The Eleventh Hour Page 4

  “One more, but then lets head back downstairs,” she answered. “I hate that I’ve taken you away from your friends.”

  Dawson turned to the server. “We’ll take another round and then our check, please.”

  As the waitress trotted off, Dawson continued their conversation. “Is this convention an annual thing?”

  “Yes, but it’s not always in Vegas. Sometimes it’s Orlando, other times it’s in Denver.”

  “Which is your favorite city?”

  “I’m not really a gambler, so I’d say hands down, Denver.”

  “Do you ski?” he asked.

  “Not unless you call the bunny slope skiing. How about you?”

  “I hit the slopes whenever I can. It’s actually kind of a passion of mine, but I don’t have the time needed to consider myself any good.” He leaned his elbows on the table, eyeing her curiously. “So, you don’t gamble and you don’t ski. What is your passion?”

  Her stare inverted to the table, trying to come up with something exotic and thrilling to say. When her brain came back empty handed, she spoke the truth, no matter how boring and mundane she sounded. “Painting, reading, long walks at nightfall….and people watching.”

  Oh my God! Did I really just say that?

  He grinned. “People watching, huh?”

  She laughed nervously. “Um, yeah. It’s actually kind of fun.”

  He leaned in closer. “So how do I get started?”

  Addison couldn’t believe she was having this conversation with anyone, much less the man she was attempting to flirt with. She knew her face had to be filtering through fifteen shades of red.

  “You just pick someone out in the room and come up with their story.”

  “Their story?”

  “Yeah, why they’re here, who they’re with. That kind of thing.”

  “Okay, then.” He nodded seriously. “Why don’t you go first so I get a better idea of how it’s done.”

  Addison chewed her bottom lip as her eyes darted around the perimeter of the bar. When they landed on two men in crisp suits, one older and grey, one younger with gelled, jet black hair, both looking to be of Italian descent, she said, “Look at those guys over there.”

  Dawson swiveled in his seat, taking in the two men holding neat whiskeys in one hand, with a cigar perched between two fingers with the other, a cloud of smoke billowing above their heads.

  Addison leaned in conspiratorially. “The older gentleman is a mob boss and he’s teaching the kid the ropes to the organization.”

  Dawson grinned as he nodded his head, conveying his understanding of the game. His eyes then scanned the room before pointing to a younger couple who seemed to be in an intense conversation across the room. “Honeymooners who just lost their entire house payment at the roulette table downstairs.”

  Addison laughed. “I think you’ve got the hang of this.”

  He continued further, “And those people over there,” he motioned to the left at a couple who were both staring absently at their phones, not communicating in the least as the man jiggled his leg nonstop. “That guy just quit smoking and he wants to rip everyone’s head off, including his wife’s.”

  Laughing, Addy nodded. “You may be right on that one.”

  “Are you an author, too? This seems like something a writer would do.”

  She waved off the thought. “I’m absolutely horrendous with anything to do with the English language. I hate talking, much less writing.”

  His brows dipped. “You hate talking?”

  Way too many personal things were tumbling out of Addison’s mouth. She made a conscious decision right then and there to quell the overflow.

  Peeling the label all the way off her bottle, she rolled the logo between her fingers as she mumbled, “It’s not that I hate talking, necessarily. It’s just that I’m not very good at it, I guess.”

  When he didn’t comment, she peeked up at him through her lashes and found the warmest smile. “I think you’re doing a pretty good job right now.”

  Addison’s face heated at the compliment, so she took a sip of her drink, draining it completely, just as the waitress appeared with their bill. Without accepting cash from Addison, Dawson paid the tab, stood, scooping up her heels. Instead of handing them over to her, he fish hooked the straps and stood in front of her chair, turning away from her.

  He glanced over his shoulder. “Get on.”

  “What?” she questioned.

  “Jump on my back.”

  When she still looked at him in puzzlement, he explained, “I’m sure you don’t want to walk barefoot across this sticky floor and there’s no way I’m letting you put these torturous things back on again.”

  She smiled at his thoughtfulness, stood on the foot rail of her chair, and vaulted herself onto his back with a squeal, which made him chuckle. She wrapped her legs around his midriff, her arms around his neck, and dipped her head to the side of his head. His wavy hair was soft against her cheek. She couldn’t resist and surreptitiously buried her nose into his mane, sucking his in masculine smell.

  “Did you just smell me?” he teased jestingly.

  Mortified, she jeered back, “Ah, nooo!” making him laugh as he shook his head.

  He bounced to move her further up on his back, clung onto her thighs, and began moving, the heels dangling from his fingertips knocking against her calf.

  “Do you want me to hang onto my shoes?”

  He swiveled his face her way, his sweet whiskey breathe gliding over her lips. “No, I’m good.”

  When they made it to the carpeted hallway, he eased her down, but still kept watch over her shoes. Once the elevator doors smoothly slid open with a ping, they shuffled onboard and were forced to part ways when another couple accompanied them on the way down. Dawson leaned against the railing facing her, so she mirrored his stance across the confined space, their eyes locking with easy familiarity. When the man’s hand lowered to his wife’s well-endowed bottom, Dawson jiggled his eyebrows playfully at Addison, making her blush.

  The couple finally disembarked, leaving the two standing five feet apart, grinning at one another. He crooked his index finger in her direction.

  Me? she asked silently while tapping at her chest.

  Yes, you, he answered with a nod of his head, his grin widening.

  She slowly strode in his direction, her heartbeat thumping in her ears, kaboom kaboom, kaboom, anticipation lodging a boulder in her tightened throat. When she was an arm’s reach away, he swiveled her around to face the opposite wall. Now he was behind her, his hands still gripping her waist. She could feel the heat of him ease up to her backside, until he was firmly pressed against her, making her heart rate triple its normal frequency.

  He lowered himself until his face was nestling the side of her head and sucked in a long, deep, deliberate breath, and then dipped to her ear, causing a shiver to radiate down her spine.

  His warm breath tickled her lobe as his fingers grazed down the length of her arms. “Now will you admit you were taking me in, Addy?”

  She dropped her chin as heat flooded to the center of her core. He gingerly spun her back around, tilting her chin up to meet his gaze with a gentle fingertip. She could feel her face bloom crimson at the intimacy of the conversation.

  His thumb whispered against her lower jaw as his piercing blue eyes bore into her. “You are the most unassuming, beautiful woman I have ever had the pleasure to meet.”

  When her gaze dropped in embarrassment, he teased as women do, “My eyes are up here, Addy,” tapping at his temple.

  She laughed, so thankful his humor lightened the moment, as the door chimed before sliding open.

  When they reached the room, the party was in full swing, strobe light throbbing, drinks flowing, and bodies gyrating to the beat of the music. As soon as they stepped over the threshold, Jessica untangled herself from Moose’s arms and bee bopped over to them, latching onto their wrists and tugging them to the epicenter of the group. At
first, Addison barely moved, in fear of looking ridiculous, but when she found Dawson banging his head as he wildly strummed at his air guitar, her inhibitions flew right out the window. She followed suit, jumping up and down with one arm pumping the air above her head, the heat of the masses, along with the pulsing music drenching her with adrenalin. She watched Shawn ping pong around the crowd, stumbling into people as he thrashed to the beat, and Moose toss Jessica up into the air, catching her like a two pound ragdoll.

  They danced until they were breathless, sweat clinging to their clothing, and then when the melody took a more mellow turn, Dawson took ahold of Addison’s hand and pulled her against his chest.

  Cradling his right hand around hers, he wound the other around her back, tugging her close as they swayed to the sultry whine of Alicia Keys. Addison cuddled into his chest, loving the way he rested his chin on the top of her head and hummed the lyrics of the ballad. She nuzzled in closer, the pulsing vibrations of the base and his thumping heart soaking her in peaceful contentment.

  When another slow song followed, Addison could feel Dawson lower his cheek against her temple as he murmured, “Are you good with this?”

  She tilted her head back, gazing up at him. “Yeah, I’m good.” She smiled. “I’m enjoying myself. I haven’t danced in a while.”

  “Shame.”

  “Pardon me?” she questioned.

  He moved their entwined hands to his chest. “Life without music….it’s a shame.”

  “So how often do you dance?”

  He grinned. “As often as possible.”

  She couldn’t help her mouth mirroring his. “Like once a week?”

  “At least once a week.”

  “At bars?”

  “Sometimes, I love live music, but even at the house I like to bust a move whenever possible.”

  She held in her laughter. “Is that so?”

  He flattened his lips, merriment exploding in his dark blue eyes. “Wouldn’t you, if you had my amazing skills?”

  A giggle sprung from her lips as she remembered his head banging, feet stomping escapades from just a few minutes ago.

  He feigned hurt. “Hey, now. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, you know.”

  “You keep telling yourself that,” she shot back, which made him throw his head back in laughter.

  When the song ended, he stepped back, his hand still cupping one of hers. “How about a water?”

  “Sounds perfect.”

  Tugging at her camisole for ventilation, Addison followed Dawson into the kitchen, accepted an ice cold Evian, chugged several cold gulps of water, and then lifted her dark tresses off her neck, setting the cool bottle against her dewy flesh.

  “Would you like a band for your hair?”

  “That would be great, but I don’t want to walk all the way back to my hotel room.”

  “I have one you can use.”

  She balked at him with a grin. “You do?”

  He smiled bashfully. “A friend gave me one so I could do the man bun thing, but I can’t bring myself to do it.”

  Addison laughed. “Is your hair even long enough?”

  He shrugged. “I have no idea. I’ve never tried. Come on. Let’s see if I can find it.”

  They snaked through the crowd, entering the master bedroom. Dawson eased up the dimming light lever and skirted around the mammoth, four poster bed into the bathroom, with Addison on his heels behind. He ducked down and began riffling through his shaving kit underneath the sink.

  “So how did you end up with the master suite?”

  He grinned up at her. “As I said, I bucked up for the room, but unfortunately, it comes with a bed partner, who happens to be drenched in sweat, covered in alcohol, and not speaking coherently at the moment.”

  “Ah, you get to snuggle up with Shawn tonight, huh?”

  He hooked his thumb over his shoulder. “I’m thinking Shawn’s going to be cuddling The Porcelain God over there and I’ll have the room to myself.”

  “That’s assuming he doesn’t toss his cookies in bed,” she joked.

  He scrunched up his face, grimacing with a shiver. “You bring up a good point. I’ll be sure to have a trash can ready.” Standing up, he handed over the hair tie.

  “Thanks,” she said as she accepted the band and noticed a very faint tattoo on his wrist traveling up his forearm. She cradled his hand and ran a finger up the pale-blue words, scripted in foreign tongue. Her eyes skipped to his other arm and found the same type of inscription.

  “I can’t believe I haven’t noticed these before.”

  His eyes dropped to his arm, his voice lowering. “That’s why I chose this color.”

  Still holding his hand, she asked, “Because you didn’t want people to see?”

  “I didn’t get these for anyone, other than myself.”

  Her line of vision moved up to his. His eyes looked intense, his pupils widening with the bright lights of the vanity, making them appear almost raven black. “What does it say?”

  “It’s just a quote.”

  She pushed further. “What type of quote?”

  “I guess you could say…inspirational.”

  He withdrew his hand from hers, dropping his eyes as he closed the door to the cabinet, ending their conversation.

  Taking the hint, she bent over, clumped her wad of tangled, sweaty hair into both hands, and then stood erect, knotting it on top of her head, before securing the band. Tugging out a few strands at her ears, she took a quick glance in the mirror.

  “That just dropped the temperature ten degrees. Thank you.”

  “No problem.”

  “Are you letting your hair grow out?” Addison asked.

  He leaned a hip on top of the counter, lowering his head to her level. “For the time being.”

  “So you’re letting it grow out until…” she let her voice trail off for him to finish the statement.

  “Until I get tired of dealing with it, or my mother gets her wishes.”

  “So mom’s not a fan?”

  His chuckle was low and deep. “Not in the slightest.” He eyed her enticingly. “And what about you…what do you think?”

  Her gaze fluttered to his hair shooting out from underneath his ball cap. “I think….I think it looks good.”

  “Good, huh?” he murmured as he removed his hat, tossed it on the counter, and raked his fingers roughly through his hair. He then gripped two fingers into the bodice of her camisole and gently tugged her closer. “What do you suggest?”

  Their bodies were oh so close, but not touching. She could smell his musky cologne and resisted the urge to inch in even closer. Gathering courage, she reached up to touch his locks, her vision taking in the deep, rich color and wavy texture.

  “I think you should leave it the way it is,” she murmured as her eyes traced the features of his face to land back on his smoldering eyes.

  He responded by taking a tendril of her hair and winding it around his forefinger, his vision taking in her parted lips, before easing back up to her eyes. “Do you want to know what I think?”

  His voice was a soft caress, making Addison’s knees go weak. Her tongue moistened her bottom fold as she shook her head, completely stupefied in a his alluring, spell-bound trance.

  He looked almost pained as he whispered back, “I think we need to check on Shawn.”

  Addison could feel every tightened muscle in her body deflate as she stepped backward. “Yeah, yeah, of course.”

  As they started out of the bathroom, Addison leading, she stopped dead in her tracks and covered her gaping mouth when she found Moose had Jessica clutched in a passionate embrace. He had her lifted off the ground, her legs wound around his muscular torso, their mouths rooting for each other as they both moaned loudly between their panting breaths.

  Snickering, Dawson latched onto Addison’s hips from behind, and pulled her back into the bathroom, and then soundlessly eased the door shut and bolted the lock. He flipped on the fan to drown ou
t their voices.

  “Well, it looks like Jess and Moose have hit it off,” he joshed with his back plastered against the door.

  Addison grinned. “You think?”

  He bit his bottom lip playfully, before saying, “So much for checking on Shawn. It looks like we’re stuck in here for a while. Any suggestions on entertainment?”

  Addison could feel the innuendo laced around his question, and knew she had to be blushing. “We could scrub the grout,” she teased to flush the heat from her face.

  He laughed, bending to pull two towels off the rack hanging above the toilet and tossed them on the ground, close to the glass enclosed shower.

  “Might as well make ourselves comfortable,” he said before settling himself on one of the towels, his legs elongated toward the vanity, his back leaning against the pristine, crystal-clear glass of the shower door.

  Perching alongside him, she straightened her legs and peered over at him. “So…”

  He grinned devilishly, mimicking her. “So…”

  She could feel her cheeks burning rosy red. Of all her attributes, her glowing complexion exposing her chagrin was at the top of her list. She averted her eyes and crossed her legs.

  “God, you’re adorable,” he murmured.

  She peeked over at him. “You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?”

  He quirked a smile. “Absolutely.”

  Nudging him with her shoulder, she teased, “You’re so mean.”

  “I can’t help it. Your cheeks turn ruby red every time you get embarrassed and I’ve quickly become addicted to it.”

  She blushed again, making him grin.

  “See, there it is again.”

  She swatted at his leg in jest. “Stop it.”

  Gripping onto her hand, he turned it palm side up. Taking his index finger, he lazily traced the curvature of her fingers, starting with her thumb as he concentrated intently, gingerly moving over each digit until he reached her pinky.

  His dark eyebrows rose as his eyes slanted in her direction. “Would you like me to read your palm?”

  “So, now you’re a palm reader?”

  He flattened his lips and nodded solemnly. “A skill handed down from my great, great grandmother.”