Burt is my preferred driver when I’m in the city.
She nods, pursing her lips before turning around to leave.
“I’m late for a meeting, okay? But I’ll see you tonight. My driver, Burt, will pick you up.”
I can see on my monitor that Summer’s face has paled. She opens her mouth and closes it without responding. I tap the End call button, watching her pull the phone back and stare at the screen.
My fingers drum on the desk.
I guess I’ll just have to wait and see if she shows up.
When I rented this penthouse in Miami, sight unseen, I thought the stripper pole in the master suite was tacky. Of course, I paid to have it deep cleaned and never imagined I’d hear Summer Sullivan confess to taking pole-dancing lessons.
I’m wearing only a pair of gray sweatpants, opening a bottle of sparkling rosé when I hear a soft knocking sound on the front door. I walk over and open it. Summer is standing there in a pair of white sweatpants and a pink crop top. Her duffel bag is slung over her shoulder.
She tilts her head. “Are you going to invite me in?”
I lick my lips, reaching out to lift the bag from her shoulder. She lets me take it, stepping in when I move back from thedoor. I shut it behind her, trailing after her as she walks through the shiny space.
I almost forgot how addictive she was in the last two days. I’m drawn to her like a magnet to metal.
The apartment came fully furnished, and it’s sleek and modern. She moves over to the all-black kitchen island, grabbing one of the two glasses I just poured.
“It’s so … cold,” she says, taking a sip of the wine and turning her big green eyes back to rest on me.
I set her bag down beside the island and grab my wineglass. “It feels warmer now.”
I tap the rim of my glass to hers, looking down over her. She parts her lips, breathing in before her lashes flutter open to study my mouth.
“I almost didn’t get on the plane.”
“I’m glad you did,” I murmur.
The electric current between us is undeniable. She takes a slow sip of the wine before licking her bottom lip.
“Why did you invite me here, Dayton?”
“You promised me a dance I never got. I have a pole, and you’re a dancer.”
“I’m sure this city has plenty of those, more professional ones.”
“I told you I have very specific tastes.”
“Which are?” She presses her hip up against my kitchen island.
I set down my glass before I give in and finally touch her, my fingers wrapping around the sliver of tanned skin at her waist. I use both hands to lift her up onto the counter and push between her knees, spreading them apart.
Her free hand grips my biceps. Her hair is in a loose braid on her shoulder. I tug off the ponytail holder and drag my fingers through the honey strands to loosen them.
“I googled Ava,” she confesses.
I smirk, my bare chest puffing out. “And?”
“And she’sgorgeous. She plays tennis.”
My thumb is sliding over the soft skin of her stomach, but I need to be closer. I slide my hand up over to her rib cage, just like we did when we were teens and I was so horny for her that I couldn’t control my urges.
“But she’s not you.” I lean forward, my nose pressing to the side of her neck, where I inhale her coconut and sea-salt scent.