Chapter 3
These security conventions were all the same, I thought to myself as I scanned the intimate gathering of private government contractors, politicians, high-ranking military officials and even a few foreign diplomats. All impeccably dressed and milling about, sipping on expensive champagne and snacking on professionally catered hors d’ouevres of oysters Rockefeller, Beluga caviar and mini salmon croquettes in the posh banquet hall of The Fairmont Hotel.
Tonight was just the standard casual meet and greet; a means to connect with potential clients. However, I was more interested in preparing for my meeting with Aughton Securities tomorrow, but I knew the importance of networking. Especially, since it did not come naturally to me.
Despite being the CEO of a multi-national security firm, and my military background, I still felt like an outsider. I couldn’t relate to these high-profile movers and shakers, nor did I want to. Having served 10 years in the Navy Seals running spec ops in remote jungles, deserts, and desolate mountain ranges of Afghanistan, I much preferred my solitude than to be in a room full of the ‘Who’s Who’ of Washington D.C. making small talk. After having spent the better part of an hour rubbing elbows with them, I was done. I didn’t have the patience to continue to try and make polite conversation with these elitists. I quickly made my exit, loosening my tie as I went.
I gritted my teeth at the sound of my polished wingtips tapping on the travertine floor of the hotel lobby. I couldn’t wait to get out of this monkey suit, but I was in desperate need of a stiff drink. Bypassing the hotel’s main restaurant and bar, I headed down the steps to the Loggia Lounge for a more private atmosphere. The lounge was nearly empty. Still, I bypassed the tables for a seat at the end of the bar.
I caught the eye of a perfectly coiffed blonde, with legs that went on for days, sitting at a high-top near the piano. She was dressed in a skin tight red dress that barely came to her ass and plunged in the front indecently to her navel. Her surgically perky tits, damn near falling out of the dress as she leaned forward to take a seductive pull from the straw of her drink. I knew I could have her dress around her neck and her legs around my waist in a matter of minutes, but my cock didn’t even twitch as I walked past her.
That kind of woman was trouble, only looking for a rich Georgetown sucker to bankroll her lifestyle. While my bank account could certainly accommodate her, I wasn’t interested. I didn’t care for money hungry whores, or plastic women. Personally, I preferred a woman with curves, but right now I just wanted a whiskey.
Ignoring the practiced pout from the blonde, I ordered a drink. “Woodford Reserve, neat and make it a double.”
Ditching the tuxedo jacket, I unbuttoned the cuffs of my tuxedo shirt and rolled up the sleeves. I hated the confines of suits but understood the necessity in this environment. I had to look the part. The bartender set my drink in front of me, and I took a generous swallow, closing my eyes as I enjoyed the familiar burn of the whiskey as it coated my throat.
“Angel’s Envy, one ice cube, please,” a husky, accented voice to my left said.
I opened my eyes and glanced down out of the corner of my eye. A pair of thick legs clad in dark stockings and black open-toe pumps were perched on a barstool just a few feet away. My eyes were drawn to the hemline of her navy blue skirt as it slid up the smooth expanse of her plush thighs as she crossed her legs.
Turning to face her, I continued my slow perusal of her body, taking in her broad hips, curvy waist, and ample bosom packaged in the perfectly tailored suit. Her full lips, painted a sexy shade of red parted in a mischievous grin to reveal a perfect set of pearly whites.
“Like what you see?”
There it was again, that sexy timber that was the perfect seductive mix of gravel and honey. My cock hardened at the lascivious thoughts running through my head. What would it be like to hear that voice call out my name as I buried my face between those luscious thighs?
“Well, that depends…”
Arching a dark brow over bright green eyes, she traced the rim of her whiskey glass with her index finger, the nail painted the same seductive red as her lips. I could imagine that hand wrapped around my cock; bringing it to those lips. “Depends, on what?” she asked, a playful smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
Enjoying the game, I stood up and walked over to her; my body pressed against her, letting her feel the hard length of my erection against her hip. Bending down so my mouth was right next to her ear I whispered, “On if you really are…” I was close enough that my breath tickled the tiny hairs at her nape, causing goosebumps to appear on her neck.
I’ll give her credit, she didn’t pull back from my intrusion. Only the pulse jumping at her throat, let me know she was as affected by me as I was her. Turning into me, she brushed her large breasts against my arm. Dark lashes lifted to reveal almond-shaped eyes of creamy jade. Mere inches from each other, I could see tiny flecks of amber in the pools of green.
“If I am really what?” she purred. Her tiny pink tongued darted out to slide across her bottom lip, moistening it as she spoke. I wanted to be that bottom lip, to feel the moist heat of her tongue slide across me.
“If you really are an Angel’s Envy.”
She laughed, her green eyes sparkling with mirth. Not one of those high-pitched placating giggles, that D.C. women typically give, but a rich, throaty laugh from deep in the belly.
“What’s your name sugar?”
“Rafe. Rafe St. James.”
“Well, Rafe St. James, you are about to find out,” she said as she reached into her tiny clutch and laid a plastic card on the bar top. Swiveling off her stool, she walked out of the bar and toward the private bank of elevators without a backward glance. The confidence with which she carried herself was just as mesmerizing as the sway of her hips.
Wasting no time, I threw a $20 on the bar to cover our drinks, palmed the room key card, and tried not to sprint after her.