Tom or me, quite frankly, the sounds of laughter and Aussie-accented chatting filled my ears.
I glanced over my shoulder to see none other than Oliver Arsen striding inside the hotel bar.
[sighs]
As you can imagine, he was pretty much the last person I wanted to see. The drink before bed was supposed to calm me down, and all Ollie seemed to do was rile me the fuck up.
Add the fact that he was flanked by three other men who seemed to be well into a jovial, good-natured relationship with him to that, and you can probably understand my immediate conclusion that I should have saved the sleep-drinking for the solitude of my room.
Ollie, however, didn’t seem put out to see me at all. In fact, when his brown eyes met mine, he grinned.
His melty smile in full effect, I briefly considered making a beeline for the elevator.
Unfortunately, Tom’s timing, setting a napkin and my full glass of wine down in front of me like a showman, made a quick escape an impossibility.
“Thank you,” I said with a brittle smile. Fucking hell, I said in my head.
As I lifted the glass to my lips, I kept my eyes trained on the rows of alcohol bottles behind my bartender buddy, silently hoping avoidance would be an effective tactic for keeping my night on track.
No such luck, friends.
“Don’t I get a hello?” Ollie asked.
I might have considered it, but in the end, I couldn’t not respond. It wasn’t like he’d speared me in the back like full-on Brutus. The man was Allie’s brother, for God’s sake. It was time to woman the hell up and have a somewhat adultlike conversation.
“Hi,” I said and set my glass back onto the bar.
“In need of a nightcap?”
I shrugged. “Something like that.”
His three buddies looked at me with curiosity, and I offered a friendly little wave in an attempt to appear mannerly and polite.
“Hi, I’m Lucky,” I introduced myself.
“She’s a journalist with Scoop,” Ollie felt the need to add.
“Doesn’t Allie work at Scoop?” one of the men asked, and Ollie nodded.
“She’s also one of Allie’s best mates in the States.”
“Ah, I see,” the man smiled and held out his hand. “I’m Hugh.”
“Nice to meet you, Hugh.” I put my hand in his, and he lifted it to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to my skin.
“The pleasure is certainly all mine,” he charmed, his hazel eyes dancing with playfulness.
Scruffy beard, strong jaw, and the body of a damn linebacker, he was an attractive man, in a lumberjack sort of way. Solely based on body type, I had a feeling he wasn’t one of the ones who surfed.
I also had a feeling he was the kind of man who was always the life of the party.
The two others stepped forward, Archie and Isaac, and just like that, the introductions were complete. They weren’t flirtatious like Hugh, though, and I made a mental note as Ollie seemed to approve of their style more.
“A few pints?” Archie asked, and Hugh grinned like the Cheshire Cat.
“You buying, mate?”
“Yeah, I’m buying this round, ya cheap bastard. Next one’s on you.”
Hugh chuckled while Archie ordered, and before I knew it, Tom was sliding four glasses of a beer called Toohey’s in front of them.
I silently prayed they’d take their drinks and choose a table in the farthest corner of the bar, but much to my dismay, Ollie sat down beside me, and his buddies settled in on the three stools on the other side of me.
I forced my focus to my wine and the row of televisions hanging above the bar, but I could still see every move Ollie made out of my periphery.
Each sip of beer.
Each soft chuckle and witty comment that left his lips.
Every-fucking-thing.
It was annoying, and I drank my wine faster to compensate.
Before I knew it, the damn glass was empty, and I was more than prepared to make a break for my hotel room.
“Mind bringing her another, mate?” Ollie called toward the bartender, gesturing to my glass.
I tried to interject my refusal, but he wasn’t having it.
“Her drinks go on my tab, and that’s not a suggestion,” he added and Tom grinned.
“You got it.”
I glared at Ollie. “I don’t need you to buy me drinks.”
“Maybe I need to buy your drinks?” he said, and my wine-infused mind swam with confusion. I was supposed to be sleeping by now, and that didn’t make any sense. I told him as much.
“To you, maybe it doesn’t. But to me? It makes complete sense.”
A few moments later, another glass of wine was in front of me, and Ollie turned in my direction, giving me his full attention.
Great. More alcohol. More Ollie. It was one bad situation after another.
And God, his big presence made me feel off-kilter. Why a man who was so damn annoying could still be so unbelievably attractive in my eyes was—and is—one of life’s greatest mysteries.
In response to it all, I lifted my glass to my lips and took a hearty drink I most certainly didn’t need.
“Seems you were getting along well with Jordy at the gala,” he said, and I quirked a brow as I set my glass back onto the bar.
“Jordy?”
“Fuller.”
“Oh, yeah. He’s very nice,” I answered.
Jordy Fuller was nice. Probably a little too nice for my usual taste in men, but that was my cross to bear, not his.
I searched Ollie’s eyes as his question really sank in. “Wait…how’d you even know I talked to Jordy Fuller?”
He winked, and I hated how damn good his arm looked as he lifted his pint of beer to his lips for a drink.
A little information about me: I’m a sucker for big, strong, sculpted arms, and even a little bit of alcohol loosens my inhibitions.
Ollie’s arms might as well be the equivalent of fucking lollipops in my mind. Thick, sculpted biceps, strong forearms, and heavy, healthy veins. Yeah, my vagina was awake and geared up to work against me.
“I guess you could say I know things.”
I really needed to get out of there, and swaying toward a loss of my defenses, I cheered on the antagonistic portion of my mind.
“You know that sounds kind of creepy, right?”
He just grinned. “I’m just an observant kind of man, little fire.”
“Little fire,” I sighed and rolled my eyes at the same time. “If I never hear that nickname again, it’ll be too soon.”
“Still feisty, I see.”
“Still annoying, I see,” I retorted, and that grin of his grew wider.
But before he could continue poking at me with his words, a female voice purred for his attention. “Oliver Arsen.”
Full-on cat in heat, friends.
“Annabelle,” Ollie greeted the tall, stick-thin, gorgeous blond striding toward him, standing from his seat to embrace the beautiful woman in a friendly hug. “It’s been a while.”
“More like, it’s been too long.” She pouted. A full-on glossy pink lips pout. “I didn’t even know you were back in the country, you jerk,” she added and playfully slapped his bicep. “Why haven’t you called me?”
“Don’t take it personally, sweetheart. I’m only here for another night, and then I’m off to Bali in the morning.”
“But you’re here tonight,” she said pointedly, and he nodded.
“Yes, I’m here tonight.”
Instantly, at his words, she reached into her purse and pulled out a hotel room key.
By that point in the conversation, I couldn’t have looked away if I’d wanted to.
I mean, guys, I have never been that bold in my life. Flirty, yes. A serial dater? Yes.
But with her pheromones straight up clogging the air and her legs practically spread from the get-go, I just had to know what would happen.
Would Ollie take her proposition? Would they even make it out of the bar if he did?
I had no idea.
And the suspense, you should know, was killing me.
“I’m staying here for the rest of the week, wining and dining potential clients,” she said, sliding the key in his direction and fluttering her eyelashes a little too much to seem natural. “It would be nice to catch up.”
Ollie’s response was the absolute last one I saw coming.
“I’d love to, but like I said, I’m heading to Bali early tomorrow morning.”
She pouted again but brushed off his rejection with actual impressive ease.
As I’m sure you know by now, I’m not sure I would have handled it quite as gracefully.
And before I knew it, with a little wave, Annabelle turned on her heel and sashayed her way back out of the bar.
When Ollie sat back down, the opening was too easy.
“You seem to get along well with Annabelle,” I teased, repeating his earlier words to me about Jordy.
“Something like that.” He grinned and tipped his glass to his lips for a small drink, and I couldn’t help but be fascinated at the way he brushed off the interaction.
I mean, the woman had all but handed him her room key.
But I guessed, when it came to willing females, it was easy for a man like Oliver Arsen. Easy come, easy go. Easy to wait for the next opportunity.
“So, you’re one of those guys,” I blurted out, and his eyebrows rose up in surprise.
“One of what guys?”
“The no-commitment, one-night stand, only dates blond models with perky tits kind of guys.”
Also known as, exactly like all of my ex-boyfriends kind of guy.
He had the audacity to laugh. “Nah. I’m more of a when I like what I see, I have to at least get a taste kind of guy.”
I snorted. “You’re a bit of a pig, you know that?”
“No, sweet Lucky, I’m honest.” He leaned closer and whispered into my ear, “I think we both know you quite enjoy my honesty.”
I hated how I could feel the warmth of his breath brush across my neck.
I hated how the soft lilt of his accent rolled off his tongue and across my skin like a silky-smooth caress.
And I hated how I could make out each fleck of gold within the alluring brown of his eyes.
People often speak about the color of eyes as if it’s important, but Ollie’s eyes would be beautiful in any shade. From them comes this intensity, a power to induce a trance, and the mischievousness that lies within them urges fantasies and curiosities of what very bad and extremely arousing things those eyes of his could encourage.
I was certain he’d taste like sex and sin, and the instant his flavor reached my tongue, I’d be hooked.
His eyes flicked down to my mouth, and I watched as his tongue slipped past his teeth and tasted the residual beer on his lips.
I needed to back away from the bad man before I did something stupid.
I willed myself to sit back in my seat and put some much-needed distance between us. I reminded myself of Tiago and Mac and Ronnie and Josh. And I used those awful memories to get my head right.
“You know what I think?” I asked, finally taking charge of the evening.
“What do you think, little fire?”
“I think I’m going to call it a night,” I responded and pulled my purse off the back of my chair and slung it over my shoulder.
I hopped off the high-top bar seat, fought past the uncomfortable sensation of numb legs, tossed a tip to Tom, and offered a wave in Ollie’s friends’ direction.
First stop, elevator. Next stop, my room.
Final destination? A clear fucking head.
I hated that a simple, maybe even slightly flirtatious, conversation with Ollie had turned me topsy-turvy. I hated that his big, gorgeous eyes and full, soft lips turned me stupid. I hated that he had the power to get a reaction out of me with just his words, and I hated that the more I saw him, the harder it became to remember how to hate.
[deep sigh]
Just like with all the jerks before, the things I hated the most just so happened to be the things I couldn’t resist.
Talk about complicated.
Without sugarcoating it for you now, I’ll admit to the truth.
It was a regular fucking Betty Crocker recipe for disaster.