Page 178 of Hate You More

“Sure it is. I’m cute and I’m funny.” I press my lips to her head, serious again. “I’m so sorry I didn’t see what was really going on that night. That you were traumatized.”

“You would’ve been frightened yourself,” she whispers. “We were both just kids.”

“I’ll make you a deal. I’ll let you protect me, but not this way. Stand by my side, Clara, and I’ll stand by yours. Forever. You and me against the world. What d’you say?”

Epilogue

Clara

Two years later

What do you think I said?

My mark is seated at the bar like he’s part of the architecture. Broad shoulders, tousled hair, the sleeves of his pale shirt rolled, the color of it stark against his deep tan.

I cross the space with measured steps and an easy confidence. My wrap dress swaying to the tune of my hips as I run my fingers along the neckline that’s just the right side of respectable, yet not innocent. By the time I reach the bar, my blood is fizzing.

“¿Está libre este asiento?” Is this seat taken?

His shoulder lifts in answer—take it or leave it, I don’t care. But I’m not fooled. As I crossed the space, I watched him drink me in through the mirror behind the bar.

I hop onto my seat, glad of my heels getting me that little bit higher as I pull my flowing summer dress aside to flash a little summer-tan thigh. My companion is a ten. Kissable lips and a killer jawline. And he smells divine.

“¿Puedo invitarte a una copa?” I flick my hair a little. “Do you speak English?”

He angles his head my way, his fingers still looped around a glass of something amber. “I speak a little English.” His voice low and sort of sultry. But everything sounds sexier with an accent, I think. Lifting the glass, he takes a sip. His strong throat works with a swallow. “You are an American?”

“All the way from Kansas.” I rub my lips together, wanting to taste his drink for myself. From his tongue.

“Like Dorothy Gale.” He glances at my shoes. “But no ruby slippers.”

“You’re a movie buff,” I comment as I watch him watch me trailing my fingers along the neckline of my dress. “I’m a fan of movies myself.”

“Which is your favorite?”

I make a show of thinking, my eyes on his as I answer. “Pretty Woman.”

He nods as though he understands rather than agrees. “May I buy you a drink, pretty woman?”

“Well, that depends.” I give him a smile that feels predatory. “Are you looking for company?”

“I might be.” His gaze drops over me like a lover’s caress.

“My company is . . . expensive,” I whisper, leaning in. “But worth every penny.”

“I don’t doubt it.” His gaze falls to my exposed thigh and everything inside me pulls tight. He signals the barman, but I’m only thirsty for him.

“Let’s skip the drink and get down to business.” I loop my fingers around his wrist.

“We haven’t discussed terms.” He gives a chuckle as I move from my stool without letting go.

Across the bar and into the hotel reception, he allows me to lead the way.

“I’ve already booked a room.” I shoot the words over my shoulder, not bothering to slow my pace.

“You’re very eager.”

“I’m just keen to get down to business.”