“I couldn’t agree more. Especially since I’m new to town,” he says, and there’s still a hint of seduction in his voice. Perhaps that’s his natural state.
But I can’t let it affect my state of mind, which must remain on business. That’s what my sister and I have focused on for the last few years—revamping this hotel. We completed the renovation recently, and it’s paying off. After a couple of rough years, we’ve turned the ship around, and now the hotel is thriving. My sole job is to grow it, and in so doing, to both honor my parents’ legacy and provide for the people I employ.
That is it.
I can’t entertain these wild fantasies involving Cole Donovan, the man I vie for business with. Hell, he might very well have won The Exquisite Show. He might be going after Max and Alex. For all intents and purposes, he’s the enemy . . . and so I should keep him close.
Business close. Not naked between the sheets close.
We sit on the couch, across from the table where I left the gift for him.
“Tell me, what do you think of Las Vegas so far?” I pose the question to him, to this handsome man sitting on the couch with me, hoping that talking business will eradicate the dirtier thoughts from my head.
He takes a moment, like he’s carefully considering his answer. “It’s a little different than the Italian Riviera.”
“Does that mean you prefer where you were before?”
A sly grin crosses his lips. “I tend to enjoy all sorts of fascinating locales. Though I think Vegas has a tremendous amount to offer,” he says, each word dripping off his tongue like seduction.
Anything he says sounds like sex. So I try to keep the conversation professional, firing off more questions about the Italian coastline. But even as we talk about cities and the things we like about them, trading tales about our time on the Riviera and what makes that area tick, I’m aware of the undercurrent to our conversation.
It’s in the air, this charge between us.
“Your hotel is quite successful there,” I say.
“And I hope my hotel here will be quite successful too.”
“Hope?” I arch a brow, teasing him a bit. “Hope doesn’t sound like you. Are you just being polite? Aren’t you the type of man who declares something will be successful rather than hopes for it?” I ask, my voice dropping into a masculine tone as I mimic him.
His grin goes crooked. “Were you just imitating me, Ms. Carmichael?”
“Did you enjoy my imitation?”
“I did. What else can you imitate about me?”
“I’m a man who knows what he wants,” I say, parroting his words from the other night. I’m doing a horrible job of being businesslike. But flirting is a powerful drug, and it’s enticing me to take a hit, then another.
“That remains true. And rest assured, I wasn’t saying hope to be polite.”
I laugh, perhaps to try to deflect from my own desire to get closer to my rival. “You don’t need to soften anything for me.”
He raises one dark brow, his brown eyes glinting. “Oh, trust me, Sage. Nothing is soft around you.”
I blush. Flames lick my cheeks. Heat rushes to my core. I do my best to return to business matters, and perhaps even learn some intel. “The Invitation is a stunning property. Some might even call it . . . exquisite.”
The way his lips twitch tells me I hit the mark. He’s the winner. He nabbed the show.
“Exquisite? That’s what you’d call it?” he asks.
I grit my teeth once more, frustrated over the loss. But better to dismiss those sour grapes. I’ve been vying for entertainers for more than a decade. It comes with the job. I’ve lost deals to the MGM, won them from The Mirage, and beaten out New York-New York. It’s all in a day’s work.
My father taught me to go after deals tenaciously, but to let go of them graciously.
I want to honor him, his wisdom, his legacy. Picturing a calm, serene ocean breeze, I give my rival as genuine a grin as I can muster. “The show is going to be amazing. I can’t wait to see it at The Invitation.”
Cole is silent, his eyes registering surprise. Perhaps he expected me to come in with guns blazing or for me to tiptoe around the issue. But neither is my style in business.
“Then you should be my guest on opening night,” he says, playing the part of the gentleman.
I think we both know that won’t happen, but I simply nod and say that sounds lovely. And because you catch more flies with honey, I toss out a few more compliments. “You should be proud of your hotel. I’ve been admiring it across the street as it’s gone up.”
That seems to delight him, judging by the way his lips curve into a smile. “And what do you like about it?”
“I like the energy from it. I like that it entices you to come through its doors.” I take a beat, shooting him a challenging look, since I’ve doled out plenty of niceties already. “Are you fishing for compliments, Mr. Donovan?”
He grins. “I think that is patently obvious.”
“What would you like me to say? That if I didn’t already have a favorite hotel here, I’d be gallivanting around yours? Running my hands along the walls?” I demonstrate, dragging my fingertips along the wall behind me. “Talking about how wonderful it is? Draping myself across the lounge chairs?” I stretch back on my couch, as if imitating my own plans to luxuriate, having too much of a good time. “Running my hands over all the slot machines?”
A rumble emanates from his chest. “I do like the sound of all that, and yes, I wouldn’t mind you saying that and doing that. Feel free to make my hotel your favorite any night of the week. You have an open invitation to come over,” he says, and now he’s having too much fun with the innuendo, it seems. “And I find your hotel quite alluring too. The colors, the luxury, the richness of it. It makes me want to . . .” His eyes lock with mine, heating me up. “It makes me want to have it.”
The way he says have, like he’s underscoring that word with dirty promises, is a billboard, a sign flashing on the highway.
And it’s clear what’s happening here.
We are heating up. Again.
I need to press the brakes.
Because all this talk of what we like about each other’s hotels makes me want to grab him, wrap my legs around him, and ask him to take me here and take me hard. I clear my throat, making one more attempt. “Tell me what you are enjoying best about Las Vegas so far.”
“I haven’t seen much beyond the Strip, but the hiking is great over at Red Rock,” he says.
This surprises me. I tilt my head. “You like to hike?”
His grin goes crooked again. “I don’t seem like I could be a hiker? Is that what you’re saying?”
“You seem like you like to go to some underground MMA ring for exercise. Someplace you can burn off all that energy,” I tease.
“All my dealmaking energy. All my intense alpha energy, right?” He’s having far too much fun.
Perhaps I am too. “You said it.”
“I assure you, Sage, I do actually like to hike. I get up most mornings and I go to Red Rock and I run, and sometimes I hike.” He leans in closer, interest flaring in his eyes. “What about you? What do you like most about Vegas?”