"Wine? Yes, now. Now would be good," I agreed.
He laughed. "Don't worry. Drink this and take your time getting ready. I'll have appetizers ready for your guest when he arrives. Stuffed mushroom caps and parmesan crostini, always a hit."
The personal chef winked as he handed me a large glass of wine. I stammered my thanks and wandered into the master suite in a daze. Only twenty minutes ago, I had sat in my small hotel room struggling to send just the right invitation to Fenton. Now, I was sipping wine in a luxury suite while contemplating which dress to wear.
"I can do this," I said out loud. "I can land this client."
I had started to refer to Fenton as “this client” because otherwise, all I could think about was his laser blue eyes watching me across last night's wild party or his wide hands catching me around the waist, his warm lips trailing down the side of my neck. I shook myself out of the lingering thoughts and selected a coral red dress with a conservative neckline. To make up for the high neckline, I swept my hair into a loose bun, careful not to imagine my client's hot kisses along the skin I exposed.
I was ready. Heavenly smells drifted from the kitchen. And it was already ten minutes past the time I put on the invitation. The picture window framed a stunning desert sunset, but I could not enjoy a second of it. My heart sank faster than the fiery sun. Fenton had no reason to come. All of this was a waste and instead of a bonus, I would be paying off my expense account for the next six months.
If the client would not come to me, then I would have to go to the client. I had already suffered through an innuendo-laced conversation with Kev Casey and found out the gym where Fenton was training. He'd also let it slip that Fenton had slept there last night. I would head there first and then, I gulped at the thought, search all the strip clubs in Vegas.
I pulled open the wide door of the suite and teetered backwards on my gold strappy high heels. "Oh, you came! I mean, hello. Please, come in."
Fenton was caught halfway between the elevator and the suite door, clearly hesitating about which way to go. When he saw me, he scrubbed the back of his neck and ducked past me into the suite. "You didn't need to do all this. I think we've talked all the business we're going to talk," he said.
"Can I get you a drink, sir?" the personal chef asked. His light blue eyes iced over Fenton. "Ms. Allen, I hope you are enjoying that wine. Would you like another glass?"
I thanked him and he fetched the glass I left in the bedroom. Fenton watched him go and chewed on his lip. The blond chef refilled my glass and winked at me as he brought it over.
The muscles in Fenton's shoulders rippled as he shrugged. He sauntered over and took my hand holding the wine glass. He brought it to his lips, sipped lightly, and then brushed a kiss along my fingers before releasing my hand. "Delicious. I'll take a glass of whatever she's drinking. Then, how about a tour?"
The tension between the two men did not dissipate until the chef returned to the kitchen. Fenton gave him one last look and then wandered into the master suite. I shook my head and followed. I was not used to being fought over, and it was every bit as thrilling as it was frustrating. This was just business, but I wondered if I was the only one thinking of it that way.
"So, tell me about the new gym? Probably nice to be in a real boxing gym versus the backstage setup at the MGM," I said. I kept my tone light as if the choice had been Fenton's.
"Getting kicked out has certainly boosted my notoriety," Fenton said. "Ticket sales for my next fight are through the roof."
"I'm glad it all worked out," I said.
"Why haven't you unpacked?" he asked. He circled around the master suite and ran a hand along the rim of the hot tub. "You changed for dinner, but you didn't take anything else out of your suitcase. Aren't you staying?"
"I am. I just have not decided which room I prefer," I said.
"Really? I would think a nice hot soak before bed would help take the pressure off landing your next big client," he said.
I leaned on one hip and tapped the toe of my other foot. "Funny, I thought the same thing, except I imagined you might like a nice long soak to ease your sore muscles. But, if you prefer sleeping at your gym, I guess that's up to you."
He scowled and planted both his feet. He took up a fighter's stance every time he was uncomfortable. "I told you, Kya, I don't need your charity or your bribes. I'm perfectly comfortable at the gym. I've slept in worse places."
I could hear my boss' advice in my head – The way to a client's signature is through his stomach, or if you're feeling it, through his pants.
"The chef said something about mushroom cap appetizers. I'm hungry, are you?" I asked. I headed back to the main room and found the appetizers artfully arranged on a silver platter. I picked one out and held it up to Fenton's frown. "Here, taste this. Let's forget about business for awhile and enjoy ourselves."
He opened his mouth and accepted the savory bite. A shiver ran up my arm and tingled down my spine as his bottom lip brushed my fingers. "Delicious," he said and licked his lips.
The only way to break off from staring was to grab another appetizer. This time, it was a hard slice of cheese topped with a light dab of mustard and sprinkled with thyme. I held it out to him on a napkin, but Fenton stepped closer and opened his mouth again. The corners curled up as I gave in and fed him a second bite. I stood transfixed as he savored it slowly.
"My turn," he said. He selected another slice of cheese and brushed my hand away as I tried to take it from him. "Trust me, it tastes better this way."
I let him feed me the fragrant bite. My senses jumped as the perfect blend of flavors touched my palate and he brushed an extra flake of thyme from my bottom lip. I sunk to the sofa and took a long sip of my wine.
The chef cleared his throat. "Dinner is served."
"Excellent," Fenton said. He gathered up the silverware and both plates. "Smells great. Thanks. I think we can take it from here."
He left the chef holding out a chair for me and returned to the sofa. Fenton set the dinner plates down on the coffee table and picked up a mushroom cap appetizer to feed me. I opened my mouth to accept the taste, unable to deny my growing hunger. As I chewed, I caught the blond chef's eye and blushed. All I could do was nod. He packed up his cases and left before I could swallow.
"I hope I ordered the right thing," I said.
Fenton nodded and picked up a complicated remote. A few buttons later, the lights were dimmed, the fireplace flickered warmly, and a slow song drifted out of hidden speakers.
"I love steak," he said.
I gripped my knife hard enough to hide the tremble in my fingers and cut a small piece. Fenton accepted the bite, sliding closer to me on the couch to catch all the juices. My mouth watered as I watched him.
He closed his eyes. "So good," he sighed.
My lips tasted the peppered char of the steak as I leaned in and kissed him. Fenton's blue eyes flew open then closed on another delicious sigh. The heat of his lips warmed me from my toes to the tips of my ears and when he pulled back to look at me he laughed.
"Ms. Allen, are you blushing?" he asked.
"It's the fire," I lied. "It's a little too warm. How about we move back to the table?"