“Nope. No need. A burger is what she craves.”
Rose groaned and swiveled back around, obviously considering him a lost cause.
Ford took out an order pad and a pen. “No problem. What can I get you?”
“One double Ultimate Burger with everything, and a side of fries.”
Ford noted the order in his kitchen shorthand. “And?”
“Uh…” He scanned the hand-printed chalkboard menu mounted on the wall behind the bar for what would come closest to Isabelle’s request. “One skinny burger, medium, but not too pink in the middle, with lettuce and with tomato. Hold the bun, the cheese, and all the condiments—except Dijon mustard. She’ll have some, on the side, if you have it.”
Now all eyes stared at him once again. “Holy shit,” Wing whispered. “That is love.”
“It is something,” Ford agreed, scribbling on his pad. “No problem. I’ll have it ready for you in about…oh…fifteen minutes?”
That earned some snickers from the peanut gallery.
“Great. Add a couple beers and put it on my tab. I have to get my bag from the car. I’ll grab everything on my way back.”
“Done, big guy.”
Funny, coming from Ford, who was six foot two to his six foot five and could definitely give him a run for his money in a bench press contest.
He took the long way around and down to the parking garage just to see what the blizzard had accomplished so far. About a foot of snow, but the thermometer on the bank sign across the street read twenty-eight degrees, which meant once the heavy clouds dumped their load, and the sun rose, all that snow would start to melt. Muddy days ahead.
With fifteen minutes to kill, he futzed around in the Yukon.
With a husky on board more often than not, he’d taken to carrying a big lint roller to pick up the fluff that went everywhere. Seat cushions, floor mats, carpet—they all got a cleaning. By the end he’d collected enough fur to make a whole ’nother animal. Two seconds after Key next hopped into the car, he’d need to do it all over again. But whatever. Turned out a dog double the size of a normal husky-malamute shed twice as much. Practical? No. But Shay had never been known for his practicality. Charm and impulsivity, yes. Practicality? Not so much. Thus, Key.
By the time he returned to the Goose, Lilah, Rose, and Jorg had left. Wing and Mad played pool while Ford polished glasses and watched the Anchorage news station on the flatscreen behind the bar. Trace allowed himself a moment of relief to realize any further discussion of his allegedly inept woman-wooing skills had been deferred to another occasion.
Ford looked over as he came in, and lifted a to-go bag from under the bar. “You’re all set.”
“Thanks.” He took the food, hefted his overnight bag higher on his shoulder and lifted a hand toward Mad and Wing. “’Night guys. Be good.”
“’Night,” they replied, but before he stepped out of ear-shot he heard Wing add, “You be good, too, big guy. Put a smile on her face and a ring on her finger. My twenty bucks says you’ve got it in you.”
Awesome. He backed up. “What are the odds?”
“Fifty-fifty.”
Motherfuckers. He reached into his pocket, found a twenty and tossed it on the bar. “Put me down in the seal-the-deal column,” he told Ford, and walked out. Their catcalls followed him into the lobby.
He nodded to Peter, who gave him the thumbs-up sign—three guesses which outcome Peter had put his money on—and headed to the elevator.
When the doors slid closed, the aroma of fries and burgers filled the small space. His stomach reminded him he hadn’t eaten anything since the on-the-fly protein bar he’d scarfed on the way to Anchorage to pick Isabelle up. It seemed like eons ago. And at least half an eon since he’d left the room to fetch dinner while she changed into something more comfortable.
What constituted “more comfortable” in her book? He flashed back to the frilly underthings that had fallen out of her luggage. And the little vibrator. And the box of condoms. His stomach suddenly became the second most demanding organ in his body, behind his cock, which reminded him it hadn’t had any attention for much longer than a few hours.
He found himself wishing he could satisfy both appetites tonight, with his city-fancy, sexy-as-fuck attorney.
Upon reaching the door, he knocked once—mainly to avoid startling her—and scanned the keycard. “Isabelle,” he said softly as he shouldered the door open and entered the suite.
No response. And no sign of her. The air smelled like her, though—an intriguing seduction of something rare and potent that grabbed him by the balls with nothing more than a whiff.
The suite was also warm. Overly warm, in his opinion. He glanced at the wall. Who the hell set a thermostat to seventy-four degrees? He considered bumping it down to a comfortable sixty-eight but figured his roommate deserved a consult before he took the liberty.
“Isabelle?” he repeated, but still got no reply. Lights were low, consisting mainly of the entryway light, the glow from gas fireplace she’d turned on, and one of the bedtable lights. He walked further into the suite, slid his overnight bag off his shoulder, and placed it at the foot of the bed, then walked over to the small table in front of the window to deposit the to-go bag. With his hands finally free, he turned and…
Whoa.
Chapter Five
Izzy walked back to the main room of the suite from the bathroom, finishing smoothing her favorite hydrating lotion into her hands, and drew to a halt at the sight of Trace standing by the window, staring at her like…like she was dinner. Being on the receiving end of all that hunger had her own long-neglected appetites turning ravenous, maybe more so thanks to the demonstration he’d provided at the terminal of everything he could put toward satisfying those appetites. Things ethics and ambition prevented her from sampling.
His gaze traveled over her slowly, starting at her freshly washed face, the loose braid she always resorted to at night to keep her morning hair manageable, a new, snuggly gray sweater with a V-neck wide enough to slide off one shoulder that she’d tossed over her favorite silver silk cami, and matching wide-legged pajama bottoms. Though a relaxed look, for sure, it fell far short of seductive. The loungewear certainly served the goal of decency. Even so, every bit of bare skin exposed to his attentive eyes tingled as if tickled by feathers…or fingertips…or the gentlest graze of a beard.
The last thought weakened her knees. Before her legs gave out, she lowered to the sofa. “Oh, you’re back.” Did she sound casual? She wanted to sound casual, rather than as breathless as she felt. “That was fast.”
His lips lifted in what looked to be a slightly forced smile. He took the bag he’d placed on the small table by the window and brought it over to the table in front of the sofa. The scent of grilled beef and fries reached her nose. Still, her stomach didn’t stir. No, the only parts stirring were her erogenous zones. Answering heat in those perceptive blue eyes locked on her suggested he knew it.