“No, I don’t think so, baby. You are brains as well as beauty, Gemima, I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” he chuckles.

Figure what out? And the hotel roof, really? It’s so open. So bold. So something I’m up for! Though I can’t help noting that if I do get to have my way with Logan up there, it’ll be the third time that we’ve had sex outside in the past week. A new fetish, Gem, I question myself, as I continue eating my delicious meal.

Logan relaxes in the chair next to me, engaging the table in conversation, which tells me that whatever he’s got planned it’s not happening anytime soon. I relax too, trusting that I’m as smart as he thinks I am, and that I’ll know when it’s go-time.

About an hour after our decadent dessert is served, the room starts to liven up again. People move to neighbouring tables to talk to their colleagues and friends, on stage the lectern is replaced with a long table, upon which a DJ sets up his equipment, and soon after the first song starts playing and a brave few gravitate towards the front of the room, near our table, where there’s a small vacant space for dancing.

It’s not until most of the people around our table have also gotten up and begun mingling once more, that Logan stands and offers me his hand. That’s not very covert, I think, assuming he’s inviting me to join him on the hotel roof. But I’ve misread his intention.

“Care to dance, Miss. Samuels?” he asks me. His eyes glimmer when he says my surname. We’re two of four people, in this room full of a thousand, who know that that won’t be my surname for that much longer.

“Love to, Mr. Leary,” I grin at him, accepting his hand.

We’re on the dance floor for less than a minute when the current song ends prematurely and an all too familiar tune starts playing instead — Girlfriend by N*Sync. Both glancing up towards the DJ’s table, Logan and I see Buddy standing next to the DJ. He raises up his glass to us in a toast. It’s a gesture that no one else will understand but us, a humorous and thoughtful one at that.

Hotel staff are quick to clear away the first several rows of tables now that everyone’s been fed, which opens up the dancing space much more. Logan and I twirl around to our unofficial song, and the few that follow, as more and more people flock to join us.

When it’s busy and noisy all around us, Logan tells me, “I’m going to the bathroom.”

Abruptly butterflies take flight in my tummy. This is it, I think, this is the sign. Excitement and anticipation take ahold of me. I say the first thing that comes into my mind. “Have fun.”

He laughs, kisses me once, and then leaves the dance floor. I leave too, making a beeline for the bar, from where I can watch him walking towards the ballroom doors. As he walks through them, he throws a glance back into the room and then disappears from sight. Yup, that’s an unmistakable invitation. My heart starts to pound as hard as if Logan’s hands were already all over me. I love how hot and riled up he’s able to make me; the suspense of what will happen mere minutes from now is enough to make me wet.

Eager though I may be, I make sure to survey the room, checking that no one is watching me as I also head towards the doors, but when every face I see seems to be engaged with their own affairs, I slip out into the corridor convinced that I’m unseen.

* * *

I’ve watched enough movies to know how to access the roof of a hotel. Mimicking what I’ve seen on the big screen, I take the elevator to the top floor, and then I find the nearby stairwell. Sure enough, just as advertised, there’s one more flight of stairs leading up to a locked door. Fortunately, I’m holding the key to it.

I use it and half expect loud sirens to blare when I open the door. Maybe too many movies, Gem, I tell myself. There’s no sound at all, though there are dim lights scattered all over the rooftop. I shut the heavy door behind me and a moment later a dark figure appears and swoops on me. I’d be frightened if I didn’t instantly recognise the touch of those hands and the feel of those lips. Logan kisses me headily, deeply, and I’m lost in him.

It’s so silent up here that even our quietest sighs and moans sound loud. I shiver against his body, relishing the feeling of his arms encasing me, acting as a barrier to the wind. But they’re not enough of a barrier. Reluctant though I am to stop kissing him, soon my teeth start chattering, and to counter this Logan leads me to a small alcove, out of the reach of the wind. On one of the alcoves walls there is a large vent, which issues a constant stream of warm air right at us.

“Did you build this hotel?” I ask him, assuming that’s why he knows his way around its rooftop.

“Maybe,” he smiles at me in the faint light. That’s as good as a yes, I think. “Glad you joined me, baby,” he says, backing me against the alcove wall opposite the vent, his lips effortlessly finding mine once more.

“You were so nonchalant at dinner, I began to think you might be faking,” I smile into his mouth.

Logan shakes his head, his eyes wanton and full of arousal. “I had to see you alone,” he says seriously.

“It couldn’t wait ’til we got home?” I tease him.

He shakes his head again. “It couldn’t wait another minute.” He takes my hand and places it over his heart. I feel it pounding manically. “This is what you do to me, Gemima. I couldn’t fake this if I tried.”

I melt at his words, which along with the feeling of his heart beating causes a broad smile to spread across my face. Slowly I wrap my arms around his neck, gazing at him through the near darkness. “I love you something fierce, Logan Leary,” I tell him.

“Likewise, future Mrs. Leary,” he breathes.

Half a second later I pounce on him, realising only now how much sexual tension has been building between us all evening. It probably started with me ogling him in the shower. Then our amorous make out session in the dressing room. Not to mention the constant looks of admiration across the ballroom at one another, and my potent emotional reaction to his speech. It’s all been leading to this, and abruptly I agree with Logan — this can’t wait another minute.

We kiss for a too-brief moment before Logan sinks to his knees before me. I’m already panting heavily as I watch him lift up my dress and disappear under it. His head at my sex, he breathes me in, then his hands reach for the sides of my panties and he starts to pull them down.

Oh, jeez, this is going to be fast, I know it already. I’m so turned on, and the one long lick that Logan grazes over my clitoris a moment later turns my carnal longing up to maximum voltage.

“I want to feel you inside of me,” I moan, and in response Logan probes my entrance with his tongue. Ah! “That’s…that’s not want I meant,” I say with an airy laugh. Another moment later, he slides one long bent-on-pleasure finger inside of me and I moan again. “Still not want I meant,” I writhe against him.

Logan starts humming Leslie Gore’s It’s my party, the song that was playing when we left the ballroom. His finger works my inside and his tongue works my outside. He then murmurs the tune out loud, making a few noticeable differences to the lyrics. “It’s my party, I’ll eat you out if I want to…”

I grin at the change of words. Nicely done, Logan. “That’s an old song, baby. You’re showing your age,” I tease him.

He bites me in retaliation and I call out. Holy shit! He’s going to overthrow me soon. Every action of his picks up the pace and instinctively I widen my legs. Oh!

I’m sixty seconds away from an explosive orgasm when everything stops. Logan retreats his presence down below and reappears from under the hem of my dress. As I pant heavily, he gets to his feet, my panties held tightly in his hand.