“Your—your boyfriend?” he stammers, looking surprised. “Where is he tonight?” he asks, looking around the crowded room.

“Upstairs. In our room,” I explain quickly. “He’s…working,” I lie. “We just had a late dinner, during which he partially pleasured me under the table,” I overshare. Seriously, Gem, is that how you speak to a stranger? Move right along, I order myself. “Now he’s working.”

“Only partially?” the stranger seems perturbed. The look in his eyes tells me that he’d like nothing more than to remedy my situation. “I don’t like the sound of your boyfriend. No wonder you’re down here, prowling,” he says, his eyes gleaming.

My heart hammers even harder in my chest. “I wasn’t going to let a good night go to waste,” I shrug, attempting to be nonchalant once more.

“Just as well,” he smiles at me; a smile that I feel all over my body. He sucks on his bottom lip in that unconscious way he does… Shit! I shake my head. You don’t know this man, I remind myself.

Refocussing myself, I ask, “And you, stranger? Are you here with someone?”

“No,” he shakes his head quickly. “I’m here alone.” He lifts his glass to take another swig. I smell that he’s drinking whiskey, straight, and I revel in knowing that I’ll taste it on his tongue soon. Very soon.

I can’t keep a smile from forming on my lips. “I was hoping that might be the case,” I confess. Then, bravely, I lean in and press my lips against his for a brief moment before forcing his mouth open with my tongue and brushing it against his. Mmm, he tastes delicious. Our eyes are open and locked on each other the whole time. I brush my tongue slowly against his again, smiling at the same time, before I pull back and suck on my own bottom lip, whispering, “I like whiskey.”

His face lights up. Oh, this is so much fun!

“That was very forward of you,” he says, amused. I take in his features which are filled with mirth. He is so appealing. So appealing that I can’t help but be forward, hoping to move our night onwards to its inevitable end.

“I like being forward,” I pick up my own drink and sip it. “I like men who are forward, too,” I let him know.

“Really?” he chuckles, and for a minute I think he might break character, but he composes himself quickly. “So, have there been many men, then?” he asks me, looking intrigued.

My blue eyes widen. Hmm, have there? In this fictional world I can say whatever I like. “Hundreds,” I tell him and he chuckles again. “What about you?” I giggle.

“Me? Oh, thousands,” he professes.

“Thousands of men?” I laugh. “My goodness!”

“No, no!” he’s quick to rectify his error. “I meant women.”

“I see,” I nod, still laughing. “So, you’re not gay, then?”

This time his eyes widen. “No, not gay,” he confirms. “In fact,” he leans in close and lowers his voice as he continues, “I had an enchantingly beautiful woman coming all over my face just this morning…”

I feel heat rush through me. My body wants to groan at his words, but my mind is on high alert: I know what he’s doing — he’s trying to coax me into breaking character. Two can play that game. With a smirk and an eyebrow raised, I ask, “And where is the lucky bitch now?”

My words do the trick. His brow furrows and he stares at the bar top for a long moment. To falter or not to falter?

Finally he looks up. “She’s not here,” he says, his cool facade back in place.

And so the game continues. Wonderful, I think, smiling at the stranger. “So you are single?”

“If you want me to be,” he tells me, resting his hand firmly on my knee. This time I don’t shift out of his reach.

“And you are interested,” I say, referring to whatever is brewing between us, and stating my comment as a hard fact.

“Incredibly so,” he agrees, with a smile that seduces me entirely. “Especially because I’ve had a very hard day. Literally. I’ve been very hard. All day.”

“Would that have anything to do with the woman from this morning?” I enquire, becoming more turned on with every passing second. I’ve never spoken so candidly to anyone before.

“It has everything to do with her…”

For a long moment we sit in silence, locked in our sensual bubble of unspoken desires. Oh, the things I long to do to him…the things I will do to him before the night is over. Another smile spreads across my face just thinking about it. The stranger blinks, tearing his eyes away from mine, as though one more moment of such heightened silent flirting might just unhinge him.

“Shouldn’t you see a doctor if it’s been all day?” I ask, making him laugh. The sound of it enchants me; I’d happily spend my life drinking it in.

He shakes his head. “No, I just need to offload. Maybe a few times,” he says, his eyes wandering over my body, making me tense in sexual expectation. “And speaking of offloading, Miss. No-Name, if your boyfriend is working in your room, then I guess we’ll have to go to mine…” he lets his invitation trail off into a myriad of pleasurable possibilities. “Is that forward enough for you?” he adds.

I smile and nod in response. “Which floor are you on?”

“The top. Obviously,” he says arrogantly, making my smile broaden.

“Me too,” I tell him. “We’re probably neighbours.”

“Probably,” he grins.

It takes me a moment to realise that the bartender is lingering awkwardly in front of me. He’s looking from me to my soon-to-be-one-night-stand and back again, evidently knowing that we’re picking each other up. I flush crimson. Argh! I don’t want him to think I’m a harlot! How embarrassing, my mind screams.

Seeing that he’s finally caught my attention, the bartender asks if my drink is alright. I tell him it’s delicious, and then request that he charges it to my room. When I give him the room number a smiles comes across his face, and suddenly I realise…he knows the game we’re playing.

Ignoring this interruption to said game, I ask the stranger next to me, “So, uh, what do you do?” I pick up my glass, and raise it slowly to my waiting, wanton mouth.

“I’m an interior designer,” he tells me.

I splutter into my drink. “Really?” I giggle, and he nods. “Are you any good?”

“I’ve been told I am,” he smiles, and then adds, “Oh, you were talking about interior design?”

I laugh at his innuendo. “I was,” I say. “I used to do that myself.”

“And what do you do now?” he enquires.

“Now I work in construction. I own my own company. I’m a pretty big deal,” I say smugly.

He smiles at me and the sexual tension in our bubble builds. His hand on my knee tightens its grip. “So, Miss. No-Name, who works in construction, tell me…do you often cheat on your boyfriend with strangers in hotel bars?” he asks me.

I consider: does this fictitious part of me pick up strangers regularly? I shake my head. “Tonight will be a first,” I tell him. “You’d better make it worth it,” I grin.

Another delectable smile spreads across his face, and he doesn’t miss a beat, declaring, “Oh, I will.”

I don’t doubt him. I never have, I never will. Another pang of longing courses through me. Jeez, I want his hands all over me, and I can’t wait until they are.

Our eyes pour into one another’s and the intensity of his — along with the x-rated images of us currently invading my imagination — result in me almost being pushed over the edge.

I ask myself for the hundredth time: how does he do this to me? How does he turn me on just by looking at me; how does he make me feel so loved and wanted just by looking at me? Then I remind myself, once more, that I’m supposed to be pretending he’s a stranger.

Fuck it, I think. My impatience wins out, and I down the rest of my drink in one. No more seductive sipping. I’m already seduced — big time — and I know he is too.