Chapter 10

CHAPTER TEN

TRISTAN

While I would happily take her upstairs to begin a night thoroughly tasting every inch of her, I lead Layla toward the elevators and press the button to take us to Pen Top. My fingers lingering against her back, I share, "I quite enjoy the rooftop lounge here. It has a remarkable view. Have you been?"

Though I highly doubt I'll be able to pull my eyes from her enough to actually enjoy it.

The elevator dings, announcing our arrival at the rooftop. I press my palm to her spine as doors open, and she lets out a tiny gasp, leaving me wondering if it's from my hand on her bare skin or the sprawling skyline view.

"This is magnificent," she quietly proclaims as I usher her past the line of waiting patrons to the hostess.

"Good evening, Mr. Evans," the cute, blonde hostess greets me. Her eyes rake over Layla, and her usually bubbly tone becomes slightly curt. "Just the two of you this evening? "

"Yes," I confirm, stealing a glance of Layla.

Pulling her eyes from my date, she pulls together her professional decorum. "Please, follow me."

"I'm gathering you come here quite often," Layla surmises. "But based on your admirer's reaction, I'm assuming it is not often with a date."

Our waiter approaches the table before I have a chance to respond. I take the liberty of ordering a bottle of Jameson and a small assortment of hors d'oeuvres.

"I'm generally alone or with my brothers."

"Do you have a lot of them?" she inquires, continuing to make small talk as the waiter brings our glasses and the bottle of whiskey to our table.

"Four," I answer as I nod at the waiter, signaling for him to leave. Pouring us each a glass, I continue, "Declan, my older brother, would be the reason you wanted to call me an asshole."

I pause to admire the sheepish smile spreading across her face and slide the short pour of whiskey before her. "And then there are my younger brothers: Conor, Liam, and Finn. You?"

"Only child." She lifts the glass to her lips with her eyes locked on mine as she takes a slow sip. Lowering the glass, a sly smile tugs at her lips. "What do you say instead of the same monotonous questions we've both answered on every first date, we make this a little more interesting?"

Cocking a brow— and very fucking intrigued— I coax, "And just what do you have in mind? "

"Twenty questions." She smugly mirrors my cocked brow, "But if you ask it, you also have to answer it."

"Deal." I take a drink from my glass and gesture for her to go first.

"No lies. What are you thinking about right this second?"

"How fucking gorgeous you are, not to be outdone by how fucking intrigued I am with you," I admit, retaining the fact I also can't stop thinking about what she's hiding beneath the thin silk of her dress. An adorable blush creeps over her cheeks, and she lightly chews at her plump, pink lower lip as I wait for her to share her answer to the question she posed.

"And to think, I was going to say how fucking hungry I am," she teases as the waiter returns with plates of both balsamic beef and shrimp crostini.

After enjoying our food and a couple of liberal refills of whiskey, the questions have quickly moved from innocent to flirtatious.

While I've taken my fair share of women to dinner, not one of them has been like this. Like Layla . I've learned more about her in the span of a few hours than the handful of women I've had long-standing relationships with. She has a sharp wit that is only emphasized by her sarcastic sass, and I'm absolutely fucking enamored with her.

"Most outlandish thing you've ever done in bed?" she coyly questions.

"Darling, I own a slew of international sex clubs. There isn't much I haven't done in or out of bed. "

" You own the club being built by the bar?" Layla's tone is a mixture of shock and excitement. "I suddenly feel like my wild, drunken, almost threesome story does not seem nearly as wild as I thought."

"I'm taking it you've never been to a club or a dungeon before."

She shakes her head as she responds, "No. Does this mean you're one of those guys who's into handcuffs and paddles?"

"They have their place." I pause to finish the whiskey in my glass, entirely fixated on her inquisitive chestnut eyes. "But my kinks are geared more toward obedience and submission."

"Oh…" Her response is short and soft before she mutters, "I've never… nothing like that."

"Anything goes?" I clarify before upping the ante of the line of questioning.

She finishes the bit of food in her mouth, washes it down with a sip of whiskey, and nods. "Anything."

"Would you like to?"