The Sex Files

“Look,” she managed to say. “We can’t talk here.” In this cold rain, her white dress might as well be made of cellophane.

His intrigued expression didn’t bring much comfort. “You have a better idea?”

The seconds seemed to drag on—as if this whole exchange had lasted an eternity, not a scant few minutes. Apparently, Oliver Vargo thought she was a crazed fan.

Dammit, she was a fan.

But not the one he assumed. Had he had some difficulty with a woman named Cameron? Whatever the case, he didn’t know her real name, which meant Miles McLaughlin hadn’t mentioned her to him. Regarding his and Miles’s relationship, there was only one way to find out the truth—question him. “I…I have a hotel.”

He stared at her. “Did you say hotel?”

She nodded toward McDougal Street. “I’m in the Washington Square Hotel.” It was only two blocks away. She’d been so intent on gauging the distance that she’d barely noticed the genuine smile claiming Oliver’s lips. When she saw it, she felt thoroughly unsettled. All at once, the man’s countenance had cleared. He offered a slight nod, as if a knotty misunderstanding had been resolved and everything now made perfect sense to him.

Good for you, Peggy thought dryly, since she still didn’t have a clue what was going on.

His hand slid slowly downward, gliding from her upper arm to her elbow, creating a wake of electrical current. A brass band began to play, and over the music, Oliver softly repeated the word hotel. And then, under his breath, he added, “Cameron, this is a dream come true.”

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.