glass, thought about a burning question I’d had since we’d stepped into the elevator together.
“You booked a room at The Langham Hotel only after I told you I was staying there.”
She picked up the glass, drawing the moment out. “Is that so?”
“I assumed you were staying there the night we met,” I said. “You never confirmed it. And yet the next day you’re suddenly my neighbor.”
She raised the glass to her lips. Playful. Then she knocked it back smoothly.
“Truth.” She grinned when she saw my face. “Don’t get cocky.”
“I would never,” I said evenly.
She hooked the tip of her boot into the rung of my barstool and pulled herself directly into my space. Our mouths, our lips, were barely a foot apart. A wall of her body heat hit me, sending even more blood south. If the goddess looked down, she’d absolutely see the outline of my erection.
“Your name is Abraham Royal, and you’re a private detective.”
My heart stuttered, stopped, re-started at twice its regular beats. It was the sound of my real name falling from her lips, the delicious curve on every syllable. She’d stolen my business card—I knew she knew who I was. But this admission felt like honesty.
“Truth,” I said, voice rough at the end.
A strand of unruly black hair fell across her face. With sure fingers, I brushed it back behind her ear, cupped the back of her neck. Pure, rampant lust exploded across her face. I was grateful for it, grateful I wasn’t the only one chained to this erotic wildness.
“You’re not a Sherlock Holmes tourist,” I said. “Are you?”
She leaned even closer. “No.”
My hand tightened on the back of her neck. Her lips tipped into a half-smile. “Two more shots please,” she said over her shoulder. I was tempted to slide my hand beneath her dress, see what other truths might spill free.
She turned her face, watched the drinks being poured, the glasses placed neatly in front of us by the bartender. The sudden glimpse of fear in her gaze shocked me. Slowly, Devon curled herself into my body, the pose as familiar as a girlfriend’s.
“I’m going to tell you something bizarre, and you’re going to need to act natural,” she whispered. I stilled—but then smoothed my palm down the curtain of her hair, tugging her closer.
“Sounds like a plan,” I whispered back.
“I’m pretty fucking sure the bartender slipped something into our shots just now.”
I fought back the very human urge to turn and see for myself. “Is our friend still there?”
She faked a giggle, and I held her tighter—simply two people flirting, hugging, enjoying a romantic evening. “Yep,” she said.
“Why on earth would we be targeted by a random bartender?”
My detective brain rattled through the usual crimes against tourists—mugging, stealing their credit cards, petty theft. Coincidence, I wanted to say—except Devon and I were both, potentially, skulking around a secret that was much larger than petty theft. In my arms, she was rigid, muscles primed. I was still turned in the opposite direction, facing the door we’d come through. Humphrey caught my eye in the crowd and gave a funny little dance. Such a prosaic scene surrounding us as Devon attempted to assess if we were about to be poisoned.
She flinched suddenly—no, not flinched. Devon cursed and fled from my arms before I could stop her.
“Wait—” I whispered, frantic. No bartender, no other workers tending the liquor. Only a door that said Employees Only now swinging back and forth from the force of Devon pushing through it. Humphrey shoved through the crowd, concern on his jovial face, as I attempted to roll down my sleeves and throw on my jacket with feigned ease. My heart was a veritable jackhammer as I scanned the bar, scooping up a small glass bottle rolling on its side. It was in my hand and hidden in my pocket just before Humphrey arrived.
Devon wasn’t the only one with fast fingers.
“All right, lad?” Humphrey asked, staring at the back door. “Where’d the enchantress go?”
I huffed out a laugh. “Sprinted off. Saw a friend, I guess.”
He nodded as if this made sense and slapped a meaty paw on my shoulder. “Chin up. I’m sure she leaves a lot of men looking as devastated as you do right now.”
11
Sloane
The bartender’s sleight of hand would have impressed the hell out of my parents.
If I hadn’t seen his fingers at just the right second, I would have missed it. The bartender with the handlebar mustache tipped a tiny glass of clear liquid into