The Virgin’s Fake Fiance Page 6

  She's fucking gorgeous. Big blue eyes, flawless skin, long dark hair that tumbles over her shoulders. Oh, this woman is my kind of cocktail waitress. I forget all about the VIP room. I want to be right here, at the bar, with her.

  "Well?" she asks, cocking one hip and staring at me.

  Her dress is tight at the top, the black fabric hugging high, firm tits without showing any cleavage. But it tucks in at her tiny waist before flaring out around her hips and stopping mid-thigh. She's got great legs encased in sheer black stockings. My mouth runs dry.

  She rolls her eyes and lets out a groan. "God, can you be any more obvious? Take a picture, it'll last longer."

  Turning on her heel, she gives me a view of her back. The dress is completely backless all the way to her waist. The only thing holding it on is a bow tied across the tops of her shoulders. Oh, Jesus. And her stockings. They've got a dark line running up from the heel of her foot all the way to the hem of her dress. Maybe I should take a picture.

  I'm not ashamed. She's a work of art. I appreciate art. "You're gorgeous."

  Her cheeks turn pink, but she scoffs. "And you're a real wordsmith. What are you drinking?"

  Does she not know who I am? She's standing there, hands on her hips as she waits for my answer. I say the first thing that comes to my mind. "Whiskey sour."

  She lifts one eyebrow and looks me up and down. "Can I give you my cherry?"

  "What?" My ears must be playing tricks on me.

  "I said, can I get you a cherry?"

  Shit, I definitely need to be better about wearing hearing protection on stage. Either that or nearly a year without sex is getting to me. But I needed time away from women after my last break up. I used it to write, to make something meaningful, to learn about myself. And it ended up winning me a Grammy. This girl is making me think I'm ready to end my dry spell.

  "Do you have a cherry?" I ask, only a slight bit of innuendo thrown in for good measure.

  "If I did, I wouldn't let you have it."

  She's too much. I love it.

  "What's your name?"

  "Ireland."

  "Really? Like the country? I'm... Harrison." Shit, I just lied to her. Kind of. Harrison is technically my name if we're going by last names. But I love that she doesn’t seem to know who I am, isn’t fawning over me like the other girls and I don't want to break the spell of anonymity I've somehow cast.

  "Really? Like the movie star?" She mimics my stupid response to her name with sweet sass. "I guess you've got a little Han Solo thing going on." Then she walks around the bar, hips swaying with her movements.

  I watch her mix my drink and when she bends down to grab something, I have to fight my groan. The tops of her stockings have little black bows on them. Honestly, I think this woman could be wearing yoga pants and a baggy sweatshirt and I'd want her. She slides the drink across the bar and offers me a wink. "Han Solo was always my favorite."

  Ireland tends to a few more orders over the next hour and instead of texting the guys, I observe her. She moves with the fluid grace of a classically trained dancer, poised, confident. I wonder what brought her here. There are two other waitresses milling around, and one who keeps coming and going from the VIP lounge, but for the most part, this place is exactly what I need. Quiet.

  Ireland stands at the end of the long bar, chatting with another waitress. She laughs, loud and full-bodied, tossing her head back. The action changes everything about her, lighting up her face and making her look more carefree. I can't help but smile too. I want to bottle up that laugh and save it. Then her gaze locks on mine and she strolls toward me.

  "Something wrong with your drink, Harry?" she asks.

  "Not a thing. I'm not a big drinker. Just killing time."

  "Meeting someone?" She leans her elbows on the bar, challenging me.

  "I think I already met her."

  Her eyes spark with interest. "Oh yeah?"

  "Definitely."

  "What if she's not interested?"

  I grin. "She might pretend she's not, but that's just an act. Princess Leia pretended she hated Han Solo but really she wanted him so bad it hurt."

  "I'm not a princess."

  "Thank God for that."

  She lifts my drink to her lips and takes a long swallow. Her red lipstick leaves a mark on the glass and somehow, it's the most erotic thing I've ever seen. "What room are you in?" she whispers, leaning close enough for me to smell the vanilla of her skin.

  "1127."

  Then she backs away and takes my drink with her, a grin on her face. "Good. I'll add this to your bill."

  My cock is aching in my pants. I don't want to leave this bar without at least getting her number, but Hannah pops her head in through the front door and catches sight of me. Shit. If she says my name, the jig will be up before I'm ready. I stride across the floor and catch her as she comes inside.

  "Mr. Harrison, your room is all ready." She hands me an envelope with the keycard inside. "Is there anything else I can get for you?"

  I glance back at Ireland and smirk. "No. I've got everything I need right here."

  His Whiskey Sour (A Stand Alone Rock Star Romance)

  * * *

  Also by Kim Loraine

  Contemporary Romance

  Until the Stars Fade (FREE)

  The Cocktail Girls

  His Whiskey Sour (A Stand Alone Rock Star Romance)

  The Golden Beach Series

  Restoration

  Renovation

  Foundation

  Resonance

  Redemption

  Resolution

  Devotion

  Remnants

  Paranormal Romance

  The Siren Coven

  Eternal Desire

  Cursed Heart

  The Fallen Angel Trilogy

  Waking the Watcher (FREE)

  Denying the Watcher

  Releasing the Watcher

  Acknowledgments

  There are a lot of people I need to thank with every book I write. Sometimes it’s someone who is always there when I’ve got a crazy plot idea, or when I’m stuck. Two people who’ve been there every time I need them are Heather and Rachel. Thanks so much for always making time to read my chapters and for your honest feedback. Also, thanks for dealing with my particular brand of anxiety.

  My husband, kids, and family. Thanks for letting me get away to write.

  My writing group. Thanks for keeping me on track.

  My awesome editor, ellie. Thanks for always finding time for me.

  Nicole French for teaching me ALL the things.

  Also, thanks to Emily and the team at Social Butterfly. You guys have been on it from the beginning and I appreciate you!

  Lastly, thank you readers. Without you, there wouldn’t be a place for Lincoln and Charity!

  xoxo

  Kim