The words drip off her tongue in the same sensual tone she’s been using this entire time, and at first it doesn’t even register that she’s dismissed me without even hearing what I have to offer.

I’ve been looking into those vivid violet eyes since the moment she materialized from behind Gideon. I’m entranced by the flashes of emotion that remind me of miniature lightning storms, roiling across the surface of that unusual color, and disappearing behind her smile before I have a chance to decipher them. I’ve been looking so deeply into them, nearly entranced, feeding my pulsing desire to know more about her, that it hits me like a tsunami when I catch her meaning.

“A drink?”

“Yes…anything the bartender knows how to make, at least.” Juliet is nearly purring the words, and something inside me falters. For years, I’ve been the one who pursues. The one who claims. And in all those years, not a single woman has ever turned me down. Not for a drink. Not for anything. And it’s true—those dalliances are short-lived. I get tired of them, bored by their shallow personalities and little dramas, after only a week or two or three. Maybe a month. But a “no” disguised as an invitation to enjoy the rest of my evening? That’s something that’s never happened. “If you’ll excuse me, though…”

Juliet inclines her head, then looks back at me. I want to step closer to her. I want to do a lot more than that, if I’m being honest. If we weren’t in the middle of the White Rose, if she wasn’t working, I’d sweep her away into a private corner and let things heat up. There’s something fiery about her, something that stirs me. She knows who I am, and still wasn’t interested in meeting up secretly later on. I understand the division between the wait staff and members, but....

Under the heat of her gaze, I step aside. “Let me know if you need anything,” she offers over her shoulder as she walks away, her red lips framing into a sultry smile. “Anything at all, Mr. Grant.”

I can’t do anything but stare after her, watching the way she moves in that dress. Over her curves, it doesn’t seem like a simple black dress. It seems like dark magic, something so expensive and fine that even I couldn’t afford it or be worthy of it.

“Wes!”

Gideon’s voice breaks into my thoughts, and then the rest of the guys at the table join in on an obnoxious chorus that cuts off before it starts to cause a stir in the White Rose. How did Cross get guest memberships for these other two idiots? I know Gideon has been a member since he first launched his business here, and I’ve been one since college.

I take my seat at the table, and Cross claps me on the shoulder. “Did you get caught up with our waitress?”

I give him a look. “Did you?”

“I would have if she’d given me the time of day.” He’s drunk, his dark eyes narrowed, and a swirl of envy boils up through my chest. Did he say something to her before I got here? As far as I know, everyone who comes to the Rose is well aware that harassing the waitresses means an instant membership revocation. Of course, everyone also knows that many of the waitresses are flirty and gorgeous, so it’s a fine line. Juliet wasn’t about to let me get close to crossing it.

I’m completely baffled.

Gideon pushes a drink across the table toward me. He’s clearly already ordered. “What happened, Wes? Did she turn you down?”

I grin at him, trying to cover up that I’m utterly confused by what happened. “Who says I propositioned her?”

It’s his turn to give me a pointed look. “You always offer. I’ve never seen you look at a woman like that and neglect to ask her out.”

I laugh out loud, taking a sip of the drink. It’s whiskey—not my favorite, but in light of the circumstances, it’s better than nothing. I need something to steady my nerves. I need something to help me get a grip on the massive hard-on that’s currently tormenting me with no hope of release in sight. Even the bucket of cold water Juliet dumped over my momentary fantasies wasn’t enough to stop me from burning the image of her into my mind.

Cross makes a joke about his upcoming wedding, and the attention at the table shifts away from me to him. He’s clearly been taking advantage of his bachelor status tonight, and his eyes dart from the people around the table into the wider restaurant far more often than should be necessary. I wonder if his fiancée is having her own party. I wonder if she even knows about this one.

And I wonder what Juliet could possibly have against me.

I also wonder what her last name is.

The whiskey is gone before I realize I’ve been drinking it, and the conversation at the table swirls around me, the voices blending together.

I can’t leave it like this.

I’m not the kind of man who leaves a place at the end of the night in defeat. Either I call it quits, or I get what I want. It’s an approach that’s served me well in business and made me one of the most successful business moguls in the city. In the country. I’ve been relentless in driving Grant Pharmaceuticals to the top of every conceivable market while making people’s lives better—for the most part—and that’s not an easy feat. It’s true—the bottom line is my main priority, but you don’t get to my level without putting profit at the top of the list.

There’s no way a woman like Juliet is going to mar my perfect record. Not a chance.

By two, Cross has had enough, and he stands up like a conquering hero and surveys the rest of the White Rose, a look of drunken satisfaction plastered on his face. In the seat next to him, Gideon texts his driver to bring the car around.

“I’ll be back in a minute.” I push back my chair, putting my glass down on the table. 

“Go get her, Wes,” Gideon says, his eyes shining. He’s no stranger to the thrill of the chase. He gets it from his old adrenaline-junkie standbys now that he has Kennedy.

I give him a snarky salute and turn away from the table. 

I find her in a hidden alcove near the bar, the evening’s final tab slips in her hands, tallying up tips. She’s absorbed in the process, biting her lip, and the delicate curve of her neck takes my breath away.

“Juliet.”

She looks up at me, and for a moment her face is unguarded. Then that smile—that perfect shield of a smile—slips back into place. “What can I do for you, Mr. Grant?”

I hold up both hands in mock surrender. “One thing.”

“And that is?”

“I lied.”

She narrows her eyes in suspicion.

“There’s not one thing, but two things. One, will you tell me your last name?”

She considers for a long moment. “James. And the second thing?” There’s a slight chill in her tone that tells me she’s waiting impatiently to get back to the task at hand.

I take a step forward, close enough that her scent catches the air around me, but not close enough to touch her, even though my hands ache to touch her. “Consider my offer.”