SHE WAS NERVOUS, Suro noted as they walked back to his room, even though she chatted easily enough about the weather and how pretty the stars were in Montana, and how nice the Sinclair Ranch was with all of its rustic guest cabins and ranch houses. She herself was staying at the Sinclair 28, a much cheaper motel about a half hour away.
“Get this,” she said. “The woman at the front desk told me they used to call it the Ride ‘Em Cowboy. And it used to have a diner attached, but she said I wouldn’t have wanted to eat there anyway because it kept getting busted for health code violations. Andrew Sinclair, the guy who owns the town, convinced them to remodel, even gave them a renovation loan, which is why they ended up naming it after him. She says everyone here loves him, and not just because he owns the town and is married to a rock star, but also because he’s a really nice guy. But seriously, can you imagine owning a whole town?”
Suro knew Andrew and his former rock star wife, Roxxy, well. He also knew they didn’t think of it as owning the former farm town, but as developing it to its full potential. He himself hailed from one of Japan’s wealthiest families, one that had accumulated a fortune in real estate investments in the eighties. So technically, he could imagine owning an entire town, even though he’d been estranged from that side of his family for a long time now.
“This is my room,” he said, indicating a rustic, single-story cabin with large windows and a weathered, red copper roof nestled amongst the trees at the side of the path.
“Wow, it looks as nice as it does in the brochures,” she said upon entering. He watched her slowly look around the front room, with its vaulted ceiling, large stone fireplace, and distressed leather furniture.
She walked to the glass doors, which faced out onto a deck with a sunken hot tub and high-end patio furniture. “Yeah, this place is just a little more upscale than my room at the Sinclair 28,” she said.
Then she let out a laugh, that had probably been meant to punctuate the joke, but came out thin and shaky.
“There’s no need to be nervous,” he said. “I won’t hurt you. You have my word.”
She turned back to look at him. “What makes you think I’m nervous? Because I’m talking so much? No, that’s just how I am. I’m not…” she broke off and gulped when he came to stand in front of her, so close she bumped into the glass door behind her when she tried to take a step back. His nostrils flared slightly…he could smell her, the dark beer she’d drunk, the hotel soap from the shower she’d recently taken, the one that had prevented her from making it to the restaurant before it closed.
“…nervous,” she finished weakly.
Her breath caught when he brought his hand up to her hair and released the elastic band, allowing her long, heavy locks to tumble down onto her shoulders and over her breasts.
Suro’s cock responded immediately, and his mind filled with images of how she would look naked, riding him, with all of that hair framing her curvy body.
“Stay calm,” he said, both to her and to himself. “I am only looking at you.”
Another hard swallow as she visibly squirmed under his gaze. “So, do you do this a lot? Bring women back to your room and, uh, look at them?”
“No,” he answered. He usually only stayed at hotels when meeting with clients or carrying out hits, two activities that failed to rouse his libido. But he doubted telling her that would put her at ease.
The truth was he couldn’t explain why he had brought her back to his cabin. He’d only gotten into Sinclair Township a few hours ago, after driving in from the Missoula airport. He’d gone to the bar intending to get a drink before calling it a night. But then she walked in, her dark skin glowing against her pink t-shirt, and her others charms soon became obvious despite her casual clothes and haphazard hair. She radiated good cheer even after the bartender told her the kitchen was closed.
Though he preferred to keep his liaisons cool and impersonal, like himself, Suro wanted her. He wanted her cheerfulness and warmth in a way his cold heart had wanted nothing else in a very long time.
And as he stood there with her now, slightly intoxicated by her simple scent, he didn’t dare kiss her for fear he wouldn’t be able to stop. Still, his lips hovered close to hers, begging his brain for one kiss, just one.
But then a knock sounded on the door and he made himself step away from her. “Your food is here.”
CHAPTER 2
WHAT had she gotten herself into? Lacey wondered as she forked the tasty pasta with its light tomato basil sauce into her mouth. She could barely concentrate on the dish’s flavors because of the quiet man sitting on the other side of the patio table.
He should have come off as placid—almost harmless, really—taking the occasional drink from his glass of wine and not saying much. Except he was anything but. There was something about him. His stillness. It put her in mind of a coiled snake, patiently waiting to strike. She wasn’t exactly scared—he didn’t give off the “chop her body up and bury it in the woods” vibe she occasionally got from a few of the customers where she worked—but she did feel unsettled. And no matter how many sips of wine she took, she couldn’t quite calm down.
So she talked…about Montana, about the cabin, about—
“You like to talk,” he said at one point after she finished describing a book she’d just read about a man who inherited a winery in the south of France.
Her cheeks warmed. “I do,” she confessed. “I’m sorry. My dad wasn’t a talker either, so I know it can be overwhelming and irritating.”
He shook his head once. “No, it’s fine. It gives you pleasure to do so, and I like the sound of your voice.”
Now her cheeks really got hot. “I like the sound of your voice, too. The little I’ve heard of it. I guess it doesn’t give you pleasure to talk, huh?”
“No,” he answered. Then he fell silent again.
Okay, then. Lacey started to gather another bite of pasta onto her fork but then she looked down at her plate and realized it was empty, along with her wine glass. Her eyes scanned across the table and saw his glass was also empty, even though there was still a half bottle of cabernet left.
“Do you want another glass of wine?” she asked.
He continued to sit there quietly, his eyes burning into hers. “No.”
“Do you mind if I have another glass?”
“No,” he answered again, but he made no move to provide her with a refill.