Raine (Gods of the Fifth Floor #2) - M.V. Ellis Page 0,65
It’s not medieval Britain. If you mean women I’m fucking, have fucked, or am going to fuck, then no, not all, but enough to know how to play it.”
I sucked down about half of my drink in one long, steady gulp, just to give myself something to do, and somewhere to look other than at him. So much for taking it slow and easy.
“Anyway, I say enough talking. Let’s go.” I guessed I’d killed the vibe with the wifey-style interrogation, and he was done with me. I couldn’t say I blamed him. He clearly wasn’t the type of guy to go in for commitment of any kind, not even the flimsiest of obligations between people, and here I was acting like he owed me an explanation. I’d probably have gotten sick of me if the tables were turned.
“Umm... okay. But we haven’t finished our drinks.”
“Don’t worry about that. We’ll get fresh ones brought up to the room.” The room. What room? The confusion must have been evident on my face.
“Oh, didn’t I mention it before?” I was pretty sure he knew that he hadn’t. “I have a room here. At the other end of the hall, in fact.”
Of course, because that was how men like Raine Davies rolled.
The “room” turned out to be bigger than the apartment I shared with Michelle. Actually, it was probably bigger than the four apartments on our floor of the walkup put together, and it was gorgeous.
The floor-to-ceiling windows afforded us an unparalleled view of the city, and also gave the effect that we were in an urban tree house, nestled high above the bustling metropolis. I loved it.
“Your definition of the word room and mine differ significantly, clearly. Are you sure you don’t live here?”
“What? No, of course not. I would never...”
“Bring a woman back to your actual home?”
“That is what I was about to say. Sorry.”
“Don’t be. Despite the date thing before—and just so you know, it’s a figure of speech, nothing more—I’m not a high schooler, I’m under absolutely no illusion what’s going on here. We’re on the same page. I’m not looking for anything... Actually, I’m not looking for anything, period.”
Raine appraised me for a long moment, but didn’t say a word. I met his probing gaze unflinchingly.
Everything I’d said was true. The fact was, like Michelle had said, it was about time I got back on the horse, and as I was taking other aspects of my life off hold, like getting a job, it felt like a good time to dust the cobwebs off my sex life, as well.
I smirked at the idea of cobwebs in certain places. Having just assured Raine that I wasn’t some green-as-grass kid, I was now amusing myself with the most basic toilet humor, just like a teenager.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing. Well, nothing you need to worry about, anyway.”
“Who said I was worried? I was just asking.” This time it was my turn to throw my hands up in surrender.
“Okay, okay, again, it’s just a figure of speech. Don’t bite my head off.”
“Fair enough. I can think of other areas I’d really like to bite, though. Why are we standing around chatting, when we could be putting our energies to way better use? Come here.”
I was deciding whether to acquiesce to his demand, or to make him come to me, when there was a rap at the door.
“That’ll be our drinks. Come in,” he yelled out.
The door swung open, and sure enough, in walked a waiter carrying a tray with a fresh drink for both of us. I wasn’t going to lie—I could get used to living this way, if it meant hanging out in places as gorgeous as the hotel room, and having delicious cocktails pretty much on tap.
It definitely trumped the tiny place I shared with Michelle, where we were lucky if there was a can of diet soda in the refrigerator. And not just because of low funds, either—neither of us were particularly domesticated, and grocery shopping was normally the least of our concerns. Thank God for takeout food deliveries.
Once the waiter had gone, Raine turned to me again.
“You’re overdressed for this party, so let’s fix that, shall we?” As he strode toward me, he was already undoing the few buttons on his shirt he’d actually bothered to fasten in the first place. I wasn’t sure what the guy had against done-up shirts, but his were open almost to the navel, more often than not.