“No. It’s a game I play whenever I travel. I try to figure out what people are in town for.”

Their waiter arrived with their drinks. She took a sip and let the warm liquid slide down. Sweet, sultry, she felt herself relax after a couple swallows.

Much better.

“Is that right?” he asked. “Okay, tell me a few of your guesses.”

She held the glass in her hand, but motioned with it toward the couple in the corner. “She’s in a short dress, he’s in nice slacks and a button-down shirt. Obviously not here on business, but not dressed as tourists, either. My guess? Honeymoon.”

He studied them, too. “Why honeymoon and not anniversary?”

She shrugged. “Just the way they’re looking at each other, like a massive hole in the ground opening up between them couldn’t separate them. It’s new love, not mature love. Plus, they’re young. And look at the way he’s rubbing her back, touching her hair. It’s like he can’t keep his hands off of her.”

She nodded, reaffirming her initial thoughts. “Definitely honeymoon.”

“Or they’re having an affair.”

She shot him a glare. “Hey, cynic. Don’t ruin my imagined young-love honeymoon here.”

He laughed, then took a sip of the whiskey. “Maybe they’re just getting to know each other and they’re in those initial stages of hot lust. When you know you really want someone, and you can’t wait to get your hands on them, get them naked, and explore their body.”

He dragged his gaze away from the couple and planted it firmly on her, those gray eyes of his turning stormy dark with desire. He laid his arm across the rear of her chair, his fingers lightly teasing the back of her neck.

And then he leaned in to whisper in her ear.

The contact was electrifying.

“That’s why he can’t keep his hands off her, Kat. He wants her. This whole touching and leaning thing in the bar is foreplay. He wants to get her up to the room as soon as possible so he can take her clothes off and run his hands and mouth over every inch of her skin, to see if she tastes as delicious as she smells.”

Katrina’s breath caught.

“You smell like something exotic, a musky, enticing scent I can’t quite put my finger on.”

He pressed his lips to the side of her neck. She let out a small gasp, and shivers popped up on her skin.

“But I’d like to put my mouth on you. All over you, Kat, until you screamed my name.”

She swallowed, her throat gone dry. She lifted her glass to her lips, her hand shaking as she did, then took a sip to coat her throat.

“Do you want that?” he asked.

“I … no. I don’t.”

He kissed the side of her neck again. “Okay.”

Then he straightened, picked up his glass, and downed the rest of his whiskey in one shot.

“Point out someone else and tell me what you think.”

He seemed calm and together, whereas she was an utter wreck. Her nipples were tight points of aching, screaming need, her clit was throbbing and her panties were damp. She was turned on and ready to straddle him right there in the bar, ready to beg him to give her the orgasm she so desperately craved.

And he, Mr. Oblivious, calmly watched everyone else in the bar, completely out of tune with her needs.

Or was he? She casually glanced downward and saw one very impressive erection.

Which only made her own dilemma worse, especially when she pulled her gaze back to his face and caught his knowing smile.

Damn man.

“I have to go,” she said.

“Do you?”

“Yes. I have to pack and … things.”

“Okay. Don’t want to keep you from your … things.” He signaled for the waiter, who brought the check. By the time Grant had signed off on the bar tab and stood, whatever impressive hard-on he’d sprouted had dissipated, much to Katrina’s disappointment.

He stood, and so did she, following him outside the bar.

In the lobby, he stopped and turned to her. “Come up to my room. Spend the night with me.”

For a fraction of a second, her spirits soared. She’d been surprisingly deflated when he’d cut off their teasing banter so easily in the bar. She appreciated his being a gentleman and all, but at the same time, she’d been disappointed, too.

Conflicted much, Katrina?

No. She knew where her responsibilities were, and they weren’t in Grant Cassidy’s bed. She forced herself to remember the reason she was independent. And all the reasons she didn’t want a man in her life.